Page 22 of Triple Threat

A warm place, a comfortable chair in comfortable soft clean clothes, a book in my lap, warm and no pain, the elements shut on the outside of the glass…and somebody to love me…

That last part would never be true, I didn’t think. I mean, I’d had boyfriends who said they loved me, but none of them ever chose me. None stayed with me over the drugs, or other women. Some got work, got a job and found a place to live but couldn’t fathom taking me with them. They wanted to get on their feet first, they would come or send for me later, but of course, they never did.

I was a stepping stone, nothing more.

I sighed and shook my head. I was scared. I was trapped. I didn’t know who these guys were. I didn’t know what they wanted, but I wasn’t dead yet. I supposed I ought to be grateful for that. I mean, I don’t know how I got here or anything. The last thing I remembered was standing in Sister Agnes’ soup line. Then nothing about the walk back to the warehouse, certainly nothing about a car.

No lights, no sounds, just feeling so hot and then so cold. Just putting one foot in front of the other, marsh grass and the slight whisper of it against my crusty jeans.

Then I woke up here.

Warm.

Not dead.

Clean for the first time in I can’t really remember… but a prisoner.

I was having some serious cognitive dissonance with that. I was so much better off right now with the exception of not knowing why, or who, or where? It was enough to make me crazy, and Roan’s insistence that he was in the same boat…

The door handle twisted, and I jumped. Roan backed into the room laden with another silver serving tray and I nudged the first one to his side of the table.

“Beef Wellington,” he said, whisking the cover off the tray and revealing yet more fancy food – a beef that was layered around the edges and had seemingly been wrapped in like a pie crust or pastry or something.

“Isn’t that very English?” I asked, curiously. “Like the only time you see it is at some fancy catered party like a wedding or something?”

He chuckled and cleaned up the other tray, moving my teacup to the new one and standing ready to leave.

“Let me know what you think,” he said, and I smiled weakly and nodded.

“It looks good,” I said, sounding as brittle as I felt.

“Must get your strength back,” he said with a smile.

“Why?” I asked, seized with anxiety at the offhanded remark.

“Easy there, Love. I didn’t mean anything by it. You’ve had a rather bad bout of pneumonia. You still aren’t well. In fact, I’ll be right back with your next dose of antibiotics.”

He frowned slightly and looked at me as though trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. I nodded, and he left with the tray. I looked down at the silverware next to my plate and it was no trouble solving the mystery of why; there was a steak knife sitting beside my plate. He’d disarmed me so smoothly and effortlessly in the kitchen, I knew better than to try that trick again.

He returned with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. I took them. I never felt drowsy or weird after them, so I had to believe they were what he said they were.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Really good,” I said, and he nodded.

“I’ll leave you to eat,” he told me and I nodded. At the door, he turned and said, “You’re safe here, Sadie Brooks. The safest you’ve probably ever been.” He searched my face and there was something in his eyes like worry or concern.

“Thank you for saying so, Conan,” I said sadly, but didn’t add that I couldn’t quite believe him. At least, not yet.

Nothing about this felt safe.

“Come find me when you’re ready for that tour,” he said gently. “A proper one.”

He left, and I turned my attention back to the windows as a fresh gust of wind sent the rain railing against the smooth glass.

I was warm, I was fed, and I had a good place to sleep… what more could I ask for?

It was a puzzle that I had no solution for. At least, not right now.

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