Slow Burn by Julie Garwood Page A

would be perfect for you. I know what you’re going to say,” she rushed on before Kiera could stop her. “He’s not interested in you, but you can’t possibly know if he is or not until you . . . you know.”
    “No, what?”
    “Make a move. Talk to him.”
    “Can we not have this conversation?”
    Isabel ignored the request. “Maybe if you put on a little makeup and did something about your hair . . .”
    Kiera folded her arms across her waist and said, “What’s wrong with my hair?”
    “You need to get a good haircut and not one of those five-dollar places, either, and you should get some concealer to hide those dark smudges under your eyes. You’re sleep-deprived, and you know what? I blame it all on medical school.”
    “At the risk of sounding like you . . . duh.”
    Kate started to laugh and then groaned. Her head fell back against the pillows and she closed her eyes. “Stop making me laugh, and take your discussion someplace else. I just want to pull the covers over my head and pretend today didn’t happen.”
    “But Kate, you still haven’t told us why you were at that warehouse,” Isabel said.
    Kate opened her eyes. She started to answer and then stopped. “I don’t remember. I mean, I feel like I do, but I can’t think right now.”
    “You don’t remember anything?”
    Kate took a long minute before answering. “No,” she whispered. “Isn’t that odd?”
    “Don’t worry about it. It’ll come back to you. Get some rest now. I’ll be here later to check on you,” Kiera said.
    Isabel wasn’t ready to leave. She went to the side of the bed and asked, “Do you remember going to Boston?”
    Kate smiled. “Yes, I do. And I remember coming home. There was a car . . . at the airport . . .”
    Isabel patted her hand. “Yes, there was a car,” she said. Her voice was soothing, and she was acting as though she was trying to reason with a three-year-old. “You’re remembering your car. You drove to the airport.”
    Kate looked to Kiera for help.
    “Isabel, would you hand me the phone before you leave?” Kate asked. “I want to call Jordan.”
    “Do you remember her phone number?”
    “Isabel, the bump on her head didn’t turn her into an idiot,” Kiera said.
    Isabel shrugged. She handed the phone to Kate and patted her hand again. “Tell Jordan we said hello,” she said. “And if she wants to come see you, you better tell her not to,” she added. “With your streak of bad luck, someone might run over her before she gets to the airport.”
    “It has been a horrible week, hasn’t it?” Kate said.
    “It can only get better,” Isabel assured her as she followed Kiera out the door.
    Kate hoped she was right. She turned onto her side and fell sound asleep.
     
    A couple of hours later she called Jordan. She tried her best to be cheerful, but it took effort. The attempt didn’t work. Her friend could hear the stress in her voice.
    “Tell me about that first explosion again,” Jordan said. “Now that I’m not worried about bumps and lumps I can concentrate. Someone was trying to kill that artist, right?”
    Kate went through it all again, and when she was finished with that incident, she told her about the crazy teenager joy-riding in the airport parking lot. Last, but certainly not least, she told her about her latest mishap.
    “I don’t remember the explosion at all,” she said. “But I keep thinking about coffee. Isn’t that peculiar?”
    “You don’t drink coffee.”
    “I know. That’s what makes it peculiar.”
    “How hard was that hit on your head?”
    “Just hard enough to give me a headache. If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was trying to kill me.”
    Jordan laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve just had a bit of bad luck, that’s all. Do you want me to come down there?”
    “No, I’m fine. Besides, maybe this bad streak isn’t over, and I don’t want you hurt in the fallout.”
    “Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.