“What’s happening?” From the darkness below, I heard Eve’s anxious question. “What’s she doing?”
I shushed her with a wave of my hand and kept watching. From what I remembered from my peek into Drago’s office, there was a small safe right under the window. Sure enough, Beyla headed that way.
Trouble was, the closer she got to the window, the less I could see of her.
I stood on my toes, and caught a glimpse of the top of Beyla’s head.
I craned my neck, but I couldn’t see much of anything except the occasional glimpse of her black clothing.
She moved a little farther to her right, and suddenly, I couldn’t see anything at all.
Now it was frustration fueling my every move. I braced my hands against the window ledge and pulled myself up off the packing crates.
Success!
Suspended like a gymnast, my feet dangling and my arm muscles screaming in protest, I watched Beyla grab the corner of the red and blue area rug nearest to the safe. She yanked back the carpet.
I couldn’t tell what she found there; I only knew it was something important. Beyla breathed a sigh of relief. When she looked up, she was smiling.
She was also looking right at the window.
Instinct took over-and instinct told me to run for cover. Not exactly an easy thing when you’re hanging like a salami in a deli window. I lowered myself back to the packing crate, feeling for a foothold. When my sneakers touched, I settled myself and squatted down, out of range of the window and Beyla’s gaze. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Until I scooted forward and my knee hit an exposed nail.
I felt a sharp pain and the warm trickle of blood, and though I knew it wasn’t serious, I reacted like anyone would have: I jerked away.
Unfortunately, I moved too quickly.
The stack of packing crates shifted and tilted. From somewhere down in the darkness, I heard Eve gasp with horror.
Then the crates went out from under me, and a noise exploded inside my head. In perfect rhythm to its wailing, pulsing sounds, I sailed through the air and tumbled into the darkness.
Fourteen
I MAY HAVE MENTIONED A TIME OR TWO THAT I’M quite possibly the most logical person on the planet.
Logically, when I woke up, I expected to find my arms and legs twisted like pretzels and my head cracked open against the pavement.
So naturally, I was amazed when I came around a few minutes (hours?) later, and the first sensation I had was that of being cradled in warmth.
The second thing I realized was that the noise I’d heard right before I fell-a shrill, whiny sound that made my nerve endings tense like the grating sound of nails on a blackboard-still throbbed inside my head.
I ignored the wailing and concentrated on the warmth, trying to forget the sensation of spiraling through the darkness. I smiled and let myself sink farther into what I assumed was some sort of concussion-induced delusion.
I was snug.
I was comfortable.
I sighed and turned my head, settling further into my daydream and wondering if instead of delusional, I might actually be dead. Maybe I already had my wings and was perched up on a cloud, like one of Rainbow DayGlow’s adorable cherubs. No, it didn’t account for the noise, but it went a long way toward explaining my contentment. And the gentle warmth that pervaded every cell in my body, like sunshine after a storm.
I rubbed my cheek against the smooth something next to my skin and let myself drift back into oblivion. Until I realized the softness against my cheek felt like fabric. More specifically, like denim. Way more specifically, like blue jeans.
My eyes popped open, and at that moment I knew for sure that I must be delusional, dreaming, or dead.
Because Jim was looking back at me.
“It’s about time!” My head was on his lap, and it jostled slightly when he spoke. The light was pretty much nonexistent, and my thoughts were soft and hazy, but still, I could see the relief that washed over his expression as he peered down at me. I heard it in his voice, too, right there next to a note of urgency. “I was beginning to think I should really be worried. Are you all right? Can you move?”
Did dreams speak with Scottish accents? Did they roll theirr ’s? Were their thighs lean and muscular, and when they moved-just a little so that I could get more comfortable-was a thrill supposed to tingle through my body?
I wasn’t about to take any chances. I didn’t want the answer to any of those questions to beno. I closed my eyes so that I could go back to sleep and keep on dreaming.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Jim nudged me. “I may know more about cooking than I do about medicine, but I do know that going to sleep probably isn’t a good idea right now. And medicine aside…” He glanced toward the street, and when I followed his gaze, I didn’t see Eve. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“But…” I tried to sit up, but I was either too weak or just unwilling to leave what undoubtedly was the best lap I’d reclined on in years. I sank back down. “What happened?” I asked him. “Where’s Eve? Why are you here? You weren’t. Not when we got here. Not when I climbed on the crates.”
“Aye, the crates.” Funny how an accent that’s so scrumptious one moment can sound so ominous the next. Especially when the person wielding it is annoyed. “Have you no sense at all, woman?” he asked. I decided it was a question I didn’t have to answer. Besides, Jim didn’t exactly give me time to get a word in edgewise. He made a sound of disgust as he slipped an arm around my shoulders and helped me sit up. When I wobbled, he propped a hand behind my back. “You might have been seriously hurt. You might have been killed. Why on earth would you take the chance of doing something so daft?”
“Why?” I brushed a hand over my ear. When that didn’t make the noise stop, I gritted my teeth and braced my hands against the rough pavement on either side of me. “We followed her,” I said with as much indignation as I could muster. And if Jim couldn’t see the importance of that, well, I’d just have to explain it to him another time. Maybe when I was capable of stringing together more than three words into a coherent sentence. “She was looking. For something. I had to see. What it was. There was no way. Except the crates.”
“So you risked your life because of this goofy investigation.”
Goofy? I’d take that up with Jim another time, too. Like when he wasn’t trying to help me to my feet, and when my head wasn’t spinning, and my legs didn’t feel as if the bones hadn’t been yanked out of them and replaced with rubber bands.
“Didn’t risk life,” I told him, even though the fact suggested otherwise. “And even if… It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” They were brave words, but now I knew I had to put some oomph behind them. I pulled myself out of the circle of Jim’s arm. The world wobbled a little more, and as casually as I could-so Jim wouldn’t see and accuse me of covering up, even though that was exactly what I was doing-I propped a hand against the brick back wall of Arta.
“Good as new. Better! I know more, much more than when I got here.”
While I was busy justifying the new, daredevil me, Jim grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the mouth of the alley. I suppose being a new woman, I should have stood my ground and refused to budge, at least until I had the full story about what was really going on. But new woman or not, there was something about the feel of his skin against mine that made it impossible to resist. When he moved, I moved.
Except for my head whirling and the pavement rising up at me in waves, I think I did a pretty good job of it, too.
“But… Eve…” I looked back into the alley, hoping to penetrate the darkness. “We can’t leave-”