Blind Spot by Nancy Bush Page A

Cat, but mostly at Gibby.
    “She said…that word…”
    Greg glanced at Maribel. “What word?”
    Gibby pointed to Cat. “She said it, too. You know… that word !”
    “The f-word?”
    Gibby nodded furiously, his finger shaking as he kept it directed at Cat. “She said, ‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.’”
    Greg shot a look at Cat and then demanded, “Where did you hear that, Gibby? Who said it?”
    “She did!”
    “I mean it. Who said it? Maribel?” Greg looked mad. He shook his head and took hold of Maribel’s arm, trying to direct her away from Cat. “Was it Thomas?”
    Gibby blinked a couple times and gazed at Thomas McAvoy, who was watching them with laser eyes. “No! He says that, too, but it was Cat!”
    “Well, whoever said it, don’t say it again.” Greg was looking at Gibby as if it was all his fault!
    Greg tried to move Maribel but she pulled her shoulders in and shrank down. She always did that. After a few moments Greg let go and went over to Thomas McAvoy, whose face looked just like those dead guys on TV. He was scary, too.
    “You got me in trouble,” Gibby moaned to Cat. He felt a little like crying.
    She was still staring at Maribel, who was pulling at her hair and looking at the floor.
    Gibby got up and tried to shove Maribel to one side. Maribel slugged him in the arm and jumped into his chair.
    With a howl, Gibby launched himself at her and then Greg reappeared with Darlene and even Donald came back, too.
    “Tsk, tsk,” Donald said.
    “What is with you, Gibson?” Darlene asked. “Ever since Cat got here, you’re starting trouble.”
    “Not me!” Gibby cried.
    “He repeated something Thomas said.”
    “Maribel said fuck you first!” Gibby screamed.
    “Fuck you!” Maribel shrieked right back.
    For the second time in two days Gibby was hauled off to his room. He cried all the way, looking back at Cat. He watched her head turn as she examined the front door.
    “She’s my friend,” he whimpered. “I need to help her.”
    But Greg and Darlene, the witch with a capital B, wouldn’t listen to him.
     
    Pauline Kirby touched at her dark hair, but every strand was held in place by one of the best hair sprays on the market. Super hold. Super expensive. But the best was the best, and Pauline liked the best. Pressing the pad of her little finger to the corner of her mouth, she looked into the hand mirror and tried on a smile. Her makeup was fresh. She looked good.
    “Here.” She handed the mirror to a production assistant. A gofer who hurried forward. A new one, she was pretty sure. They all looked the same. She could never remember their names and had given up trying. Long ago, she’d been the one with the eager smile and winning ways, ready to serve the talent in any way she could.
    She was long over that, thank God.
    Today she stood outside Halo Valley Security Hospital. Concrete and redwood in front, but the back part, the older section, was solid brick. They tried to dress up this new part: there was a portico with concrete pillars, but it still looked industrial, institutional, with maybe just a hint of architectural thought, but it sure as hell didn’t transcend to anything close to beauty.
    What a sorry piece of crap, she thought. Past the first roof you could actually see the razor wire that surrounded the grounds of the second brick building, the high-security hospital. No damn laurel hedge could disguise it, though that looked to be the idea. She knew of a couple real crazies who resided there. One of ’em had the gall to write to her now and again. Really filthy stuff. She showed it to her coworkers, pretending to be unaffected. She was a newswoman. A professional. But it gave her a nasty little shiver whenever she thought of that particular monster. If they ever let him out…ever…she was going to call in every favor she’d ever been owed, and there were a number of them, to make sure he was caught and hopefully killed this time.
    Coming back to