it'll keep her from doing something stupid."
"Thank you," Kerry said meekly.
But Sidowski didn't move out of her way, which was probably meant to show her he disapproved, and she had to walk around him. Still, the advantage was that when she reached the desk, all he could see was her back.
She hadn't been planning anything in the nature of what any of the three of them could possibly call "something stupid," but as soon as she got to the desk she saw the ashtray into which she'd dropped the razor blade she'd found on the floor under the counter. Without any clear thought of what she would do with the blade but realizing that she'd probably never have a better chance to get it—knowing that if she hesitated, if she glanced to see if anybody was watching, she'd be caught—she reached for the roll of paper towels, sweeping her fingers through the ashtray on the way.
Though the blade sliced her fingertips, she worked at keeping her face blank. They would hurt worse later, she knew, but for the moment she kept moving till she had the towels. She pressed her fingers as tightly as she could into the roll of paper, trying to hide and at the same time stop the bleeding.
Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the laundry owner.
Now you've done it,
she thought and braced herself for ... she wasn't sure what, but she figured it would hurt a great deal.
He stepped out of her way, however, going around her.
The desk,
she realized with a sigh that she quickly tried to disguise as a sniffle. He had been heading for the desk—and not her—all along. He righted the chair that had tipped when Roth pulled her out from under there, and he sat down, opening a drawer.
Kerry hesitated, still standing closer to the desk than to Ethan.
Sitting down is good,
she told herself.
Sitting down is more relaxed and means he's less likely to hurt us.
Unless, of course, he had a gun in the drawer.
Instead of a gun, the owner pulled out his Bible. Either his place was well marked or he just opened to a random page and started reading.
Maybe he was trying to find guidance, Kerry thought. She hoped he had opened to the part that said "Thou shalt not kill."
Or maybe he was trying to look up justification for what they were planning. Not likely he could find that, she thought. But who knew how he could twist things? And besides, the Old Testament laws were strict and, in some cases, strange. Unbidden the thought came to her:
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
If they thought Ethan was a murderous vampire, they would certainly take that as justification for killing him. Kerry fervently hoped the laundry owner would stick to the New Testament, which she remembered as being more lenient.
Mercifully, neither of the others tried to stop or delay her as she marched purposefully to Ethan and knelt before him. She ripped off a sheet of toweling and immediately and none too gently dabbed at the wound at his temple, eager to have blood on the towel, on her hand, before anybody noticed she, too, was bleeding and wondered why.
Ethan flinched from her rough ministrations.
"Sorry," she muttered, catching her first good look at his nasty cut. The area around it was already swelling and turning purple.
Easy,
she warned her stomach. It wouldn't do her Florence Nightingale routine any good if she passed out or upchucked now.
I hate this,
she thought frantically.
If there was anybody else here that could take charge, anybody...
"It's all right," Ethan told her, sounding calmer than he had any right to.
Kerry's eyes shifted to his for a second.
This was no time to get herself distracted just because he was good looking and trying to put on a brave front for her.
The towel was sloppy with blood already, his and hers, and she let the razor blade fall into it before she lightly crumpled it and shoved it into her jacket pocket, as though to get it out of the way. She hastily mopped up some more blood and put that sheet into her pocket, too. With the third,
"Thank you," Kerry said meekly.
But Sidowski didn't move out of her way, which was probably meant to show her he disapproved, and she had to walk around him. Still, the advantage was that when she reached the desk, all he could see was her back.
She hadn't been planning anything in the nature of what any of the three of them could possibly call "something stupid," but as soon as she got to the desk she saw the ashtray into which she'd dropped the razor blade she'd found on the floor under the counter. Without any clear thought of what she would do with the blade but realizing that she'd probably never have a better chance to get it—knowing that if she hesitated, if she glanced to see if anybody was watching, she'd be caught—she reached for the roll of paper towels, sweeping her fingers through the ashtray on the way.
Though the blade sliced her fingertips, she worked at keeping her face blank. They would hurt worse later, she knew, but for the moment she kept moving till she had the towels. She pressed her fingers as tightly as she could into the roll of paper, trying to hide and at the same time stop the bleeding.
Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the laundry owner.
Now you've done it,
she thought and braced herself for ... she wasn't sure what, but she figured it would hurt a great deal.
He stepped out of her way, however, going around her.
The desk,
she realized with a sigh that she quickly tried to disguise as a sniffle. He had been heading for the desk—and not her—all along. He righted the chair that had tipped when Roth pulled her out from under there, and he sat down, opening a drawer.
Kerry hesitated, still standing closer to the desk than to Ethan.
Sitting down is good,
she told herself.
Sitting down is more relaxed and means he's less likely to hurt us.
Unless, of course, he had a gun in the drawer.
Instead of a gun, the owner pulled out his Bible. Either his place was well marked or he just opened to a random page and started reading.
Maybe he was trying to find guidance, Kerry thought. She hoped he had opened to the part that said "Thou shalt not kill."
Or maybe he was trying to look up justification for what they were planning. Not likely he could find that, she thought. But who knew how he could twist things? And besides, the Old Testament laws were strict and, in some cases, strange. Unbidden the thought came to her:
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
If they thought Ethan was a murderous vampire, they would certainly take that as justification for killing him. Kerry fervently hoped the laundry owner would stick to the New Testament, which she remembered as being more lenient.
Mercifully, neither of the others tried to stop or delay her as she marched purposefully to Ethan and knelt before him. She ripped off a sheet of toweling and immediately and none too gently dabbed at the wound at his temple, eager to have blood on the towel, on her hand, before anybody noticed she, too, was bleeding and wondered why.
Ethan flinched from her rough ministrations.
"Sorry," she muttered, catching her first good look at his nasty cut. The area around it was already swelling and turning purple.
Easy,
she warned her stomach. It wouldn't do her Florence Nightingale routine any good if she passed out or upchucked now.
I hate this,
she thought frantically.
If there was anybody else here that could take charge, anybody...
"It's all right," Ethan told her, sounding calmer than he had any right to.
Kerry's eyes shifted to his for a second.
This was no time to get herself distracted just because he was good looking and trying to put on a brave front for her.
The towel was sloppy with blood already, his and hers, and she let the razor blade fall into it before she lightly crumpled it and shoved it into her jacket pocket, as though to get it out of the way. She hastily mopped up some more blood and put that sheet into her pocket, too. With the third,
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