Page 64 of First Date: Divorce
She took her time in the bathroom.Making sure that if he hadn’t been deeply asleep when she got out of bed, he had time to get there.
She dug to the bottom of her toiletries bag for one of the pairs of evidence gloves and the tiny combo pinpoint flashlight/digital camera she’d hidden beneath the usual stuff, and stowed them in her robe pockets.She figured she’d waited long enough.
With the light out, she eased out of the bathroom and listened.Nothing.Holding her breath, she stuck close to the bookcase.If there were cameras, they weren’t likely to focus on the bookcase.
At the hallway door, she turned the handle and opened it the minimum necessary.Before she closed it the final half inch, she listened again.No stirring from the vicinity of the bed.Good.
In the dimly lit but camera-less hallway, she let out a breath, and strode confidently along.If questioned, she was a light sleeper in search of something to drink besides water.
Still, no sense inviting questions.She took the stairs, skipping the elevator and its camera.
In the reception area she hesitated.This might be the perfect time to check out Ms.Smiley’s domain behind the desk.
No.First, the area marked “Safe” on the drawings.She followed plans, not impulses.
She went under the archway beneath the stairs, listened for a long moment, because past here it would be harder to explain her presence.
She heard nothing.
She moved quickly and quietly past the counseling rooms.
How is your sexual relationship?
Nonexistent.
This wasn’t the time to think about that.
No time was the time to think about that.
She refocused.She’d reached the door that corresponded with the spot labeled “Safe.”
She’d brought tools, but always try the easiest way first.She turned the handle — unlocked — then slowly pushed the door.
Even the dim light from the hall seemed like a torch in the room’s darkness.She stepped in, quickly drawing the door closed behind her.
In the fraction of a second before her thumb found the button on her tiny flashlight, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“K.D., it’s me.Eric.It’s—”
Her elbow connected with his diaphragm.He bent over, knowing she’d knocked the wind out of him.Thinking — hoping — that weapon she wielded of bone and quick-reactions hadn’t done more damage.
She had him by the shoulders.He figured her next move was a knee to his groin, and he couldn’t get out anything more articulate than a grunt.
So having her point what felt like a laser into his eyes represented good news.Because that meant she couldn’t hold him still to knee him in the groin.
No doubt an expert kneeing in the groin.
“Eric?”Barely audible, he still heard her surprise.
In further good news, in order to knee him in the groin now, she’d have to straighten him, because he was bent practically double.
The bad news?He couldn’t breathe.
“Your diaphragm is spasming,” her voice said in his ear.Somehow that phrase hadn’t figured into any of his wayward imaginings of having her mouth this close.“Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
She had one hand on his arm.The other moved the flashlight systematically.“There’s a cushion.If you can lie down on your stomach and stretch—”
