The Frailty of Flesh by Sandra Ruttan Page B

Somehow, her body knew it wasn’t late. She also knew she was in her own bed, the one she shared with Craig. The thing that struck her most was what was missing from within her. For the first time in days her head wasn’t throbbing and her stomach didn’t feel as though someone was using it as a juggling ball.
    Rain was still falling, though the drumming had lost its intensity, settling for a soft tapping on the roof. A flicker of light was enough for her to get her bearings and see that Craig was standing by the window, rivulets running down the glass.
    She slid off the bed, walked over to where he stood and wrapped her arms around his chest. Some of his tension seemed to dissolve as soon as she rested her head against the back of his shoulder.
    The light shimmered on his bare skin.
    “Candles?” she asked.
    “The power went out.”
    “What time is it?”
    “Not late. Just after ten. I brought you some dinner, in case you’re hungry.”
    She realized then that she could smell the food, and even that wasn’t bothering her stomach. “That’s a good sign.”
    He turned to face her. “That I brought you dinner?”
    “That the smell isn’t making me queasy.”
    “If you’re feeling better you should eat. You haven’t had much of an appetite the past few days.”
    “Later.”
    His thumb stroked the small of her back as he bent down, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re really feeling okay?”
    “Well…” She smiled. “I feel pretty good, but I could still feel better.”
    It wasn’t until she saw his relaxed grin that it occurred to her it had been a while since she’d really seen him happy, but she willed herself not to think about that. As they made their way to the bed she realized it hadn’t been a few days that she hadn’t been feeling well, but at least a few weeks.
    She pushed that thought aside as well, and just concentrated on being with him completely.
    Craig’s body was moving slowly, but his brain was still wrapped in the fog of a deep sleep. It registered the dark stillness of the room and the fact that it was not yet morning. His hand had picked up the phone so he must have heard it ring and answered, but all he could bring into focus was the sound of a woman’s voice on the other end and words, “Somebody broke in.”
    “Again?”
    “I-I’m scared and…again?”
    He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shook his head. It wasn’t his stepmother’s voice. “Who is this?”
    “L-Lisa. Lisa Harrington.”
    Things were starting to come into focus, although his body was still moving ahead of his brain. His pants were on and he was searching for a shirt before he even managed to reply. “Did you call 911?”
    “Uh, no. Look—” A high note of panic hadn’t just crept in to her voice, it had taken over completely. “Can you come? I don’t want just any cop and it’s…it’s about Donny.”
    In the bed, Ashlyn rolled over and looked at him. He sighed. “Okay. Give me directions.”
    Lisa rattled off the address, but he stopped partway through writing it down. Same house. She’d never moved after Hope’s murder. The directions were simple enough, although she didn’t live in his jurisdiction.
    “You know where I live, Lisa. It’s going to be at least three quarters of an hour, maybe a bit more.” She was south of Langley and even at this time of day, without traffic, it would be a solid forty-five-minute drive.
    “It’s okay. I, uh, I’m sorry for phoning at home. I don’t know who else to call.”
    His annoyance dissipated as he told her he’d be there as soon as he could and hung up. The waif he’d met not even twenty-four hours earlier looked barely capable of standing up, never mind fending off an intruder, and when people were scared they didn’t think straight. He could call Langley RCMP—he should call them—but he’d spent enough time looking at the Harrington file. In a manner of speaking, he was even assigned to it. Zidani had ordered