Homeport by Roberts Nora

Author:Roberts, Nora [Roberts, Nora]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 1998-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

He wanted to get her inside quickly, but forced himself to drive through the city, taking narrow side streets at random to be certain they weren't being followed. Whoever had killed Giovanni might have been watching the building, waiting for them. He was reserving judgment on that until he managed to get the full story out of Miranda.

Satisfied there was no tail, he parked in front of the hotel. He gathered his bags, then turned to push the wet hair out of her face. "You listen to me. Pay attention." He held on to her face until her glazed eyes focused. "We have to cross the lobby. I want you to walk straight to the elevator. I'll handle the clerk. You just go and stand by the elevator. Understand?"

"Yes." It felt as if the words came from somewhere over the top of her head rather than out of her mouth. Words floating there, meaningless and confusing.

When she walked it was like swimming through syrup, but she walked, intensely focused on the gleaming doors of the elevators. That was her goal, she thought. She just had to walk to the elevator.

Dimly she heard Ryan talking with the desk clerk, a rumble of male laughter. She stared at the door, reached out and ran her fingertip down the surface as if to gauge the texture. So smooth and cool. Odd, she'd never noticed that before. She laid her palm on it as Ryan came up beside her and pushed the up button.

It rumbled, like the thunder, she realized. Gears shifting, engaging. And the door made a soft hissing sound when it opened.

She didn't have any more color in her cheeks than the corpse they'd left behind, Ryan noted. And her teeth were starting to chatter. He imagined she was chilled to the bone. God knew he was, and not just from an open ride in drenching rain.

"Just walk down the hall," he ordered, shifting his bags so that he could wrap an arm around her waist. She didn't lean on him, didn't seem to have enough substance in her body to give weight, but he kept his arm around her until they were inside the suite.

He locked the door, added the safety latch before taking her into the bedroom. "Get out of the wet clothes, into a robe." He'd have preferred to dump her in a hot bath, but was afraid she'd just slip under and drown.

He checked the terrace doors, made certain they too were locked before he searched out a bottle of brandy from the minibar. He didn't bother with glasses.

She was sitting on the bed, exactly as he'd left her. "You've got to get out of those clothes," he told her. "You're soaked through."

"I—My fingers don't work."

"Okay, okay. Here, swallow."

He broke the seal on the bottle, then held it to her lips. She obeyed mindlessly, until the fire spurted down her throat and into her belly. "I don't like brandy."

"I don't like spinach, but my mother made me eat it.

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