Gillette Park by Gerri Hill

Author:Gerri Hill [Hill, Gerri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642471335
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2020-03-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-seven

Mason leaned her hip against the kitchen counter, watching as Grace flipped through the file. The remnants of their early dinner—very late lunch, really—was still on the table. Grace reached for the plastic cup that was beside her—watered-down Coke. The ice had long melted, but Grace didn’t seem to notice. Mason’s fingers tightened around her own glass, a whiskey tumbler that she’d added more than a splash to. She took a sip now, the smooth bourbon relaxing her.

Grace hadn’t wanted to talk. There had been fear in her eyes…out there in the forest. The bird with the broken wing apparently wasn’t a bird, at least in Grace’s eyes. Whatever the hell it was, she’d done more than nick its wing. She’d had her Glock 22 aimed right at it. She’d fired, and, accordingly, the bird should have been reduced to nothing more than a pile of bloody feathers.

That wasn’t the case though. Sure, she could have missed. She could have misfired. But she didn’t. She was confident in her skills. She didn’t miss. The bird wasn’t just a bird, apparently. She’d seen the feather, she’d watched as it floated toward them. Then Grace had pushed her down, much like she’d done before out on the trail. Grace had ducked down, had covered her head as the feather sailed by. Then there was nothing, the feather was caught—harmlessly—on the bark of the tree.

Only it wasn’t a feather, was it? She’d felt it. It was soft. But Grace’s eyes had widened, she’d taken her hand, held it gently, as if afraid she’d hurt her. Mason had been afraid she’d let go of her hand.

She looked at her now, her blond hair tucked behind one ear, not the other. Her chin rested in her palm as she read, her brow somewhat furrowed. Mason allowed herself to look shamelessly…the lips slightly parted, the tip of a pink tongue coming out to wet them. From a distance, her skin appeared smooth and unblemished. Up close, Mason had noticed the tiniest of scars on her forehead, a sprinkling of freckles on her nose, and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

Was she a freak? If she was old, unattractive, would she think Grace was a freak? Admittedly, yeah, she hadn’t been looking forward to being the psychic’s point of contact. And yeah, she’d had preconceived ideas of what Grace would be like…and what she wouldn’t be like. Those had proven false. She wasn’t like Nora Nightsail and she wasn’t odd or peculiar. She was—

What? Normal? Normal compared to who? She took another sip of her drink, her eyes still on Grace. Okay, so she was a little attracted to her. Physically, yes, why wouldn’t she be? Blond hair, blue eyes…cute. Something else though, something deeper. The prospect of the unknown? Danger? Did that draw her? Grace was confident, sure of herself. In control. Did that draw her? Or was it like the gypsy woman had said all those years ago? Were they soulmates? Was it destiny that they were here together?

“You’re staring.

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