Even as she asked the question, she knew that he’d considered it a questionable skill. Like stealing.
I understand, she answered.But it might come in handy when someone is trying to kidnap you—or kill you.
Yeah.
When he returned with the laptop, she had an opportunity to admire him from the front. And although she did her best to keep her thoughts to herself, she knew he picked them up again.
As he slipped into bed beside her, she asked, “Howdoyou keep from having everything in your mind like an open book?”
“You build a wall.”
“Like how?”
“With Sam, I used to picture a wall made from metal plates. Let me show you.”
She saw the concentration on his face as he made the wall. Reaching for his hand, she held on tight as she tried to get into his mind and came up against the barrier. Maybe there was a way around it, but she didn’t find it as she searched.
You try it, he suggested.
She tried to do the same thing he had done, make a wall that would block out her thoughts. It was easy to picture the wall, but not so easy to keep it in place.
I’d spend a lot of energy keeping it intact,she said, struggling with a sense of defeat.
Keep practicing, and you’ll get better.I hadn’t done it in years, and it came back to me.
She built fortresses in her head, while he booted up his computer and googled the Solomon Clinic.
“You think there’s anything on the Web after all these years?”
“We’ll find out.”
She moved beside him where she could see the screen, pulling the sheet up over her breasts.
He glanced at her and grinned. “I’ve seen them.”
She flushed. “I know, but I’m not as casual about walking around naked as you are.”
She knew from his thoughts that he planned to desensitize her—in the shower.
I should practice that wall thing,he answered.
She smiled and moved her shoulder against his. It would have been impossible for her to imagine this wonderful closeness with anyone. But Craig had changed her world.
Mine, too. When the computer finished its start-up routine, he went into Google, looking for information about the Solomon Clinic. At first, they found nothing. Then he added Houma, and a startling newspaper entry came up.
“The explosion at a research laboratory owned by Dr. Douglas Solomon is under investigation. Dr. Solomon used the facility for medical research. His body was found in the wreckage of the lab, along with Violet Goodell, who was the head nurse at the doctor’s former fertility clinic and a close personal friend. She was active in charity work in Houma. Another body foundin the wreckage was that of William Wellington, former head of The Howell Institute, a Washington think tank. According to anonymous sources in Houma, Wellington may have had a financial interest in the Solomon fertility clinic, but it is not known why he was at the research facility when it exploded.
The Solomon Clinic was in operation until it burned to the ground in a fire that was believed to be the result of arson. Because that fire started at night, there were no casualties.
Dr. Solomon was a native of Houma. His clinic drew patients from all over the U.S., but principally from Louisiana and neighboring states. It was instrumental in helping over two hundred women conceive. Although the clinic was known for charging high fees to wealthy clients, it also took less-well-off patients at greatly reduced fees. After the facility burned down, the doctor maintained a low profile, but his research facility is believed to have developed vaccines for several nationally prominent drug companies.”
Stephanie looked at Craig. That article is interesting, as much for what it doesn’t say as for what it does.
“Yeah.”
Craig went back to the search panel and looked up the doctor’s biography. He was a Yale graduate who had gone on to Harvard Medical School and then gone back to his hometown to open his fertility clinic.
“I guess he was pretty smart,” Stephanie murmured. “I’d like to see his records from the clinic, but they probably burned.”
