Devil's Eye Read Free Page B

on the sheets that trailed off the bed.
    Still red.
    Liza.
    The sea roared in her ears, a thunderous crash of mental noise as she stared at the sheets, at the splotches of life staining them. The building shook, buffeted by the wind. Dimly she was aware of glass breaking, of actual noise. A scream. Then she knew nothing but the shelter of Mick’s body and the sound of his voice murmuring a soothing litany of Cajun French in her ear.
    The noise died down again, back to the steady drumming of the rain, louder now than a few minutes ago. She wondered why but couldn’t look because Mick was wrapped around her, a living shield against whatever had blown through the room. The body pressed so close to hers was hard, muscles tense. His voice was still curiously soft in contrast, muttering God knew what in the beautiful language of the Acadians. As she relaxed, so did he, degree by degree. She found her hands were fisted in his shirt and carefully flattened them, fingers stiff and sore. Her head ached.
    When she shifted, he stopped speaking and loosened his hold just enough that she could look up at him.
    A drop of blood trailed down his cheek like a tear. “You’re bleeding.” Numb, she reached out a hand to wipe it away, then lingered, fingers curved against the angles of his cheek, her heart beating slow and thick in her chest.
    “ It’s nothin’,” he said. “You okay, ma petite?”
    “ I . . . Yeah, I think so. What happened?”
    Mick unfolded himself, and Sophie heard glass tinkling from his clothes to the floor. He shifted them around so she could see but kept his arm around her waist, which turned out to be a good thing once she saw the damage.
    Every window in the apartment had exploded. Inward.
    Sophie’s hand curled back into his shirt, and she found herself leaning on him for support. “Oh gods.”
    “ Was that you, Sophie?” he asked softly.
    She wanted to bury her face against his chest in shame. Instead, she nodded.
    “ The storm responded to your emotions, c’est vrais? Are you part elemental or somethin’?”
    “ Or something,” she replied. The soft surfaces in the room were shredded. She would have been too if not for— She jerked away from him and circled round to inspect his back. She hissed in horror. Shards of glass accented his flesh like diamonds. “Oh, Mick . . . ” Stopping, she swallowed and tried again for a more professional tone. “I need to get the glass out before your skin heals around it.”
    She felt his eyes on her as she went into the bathroom in search of tweezers, and took a minute or two longer than strictly necessary as she struggled to find the professionalism that had deserted her when she walked into the bedroom. No matter what had happened to Liza, she had a job to do, and turning into some weak-willed, wilting female who needed to lean on a man—even a strong, naturally protective one—wasn’t going to get that done.
    By the time she came back with a first aid kit, Mick had the remains of his shirt off and was bending over something on the dresser.
    “ Did you find something?” she asked, swallowing against the sudden dry mouth.
    “ Her cell phone,” he replied, scrolling through the recent calls.
    Sophie peered around him at the screen but didn’t recognize any of the numbers. “Know any of those?”
    “ It’s a mix. Some local, some out of state. A bunch from me and the other girls at work in the last few hours.”
    Moving around to get started on his back, she said, "What was the last number dialed?" Plink. Plink. The shards she removed clattered into a small ceramic dish she’d emptied of potpourri in the bathroom.
    Mick scrolled to the relevant call and hit dial. The volume was high enough that even Sophie heard the voice on the other end when it answered, “Thanks for calling Donato’s Chicago Style Pizza. We’re closed until the storm is over.” Mick hung up. “It’s a local place. ’Bout half a mile away. The call was made around