Long Road Home(50)

Quiet despair was reflected in the soulful pools of her eyes. “I don’t know. I feel so…so disconnected.”

He cupped her shoulders in his hands. “Why don’t you go take a long hot bath? I’ll make breakfast and bring it up. You can eat in bed. It might be a good idea for you to take it easy today.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet. He slipped an arm around her waist to anchor her then walked her into the bathroom.

She managed a half smile. “I’ll be fine now.”

“You sure?”

She nodded and began to shrug out of her T-shirt. His T-shirt. He leaned forward and kissed her on the top of her head. “I won’t be long.”

He watched long enough for her to step into the water and settle down, then he headed downstairs.

Jules slid further down into the water and closed her eyes. Whatever had happened yesterday had done a real number on her. She’d never felt so completely empty in her life. Was this what death was like? Complete and utter disembodiment?

Her hand made swirls in the water as she dragged her fingers along the surface. She wasn’t complaining. A break from the overwhelming pain and guilt was welcome. She felt about a hundred pounds lighter. And the truth was, she had little to no chance of pulling off her job in the condition she’d been in.

Emotional wrecks didn’t make for good assassins.

Her head lolled to the side, the strain of holding it up too much. She studied her toes, the only portion of her lower body above the surface of the water. She wriggled them then continued to stare stoically at them.

Manny’s return surprised her. Had she been lying in the tub that long? Concern was engraved on his face as he studied her. Did he expect her to run screaming from the bathroom? Pull her hair out or start frothing at the mouth?

The thought amused her, and she heard herself laugh. Manny only looked more concerned.

Snap out of it, Jules. If you keep this up, he’s going to put you on a one-way bus to the funny farm. Then how will you protect him?

“Breakfast ready?” She was proud of the normal tone of her voice. At his nod, she shoved herself up, water running in rivulets down her body.

He took her hand and helped her out, promptly wrapping a towel around her. As if she were a piece of precious porcelain, he dried her and guided her out of the bathroom.

She sat on the bed while he rummaged for her clothing, then she pondered the absurdity of a grown woman having her lover dress her. But doing it herself promised to take more effort than she was willing to expend.

He helped her into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt then set about drying her hair with the towel. When he was finished, he urged her into bed and retrieved the tray he’d set on the dresser.

A plate piled high with biscuits, eggs and bacon wavered in front of her, but the idea of food didn’t remotely appeal. Still, she forced a few bites down in an effort to ease the worry she saw on Manny’s face.

When she’d had all she could stand, she shoved the plate away and sank back into the pillows behind her. She closed her eyes wearily, wondering how she could possibly be tired when she’d just woken from an eighteen-hour sleep-fest.

Manny tucked the covers around her then lay beside her, pulling her tightly into his arms. She rested her cheek on his chest and closed her eyes. No pain. No horrible oppressive guilt. She’d forgotten what it was like to just sleep.

The beating of Manny’s heart and the up-and-down motion of his hand on her back lulled her into a comfortable void. She let it suck her in, gave herself over to the blackness. Damn, it felt good.

She opened her eyes, a peculiar sense of purpose tightening every one of her senses. Manny was gone, and a quick check of the bedside digital clock told her it was time to prepare.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was alert, her senses heightened. She probed inwardly, wondering what she would find. The assassin. One who had a job to complete in a little over twelve hours.

She strained her ears for any sound of Manny. The vague clinking of dishes told her he was in the kitchen. She stood up and retrieved her bag. Inside the lining of the bag, she withdrew a small vial. A potent drug designed to render the victim senseless for at least eight hours. She’d give it to Manny before bed.

She strode into the bathroom and smoothed her hair behind her ears. Examining herself in the mirror, she was relieved to see a cool, poised woman, not a scared, witless waif.

She bent and splashed cold water on her face then patted her cheeks dry with a hand towel. She tucked the vial in her underwear and smoothed the sweats. A quick look in the mirror reassured her that nothing was visible. Now to go find Manny and put to rest any fears he’d need to commit her.

As she thumped down the stairs, she marveled at how composed she felt. Not being a victim to her raging emotions was exceptionally freeing. She had no idea why she’d snapped, but she was grateful she had. Maybe she was going insane. Maybe she was already there. It didn’t matter. As long as she could complete her task.

Manny turned around when he she entered the kitchen. “Jules!” He put down the plate he held and enfolded her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she replied. No lie there. She felt positively wonderful. Who said being a cold, calculating bitch didn’t have its plusses? It sure beat the hell out of the alternative.

He pulled away, and relief shone starkly in his eyes. “Glad to hear it. Are you hungry? You didn’t eat much this morning.”