Page 118 of The Bodyguard

Warily, Mylene released the paper towel as though she didn’t notice it had been in her hand, and with her hands cuffed together, she took the bottle of water and drank. Water dribbled from the side of her mouth. She wiped at the drips and her running nose with the back of her hand. “I don’t want you to die. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Okay…” Angela opened the other water bottle and sipped. “I remember you.”

Mylene rocked in her chair.

“You came to the vacations,” Angela said. “I saw you other times. I can’t remember everything. It blurred together. But I know you were there a lot.”

“Watching.” Mylene’s unfocused eyes skidded around the room. “I was watching.”

Angela nodded. “Why?”

“Because I was supposed to.”

“Why?”

“Punishment.” Her face fell. “But that part’s over now. I have my house. I have my room. No one brings me anywhere anymore.” Her expression twisted then focused with laser-like precision on Angela. “Not until now.”

“Mylene…” She swallowed hard. “I was looking for you.”

Her eyes rounded.

“I think that’s why they moved you. They knew I was coming.”

Mylene rocked again. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry.” It was hard to find the right words. Hell, it was hard to findanywords. Who knew how many people were studying them just then? The cell walls seemed to close in on them. The stale air stank like desperation and misery. Angela couldn’t think. “I want to help.”

Mylene shook her head violently. Wild strands of hair stuck to her damp face.

“I saw the place where you’ve been living.”

“My house?” Tears streamed down Mylene’s face. “No. No. You didn’t see it.”

“I did.”

“No one knows about me. That’s my house. I need to go home.”

Why would Mylene ever want to return to the house of horrors? “You can go anywhere now.” Except that wasn’t true. Not with the handcuffs and the secret black-ops prison guards keeping Mylene right where she was. Angela shouldn’t say what she couldn’t promise, but she couldn’t stop. “No one will make you go back there.”

“I have to!” Panic flooded over Mylene. “That’s my house.” More tears fell, and she pleaded, begging, “I need to go home.”

Angela glanced at the guard as Mylene’s words turned into an incomprehensible soup of mutters and cries. She glanced at the security camera, helpless to know the right thing to say. JohnPatterson would know. He’d click-click his pen and say things to make Mylene spill her guts if he were in Angela’s shoes. “Mylene.”

Mylene tucked her knees to her chest again and rocked. “My house.”

Damn it. They weren’t getting anywhere. Angela wasn’t helping, and Mylene was still losing her mind. She needed Mylene to understand that they were on the same side—at least in some ways. Frustration gripped her chest. Angela didn’t have the skills to help. A growing helplessness squeezed her lungs. “I know you didn’t kill your husband and sister.”

Mylene jerked. The shock had left her slack-jawed, as though Angela had slapped her, and the rocking, muttering woman suddenly became sharp as a tack. “That’s not true.”

Words had broken through Mylene’s fog. Angela leaned into it. “Did you pull the trigger?”

“No.”

“Did you see them die?”

Once again, tears spilled down Mylene’s cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered. “No, but—” She threaded her hands into her hair. Her fists knotted into the disheveled mess. Mylene pulled until she cried out and slumped. “It’s my fault.”

“You did not kill them, Mylene.”

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