Now You See Her Linda Howard(35)

That one time had been a coincidence, just one more part of the weird stuff that had been happening to her.

She had painted shoes. Two shoes, one a man's and the other a woman's. The man's shoe was the most complete, and it looked as if she had started on the foot inside it. She hadn't finished the woman's shoe, a high-heeled pump from the look of it, stopping before she got to the heel. There was no background, no sense of location, nothing but shoes. Just shoes.

She laughed softly, giddy with relief and happiness. She had let all this funny business get to her, make her imagination go wild. She had almost made herself sick, thinking that Richard was dead when she had no reason to jump to such a hysterical conclusion.

Humming, clutching her coffee cup with both hands in an effort to warm her fingers, she went back into the kitchen to rustle up some breakfast and drink more coffee. Surely she would be warm soon, and then she would get some work done.

But the chill intensified, shaking her so violently she barely managed to eat a slice of toast and it became dangerous to try to drink the hot coffee. She hurt, her muscles were so tight. She grabbed a blanket and sat down on one of the vents, making a tent with the blanket to trap the warm air around her.

Why was this happening again? Why now, why not yesterday morning? The only other time the chill had been this intense was the morning after she had done the death painting of the old vendor. No, this was worse. This was the coldest she had ever been in her life.

It had to be linked to the sleepwalking episodes. Once could be coincidence, but not twice. She couldn't imagine what she could be doing to trigger such an extreme reaction, but at the moment all she cared about was getting warm. Afterward she would worry about the why and hows.

A vicious cramp knotted her left thigh. Sweeney moaned, folding double with the agony as she massaged the muscle. She got the muscle unknotted, but moments later another cramp hit. She panted as she rubbed it out, then gingerly stretched out her legs. The constant shivering was causing, her muscles to knot. She ached in every joint now, every muscle.

Miserably she began to cry. She felt like a weak crybaby for doing so, but she hurt so much she couldn't help it. She hadn't known being cold was so painful. Why didn't the tears freeze on her cheeks? She felt as if they should, even though she knew the room was warm.

Richard had gotten her warm before. She couldn't bear the pain much longer; with everything in her, she wanted him here with her now.

Keeping the blanket around her, she crawled to the phone and lifted the cordless unit from its stand.

She was surprised at how much energy it took to move, how sluggish she was, and she felt the first twinge of fear that her condition was truly serious, rather than being just a major inconvenience.

She didn't know the number. She had never called Candra at home, and she vaguely remembered being told the private line was unlisted. Richard's business line was listed, though, and unless he had an appointment somewhere, he should be in his office now. She wrestled the heavy white pages into her lap and clumsily flipped through to the Ws. "Richard Worth, Richard Worth," she mumbled to herself.

In a city the size of New York there were a lot of duplicated names, but she could pinpoint her Richard Worth with his address. Ah, there it was. She punched in the numbers, then huddled deeper into the blanket.

A female voice answered and recited the number. "May I help you?" she pleasantly inquired.

"May I speak to Richard, please?" Maybe she should have called him Mr. Worth instead of Richard.

"Your name?"

"Sweeney."

"S-w-e-?"

"S-w-e-e-n-e-y" Her name wasn't difficult, she thought irritably. Why would anyone have any trouble spelling it? Of course, her teeth were chattering so hard she might be difficult to understand, so she gave the woman the benefit of the doubt.



"Sweeney." Richard's voice sounded in her ear only a few seconds later. "What's wrong?"

"How did you know?" she asked weakly

"That something was wrong? Why else would you be calling me?"

She tried to laugh but couldn't. "I'm cold," she said, and was appalled to hear a whimper in her voice.

"Oh, God, Richard, I'm so cold I think I might die."

"I'll be right there." His tone was quiet and calm. "You'll be okay. "

Because he had said it, she clung to the idea while she waited for him. She would be okay. He would arrive soon and get her warm with that miraculous body heat of his. "I'll be okay," she whispered, though her legs began cramping again and she couldn't even crawl back to the vent. Tears wet her face again, and she dried them with the blanket. She didn't want to be crying like a sissy when he got here.

She would have to unlock the door. She tried to get up and fell back with a cry when her thigh seized in a cramp. She knew she should wait until he arrived, that it was dangerous to leave an entry door unlocked, but damn it, what if by then she wasn't able to move at all? She massaged the knotted muscle, digging her fingers deep in a savage effort to buy herself a few relatively comfortable minutes.

One minute would be enough, just long enough for her to get to the door and unlock it.

If she couldn't walk, she could crawl. If she couldn't crawl, she would drag herself on her elbows. She would get to the door.

She drew her right leg beneath her, pushing herself up, and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn't cramp. Her entire body was trembling violently, both from the cold and in reaction to the incessant shivering. She was unbelievably weak. How could shivering be so debilitating? Wasn't it the body's means of producing heat?