Eve by Iris Johansen Page B

coming in harsh pants that hurt her chest as she scrambled up the bank and into the brush.
    Run.
    A bullet took the bark off the oak next to her.
    Close.
    How could he see in this thick brush?
    She heard the splashing in the river behind her. He wasn’t afraid of the current. Could the devil be afraid of anything?
    “Eve!”
    It was John Gallo. He caught up with her and grabbed her hand. “This way.”
    “No!” She tried to pull away.
    “Trust me.” He was gazing down at her, and he looked as desperate as she felt. His face was somehow … different. John’s face, yet not the John she knew. “I’ll find her. I won’t let you die. Trust me.”
    “Why should I? When have we ever trusted each other?” She jerked her hand away and started to run again.
    A moment later, another bullet grazed her hair, then embedded itself in the ground in front of her.
    And she heard the sound of running footsteps behind her. Her heart was beating so hard it was jumping out of her chest. Find a way, or she was going to die.
    Trust me.
    Never.
    Pain, high in her back …
    She hadn’t heard that bullet.
    Death?
    *   *   *
    EVE JERKED UPRIGHT ON THE couch, her eyes wildly searching the darkness.
    Her pulse was racing, but the palms of her hands were cold. It took a minute for her to realize that she was not still in that deadly brush.
    A dream?
    But it had seemed so real. John Gallo had been gone nearly three weeks, but he had also seemed so real. Although it was a John Gallo she had never known. If she was going to dream about John, why wouldn’t it be sensual, sexual, and not a horrible, deadly chase that had ended her life. That was what her time with John had been all about. Sex, passion, and mindless pleasure that had ended with a desperate intensity that had almost frightened her.
    And perhaps that was why she had dreamed of John as the pursuer, the enemy, just exaggerated and translated into a life-and-death struggle.
    And all this soul-searching was crap over a simple nightmare. She swung her feet to the floor and got up and went to the bathroom. She drank a glass of water, then went back to the couch.
    Go back to sleep. It was only a dream. She was doing fine. She was back in her routine of work and school and keeping herself so busy that she barely thought of John. It was as if that period was also a dream. It was probably good that she had experienced that passion then and not later. She could put it behind her and concentrate on work.
    And that was crap, too. She was giving herself excuses, and there had been nothing calculated about what she’d done.
    But it was over now, and she was doing just fine.
    *   *   *
    “YOU DON’T LOOK SO GOOD.” Teresa was gazing at Eve critically. “You got the flu or somethin’?”
    “Maybe.” She finished the to-go order and set it on the warming shelf. “It’s going around.”
    “Well, you’re white as that paper bag. Don’t breathe on me. I’ve had enough bugs this year.”
    “I’ll stay away.” She wished Teresa would be quiet. Her head was pounding, and she was fighting against throwing up. The smell of frying hamburgers was making her stomach churn.
    “You should go home. You gonna have to ride the bus?”
    “How else?”
    “I thought maybe John might be back in town. He’s been gone a couple months, hasn’t he? Have you heard from him?”
    “No. I didn’t expect to hear from him.”
    “Hot and heavy, then good-bye?” Teresa made a face. “Yeah, that’s the way it goes. But it can be worth it.”
    “Maybe.”
    “He had a real thing for you. I couldn’t get him to pay any attention to— Where are you going?”
    Sick. So sick.
    She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.
    And then threw up again.
    Lord, she felt awful.
    She sank down to the floor beside the toilet.
    She’d get up again soon, but she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her right now.
    “Eve?”
    Teresa.
    “I’m okay. Go back to work.”
    “You’re not okay.”