Page 117 of The Bodyguard

“I know who you are. Do you know who I am?”

She nodded.

Angela inched toward the table as though her shoes were lead-lined bricks. “Do you want a tissue? Something to drink?”

Mylene’s vacant eyes didn’t register the question. “I need to talk to you.”

Angela glanced at the armed man behind Mylene. “Can she have a bottle of water? A tissue box?”

He didn’t move.

She looked from one security camera to the next. “Can someone get her a bottle of water and some tissues?” Nothing happened. This was ridiculous. “Sawyer? Please?”

Angela turned to Mylene again. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked in her chair, as she had on the floor. Tears had swollen her cheeks and eyes. Her nose ran. She needed to sleep. Or probably take a sedative.

The heavy cell door unlocked. Sawyer appeared with two bottles of water and a handful of paper towels.

Gratitude squeezed Angela’s chest. “Thank you.”

Sawyer set them on the table, gave Mylene a once-over, and then eyed Angela with a quiet lift of his chin. Unspoken support strengthened her resolve to help Mylene once the headache with Pham ended.

“Anything else?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I can think of.”

“Just let me know.”

The heavy door closed behind him. Angela offered Mylene the paper towels. She didn’t take any of them. It was as if she hadn’t seen Sawyer or what he had brought in.

Angela took one of Mylene’s cuffed hands.

The guard stepped forward.

“I’m giving her a tissue,” Angela snapped and forced one into Mylene’s grip.

“Don’t touch her again,” he growled.

Angela ignored him and didn’t know what to do. Mylene didn’t wipe her face or even seem to notice the paper towel. Angela uncapped the water bottle. “Are you thirsty?”

The question didn’t register to Mylene.

“If you drink this, I will talk to you.” Angela nudged the uncapped bottle.

Mylene shook her head. “They’re going to poison me.”

This was why Mylene needed psychiatric help. Paranoia hadn’t even occurred to Angela. She took two long glugs and re-offered the bottle to Mylene. “If you go, I go.”

“They want you to die.”

“They who? This wasn’t from Pham.”

“They want you to die,” she repeated.

“Not everyone does,” Angela forced a half joke. “Do you?”

Mylene shook her head. “No.”

“Drink, Mylene.”

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