He said nothing more, satisfied to study her features in silence. They were delicate, sculpted by a fine genetic tool. Unable to resist, he lightly brushed the pad of his thumb over the shadowed crease between her eyes.
She didn’t blink, didn’t seem to notice what he’d done. Her breathing was soft and slow. Assuming she’d fallen asleep, he was surprised when she whispered his name.
“Jared?”
“Right here, babe.”
“Talk to me.”
“Talk to you.”
“Say something, anything. I like listening to you when I fall asleep.”
“Do you now?” he asked, inordinately pleased by that.
“Mmm.”
He bobbed lightly once on the balls of his feet, then braced his forearms on his thighs and let his hands fall between. He didn’t know what to say. She was used to listening to him at work, but he couldn’t very well break into a lazy monologue as though he were on the air. He wasn’t self-centered enough to talk about himself, and the things he wanted to say about Savannah were too whimsical to air. Nor could he talk about Megan.
So he took a deep breath and said in a voice that was low and lyrical, “Once upon a time, there was a princess. She had pretty brown eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She lived in a huge castle.”
“Where?” Savannah murmured.
“Hmm?”
“Where was the castle?”
He hesitated for a mere second. “In Frewschnort.”
“Frewschnort?”
He rather liked the sound, thought it worth repeating. “Frewschnort. She lived there with her father, the king, and her sister, princess number two.”
“How did you know I was born first?”
“I didn’t. Who says this story’s about you?”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know yet. Give me a minute and we’ll both find out.” He took her silence as permission to continue. “As kingdoms went, Frewschnort was on the small side, but what it lacked in size it made up for in beauty. There were rolling hills and meadows, forests and streams. The temperature hovered between sixty and seventy-five, and smog was a thing of the future. In fact, Frewschnort would have been an idyllic place if it hadn’t been for the Grumpslaw.…”
His voice trailed off. He waited for Savannah to prod him on, but she didn’t. Nor did she respond when he whispered her name. Slowing rising to his full height, he stood watching her for several minutes. Then, very quietly, he left the room.
***
Sam Craig hammered on Susan’s front door with his fist, making enough noise to wake the dead—though it wasn’t the dead he wanted to wake, just Susan. She hadn’t responded to the doorbell. She wasn’t responding to his banging. He was worried.
He’d been worried since she left the hospital by cab at four that morning. She had been in rough shape and he would bet she headed straight for a bottle. While a drink or two might have helped her relax, he doubted she would stop there.
Leaving the steps, he started around the house, scrutinizing overhanging trees, latticework, and windows as he went. He finally settled on a tree whose limbs came comfortably close to a small balcony. Within minutes, he was on the balcony and easily jimmying the lock on the door.
He found himself in a small guest bedroom. From there, he made his way down the hall. He stuck his head into each room he passed and shouted Susan’s name with increasing regularity. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the house with her. His intent wasn’t to scare her to death, but to make sure she was all right.
At the end of the hall was the master bedroom. It was the one room that looked at all lived in. Clothes were scattered on the unmade bed. Shoes trailed from the closet. A large armoire stood open to reveal a hefty supply of liquor, a collection of glasses, and an ice bucket.
There was no sign of Susan in the room.
For safekeeping, he checked the adjoining bathroom. Towels lay strewn on the sink and the edge of the tub. He closed his hand around one; it was damp to the touch. Returning to the hall, he trotted downstairs.
