To the Grave by Carlene Thompson Page B

fact—
    Suddenly James’s hand grabbed hers, nearly crushing it in an iron-like grip. “Damn you, Renée,” his voice low and growl-like, unrecognizable. “Damn you—”
    â€œJames!” Catherine yelped, thinking any moment a bone in her hand might crack. “James, stop it! James! ”
    He moaned, shuddered, and opened his eyes. Immediately he released her hand. “What happened? I think I was dreaming.” Then he saw Catherine rubbing her hand, her face white. “My God, Catherine, did I hurt you?”
    â€œI … I don’t think so,” she said.
    He took her hand in his left, gently touched it all over with his right. “I don’t think anything is broken, but do you want to go to the hospital for X-rays?”
    â€œNo. It’s all right.”
    â€œWe’ll wait a few minutes and see.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it several times. “I’m so sorry. I was having a nightmare.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI wouldn’t hurt you—”
    â€œI know, ” she said sharply, then lowered her voice. “I’m all right, James.”
    But it wasn’t all right. He’d been cursing Renée with such fury in his voice, he’d sounded as if he could kill her.

 
    CHAPTER SIX
    1
    The next morning at eight thirty, Catherine pulled into the parking lot of the discreetly named Aurora Falls Center. The two-story brick building sat somewhat isolated on a quiet, tree-lined street and looked more like a home than an office building with its white shutters and long, roofed front porch and neat lawn. The area had been strictly rural when the building was constructed, but as Aurora Falls grew in population Catherine knew that soon the “city sprawl” would reach the area, costing the center its sense of privacy. She regretted the changes that would come but knew one had to accept the inevitable.
    The beautiful weekend had been a blessing whose time had ended, Catherine thought as she hurried toward the building beneath a low, gray sky dribbling cold rain. A quick look at the weather report this morning had told her the rain would increase as the temperature dropped throughout the day. She groaned. She hated dreary days under ideal circumstances. The last few days had certainly been less than ideal.
    Catherine rushed up the two porch steps, put a key in the door lock, another in the dead bolt, and swung the door open to see the thick, moss green carpet brightened by golden oak-paneled walls and matching office furniture. Behind the reception desk sat the efficient secretary Beth Harper. Catherine knew that Beth had, as always, arrived promptly at eight fifteen, although she kept the doors locked so patients wouldn’t walk in until either Dr. Hite or Catherine had come. As usual, Beth had started a fresh pot of coffee. “Good morning, Dr. Gray,” she said cheerfully.
    Catherine poured a fresh cup of coffee for Beth, one for herself, and then checked the appointment book. Three patients this morning, she thought with a slight sense of dismay. Only three. She had hoped for a more auspicious beginning, but she often reminded herself she’d only joined Dr. Hite’s practice in the summer. Good word of mouth over time would establish her reputation and build her list of patients.
    When Dr. Hite hired Catherine, he’d told her the first month might be uncomfortable because his wife insisted the office needed redecoration. The project added sour lines to his pudgy face, but he admitted she was probably right—the last redecoration had been thirty years ago. To Catherine’s surprise, he had given her free reign when it came to her office, and the room reflected her personality, making her feel more comfortable and at home. Her closed office door bore a bronze nameplate reading: Dr. Catherine Gray in black.
    She entered the room with its expanse of restful tan carpet and contemporary