Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) Read Free Page A

action, but the way he does it.
    “I’m going to take you out for a night on the
town. Help you forget about all this.” He waves his hand as if to wipe away the
death of a friend—the horror of an attack. His face moves into a soft-eyed, puppy-dog
expression and he lightly touches my temple. “After this heals you’ll look good
and, you know, feel fab-u-lous.”
    The enunciation of that word is Brody’s virus, and
you can always tell who he’s infected. Nevertheless, I can’t wait to feel
fabulous—but I don’t plan to see Brody ever again.
    “Come see me at my downtown bar when you’re
ready.”
    I nod so he won’t pressure me. I don’t even want
to think about working again right now. He hands me a business card with the
words, “Dames of Desire,” following the curve of a bare shoulder. “Brody Penn,
Gentlemen’s Club Owner.”
    Brody lifts my chart. “So-oh, Baby has a name.”
    He squeezes my foot on top of the sheet. “Don’t
worry, Sparrow. Your secret is safe with me.”
     
     
     
    The detective is so huge there’s no curve of neck
between his jaw and collarbone. His shoulders seem to span more than my arms
would reach, and I would have to stand on a chair to get them that high. He
makes me think of a rhinoceros, but not in a humorous way. I would avoid him in
any setting. He doesn’t smile or even speak after mumbling that he is
“detective-so-and-so.” He seems to be judging me, searching the marks and
notating the left or right side for each wound. He sets an audio recorder on
the bed beside my thigh and presses his chin to his chest.
    “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”
    As though I have a choice.
    “I was in the dressing room with Brita when we
heard a noise.” My voice sounds strange to my ears, as though I’m already listening
to the recording, and it’s at half-speed.
    “What kind of noise?
    “First a crash, then a scream.”
    His eyes remain vague—like we’ve never met, and I’m
the street urchin he passes everyday on his way to work.
    “So we opened the door to look outside.” I stop
clenching the sheets and force my hands still.
    “Outside the building?” He looks skeptical.
    “Outside the dressing room.”
    “You both opened the door?”
    “I opened the door, but she was close beside me.”
All of a sudden, I see the killer’s leer, feel the rush of adrenaline again. My
thoughts come choppy.
    “Yes?” The detective’s brows are like a child’s
drawing of a distant bird.
    I’m not sure what he’s asking. “Um, she didn’t
want to open the door.”
    “Why did she?”
    “I opened it. We wanted to know what the noise
was, we were afraid for Lexi.”
    “Another dancer?”
    He just choked her. To die that way…
    “Is Lexi the other dancer?”
    I realize I’m still looking at the killer’s huge
hands on Brita’s neck and his black, curly hair tied back in a pirate-ponytail.
    “Is Lexi the other dancer?” The detective acts
like he’s repeating the question.
     “Yes, the other dancer.”
    “So you heard a scream, then a crash.”
    “Yes.”
    “Not a crash and then a scream?”
    What is he talking about? “I don’t know. They were
both at the same time.”
    “And then Brita opened the door.”
    “Um hum.” It squeaks out of me.
    “I thought you said you opened the door.”
    “Yes, I did. She was with me. A man came into the
room.”
    He has hardly made any eye contact. But now, his
brows come together almost as one, divided by exclamation mark wrinkles. Am I
in trouble?
    “You were with her?”
    “I…I…got hit.”
    “Can you tell me what he looked like?”
    “No, I didn’t really focus on his face.”  And I
never want to think about it again. 
    “Would you be able to describe it to a sketch
artist?”
    “No.” I am done talking to him. My eyelids feel
wind-burned as they move across my eyes. I squeeze them shut. Brita…
     
     
     
    Thom is sober when he comes to collect me. His red
windbreaker highlights the veins