JК
Ыоуве Been Warned :: Patterson James
Страница: 119 из 138I’m dry heaving andit hurts like crazy, but at least I’m alive.
Any other morning I’d be crawling back into bed, calling in sick. Instead, I take a shower and quickly get dressed. I don’t have a choice. No free will at all. This is no time to be on the sidelines.
I try calling Michael at his office. The odds are he’s arrived by now, but his line rings and rings and rings. It’s too early for his secretary, Amanda. She doesn’t normally get to her desk until around eight-thirty.
So I head off to Fifth Avenue, knowing no more about Michael’s intentions than I did yesterday. Is he going to hurt somebody? Is he another Scott Peterson?
For the first time, I’m actually eager to see Penley. She needs to be okay. I certainly don’t want her murdered. My God, could it have happened already? Is that why Michael isn’t at work?
Chapter 94
“KRISTIN, IS THAT YOU?” I hear from down the hall as I step into the foyer of the Turnbulls’ apartment.
“Yes, it’s me.”
And that’s her. Phew. I instantly feel guilty about thinking the worst of Michael, putting him in the same company as a wife killer.
Penley turns the corner of the foyer and peers suspiciously at me. She’s dressed in her “workout” clothes.
There’s a moment as we eye each other, and it feels weird. So what else is new?
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look a little pale, Kristin. You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“I’m fine. A little tired, I guess.”
She gives me that “just us girls” smirk. “Late evening, huh?”
And a rough morning to boot. Of course, I’m not about to let on to anything, not with her. “No, it was pretty quiet,” I say.
“That reminds me. Maria said you called last night. Did you need to talk to me about something?”
Thanks, Maria!
I hesitate, thinking fast.
“Oh, that,” I say. “It was a false alarm. I thought I’d left my cell phone here.”
She seems to buy it, nodding anyway. This is some game we’re playing here, the Pencil and I.
“By the way, how was your dinner?” I ask.
“Pardon?” Point, Kristin.
“You and Mr. Turnbull. Maria told me you went out to dinner. Just the two of you?”
“Yes. It was very nice, thank you,” she says. “We don’t do it enough. The two of us, no kids.” Point, Pencil.
“Is he at his office now?”
As soon as the question leaves my lips, I regret it.
Any other morning I’d be crawling back into bed, calling in sick. Instead, I take a shower and quickly get dressed. I don’t have a choice. No free will at all. This is no time to be on the sidelines.
I try calling Michael at his office. The odds are he’s arrived by now, but his line rings and rings and rings. It’s too early for his secretary, Amanda. She doesn’t normally get to her desk until around eight-thirty.
So I head off to Fifth Avenue, knowing no more about Michael’s intentions than I did yesterday. Is he going to hurt somebody? Is he another Scott Peterson?
For the first time, I’m actually eager to see Penley. She needs to be okay. I certainly don’t want her murdered. My God, could it have happened already? Is that why Michael isn’t at work?
Chapter 94
“KRISTIN, IS THAT YOU?” I hear from down the hall as I step into the foyer of the Turnbulls’ apartment.
“Yes, it’s me.”
And that’s her. Phew. I instantly feel guilty about thinking the worst of Michael, putting him in the same company as a wife killer.
Penley turns the corner of the foyer and peers suspiciously at me. She’s dressed in her “workout” clothes.
There’s a moment as we eye each other, and it feels weird. So what else is new?
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look a little pale, Kristin. You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“I’m fine. A little tired, I guess.”
She gives me that “just us girls” smirk. “Late evening, huh?”
And a rough morning to boot. Of course, I’m not about to let on to anything, not with her. “No, it was pretty quiet,” I say.
“That reminds me. Maria said you called last night. Did you need to talk to me about something?”
Thanks, Maria!
I hesitate, thinking fast.
“Oh, that,” I say. “It was a false alarm. I thought I’d left my cell phone here.”
She seems to buy it, nodding anyway. This is some game we’re playing here, the Pencil and I.
“By the way, how was your dinner?” I ask.
“Pardon?” Point, Kristin.
“You and Mr. Turnbull. Maria told me you went out to dinner. Just the two of you?”
“Yes. It was very nice, thank you,” she says. “We don’t do it enough. The two of us, no kids.” Point, Pencil.
“Is he at his office now?”
As soon as the question leaves my lips, I regret it.