Mirror of My Soul Joey Hill (best books to read for women txt) 📖

“Go.”

She fired and the bullet punched through the corpse’s eye. The next took his cheek, his mouth. She turned his face into meat, shooting again and again while smoke filled her nostrils. Fire flashed before her eyes. She became aware of a rasping, sobbing sound coming from her, an animal in a trap. This wasn’t making it better. She had to stop.

Couldn’t stop, not until…

185

Joey W. Hill

She was clicking an empty chamber, trembling. Mac’s hand came into view,

carefully dislodged Tyler’s gun from her fingers, for Tyler was busy holding her, turning her into his arms while she shook so hard she knew she would have shattered without his strength. She was cold, colder than she’d ever been, the fire of pain at the center of her chest so solidly contained by ice she would never be warm.

“It will be all right,” he murmured against her hair. “You don’t think it will, but it’s going to be. Believe me. Trust me.”

“Mac,” she rasped.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” His large hand touched her hair. She looked up into those

silver eyes. The eyes of a good strong man, thank God and Goddess and everything in between for their existence. A man soon to be a father, who would deserve the title to be spoken with love and respect. She was sure of it, so much so that she knew what lay behind her could never have been called by the same title.

“What do they do with unclaimed bodies? Like homeless people?”

“Crematorium, I think.”

“Tell the morgue…burn him. Let him burn forever.”

186

Mirror of My Soul

Chapter Eighteen

Those were the last words she spoke. At first Tyler didn’t realize anything was wrong. He took her to the hospital, had her checked out. The clavicle break was set, her upper body put in a figure eight brace, the left arm in a sling to limit the pain that mobility would create for the next few weeks. Her two broken fingers were bandaged and taped together. As she sat on the examining table waiting on doctors and nurses, she shook. He asked for blankets, wrapped her up, held her. At length, she laid her head on his shoulder and let oblivion take her, a result of the sedative the doctor gave her for the pain, he was sure. But when he roused her to go home, her eyes were blank.

That distant look he knew had somehow expanded as if she was on another continent, abandoned, remote, uncharted like the Arctic. He knew the signs of shock, knew how to handle it. So despite the uneasiness that gripped him, he took her home to the Gulf. Put her to bed. Lay curled around her through the night, listening to the shallow breathing, stroking her hair, her shoulder, murmuring to her occasionally, giving her his body warmth, willing her skin to warm, her eyes to focus.

When she woke in the middle of the night, she rose and settled in his window seat, her legs drawn up as she stared up at the sky. Following her, he sat in a chair next to the window seat, his foot propped there, toes just touching her calf. She didn’t speak and eventually dropped back off, her temple pressed to the glass. He picked her up and took her back to bed.

He let her sleep late. Sarah brought them up a breakfast. When Tyler brought the tray to the bed, he noted Marguerite lay in the same position he’d put her when he’d retrieved her from the window. On her right side, only now her eyes were open.

Putting down the tray, he helped her sit up and noticed he had to move her like a doll.

When he spoke to her, her eyes followed him, but he might have been a distant seabird.

He was giving her painkillers to minimize the agony of the collarbone break, but he knew what he was seeing was not the effect of the drugs.

“Marguerite, let’s get you something to eat, all right? You need to eat.”

And to his relief she did, but only when he put the spoon to her lips and applied pressure. She ate a few mouthfuls, took a drink of the juice as long as he was holding the cup. Several moments later she turned her face away. Turned away, period, curling back into the covers. Folding into herself, she drew her knees up so she was an outer shell, protecting the inner core.

He went to the intercom. “Sarah, will you come here a moment?”

The woman responded quickly, meeting him outside the bedroom door. “I’m going

to call Komal Gupta. Can you sit with her? I don’t want to leave her alone.”

187

Joey W. Hill

“Certainly.” Sarah put a reassuring hand on his arm. “And Robert’s gone to get our things. We’ll stay in the guesthouse as long as you need us.” When he started to object, she tightened her hold on him. “You’re going to need to sleep and eat, shower, keep yourself up for her. We’re here for both of you.”

He nodded, reached out on impulse to hug her. Instantly Tyler realized it as a mistake, because it was the first time he’d allowed himself a gesture of comfort. All of a sudden it was back, the sight of her against the sky, leaping, the child in her arms, the few seconds when it could have all been over. Only a lifetime of training to think in the worst situations had compelled him to act.

Everything had stopped, had gotten quiet. That centering, that place of focus where he knew exactly where and who he needed to be at that precise second, had kicked in.

Coordination, training and the total commitment of the mind to one thing came

together for that all important life-and-death moment.

Now he was holding tight to Sarah and she was stroking his back, murmuring to

him. He realized a good couple of minutes had passed. He eased back, embarrassed, but she reached up and cupped his