Текст книги "Pandora's Daughter "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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She tried to keep her voice level. "Are you done?"

"Yes. Is that aboveboard enough for you?"

If you could call being in the middle of a red-hot oven above-board, she thought. The rawness of his words could have offended her. Instead, they had aroused her. She was tingling, short of breath, and her body was readying. Memories of the Grady she had known that summer and this other Grady; darker, more dangerous, more experienced, seemed to blend and become one.

"Frank enough." His dark eyes were glittering in his lean face, holding her own. Her mother had compared him to a Renaissance prince and she could see it at this moment. The sensual curve of his lips, the hollowed cheeks, the expression that was as knowing as it was passionately intense. She quickly looked away from him. "It doesn't bother me that you want to go to bed with me as long as you don't try to rape me. If you did, I'd knock your socks off. Now may we talk about something else?"

"By all means." He made a face as he glanced down at his lower body. "This conversation is making me very uncomfortable. But I thought it necessary to clear the air before we moved forward. You're too sensitive not to have become aware of what I was feeling."

Clear the air? The air between them was so charged with electricity that she could scarcely breathe. "For God's sake, can we stop talking about how horny you are and get down to why I'm here? I believe that's a little more important."

He stared at her in surprise and then threw back his head and laughed. "Sorry." His eyes were twinkling. "The state of our horniness is of utmost importance to men. It tends to dominate our world." He turned onto the highway. "I'll try not to bore you with the subject from now on. There's a restaurant up ahead. Suppose we stop and get dinner? Harley was very concerned about your lack of food intake. I'm sure he'll ask me about it when he reports in."

He had changed, turned down that sexuality as if it was a lamp that had burned too bright. It was still there, but she could ignore it now. "I could eat something. I was a little edgy flying to Stockholm."

"I know." He pulled off the road and parked in front of Le Petit Chat, a long, low-timbered building with diamond-shaped, beveled glass windows. "That's why I sent you with Harley instead of forcing you to cope with me."

"I guessed that was your reasoning." She suddenly turned to him. "It was reasoning, wasn't it? Just how much is normal and how much isn't?"

"Can I read your mind? No. Am I extraordinarily sensitive to what you're feeling? Absolutely. You've instinctively learned to block me from controlling you, but that sensitivity remains." He got out of the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. "But even if the link wasn't there, I would have known that you needed an escape from me. It's just good sense."

"You're telling me the truth?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I might omit telling you something, but it would be stupid of me to lie to you." He smiled. "Because you're extraordinarily sensitive to me too. It works both ways."

"Because of the link? I don't need you any longer to block the voices. Can't you just break the link?"

"I don't know. I don't know how it works. I've never linked with anyone before. That's why I didn't want to do it that night in the cave. I didn't have any choice." He helped her out of the car. "So we may be stuck with each other."

"I won't accept that."

"Why not? You weren't even aware of me for the past twelve years."

But she was acutely aware of him now. She couldn't separate the mental and physical, past and present, but there was definitely a disturbing bond. "I don't like Peeping Toms. Even if you can't read my mind, I don't appreciate having anyone able to tell what I'm feeling. My emotions are just as private as my thoughts, dammit."

"I'll try to keep that in mind." He opened the door of the restaurant. "In the meantime, you can practice your French by reading a menu and listening to the waiter extol the catch of the day."

THE CATCH OF THE DAY WAS SALMON and it was prepared with typical Gallic excellence.

"Dessert?" Grady asked as she finished the last bite and leaned back in her chair. "I'm sure Harley would endorse it." He grinned. "Though you probably don't need it. You ate like a truck driver."

"It was good. And I was hungry." She shook her head. "But no dessert. Coffee, maybe."

He motioned for the waiter. "Cafe,'s'il vous plait."

"And I did manage to understand the waiter," Megan said as the server hurried away. "But why should I have to understand French? You're very fluent. You rattled off our dinner order as if you were Gallic-born and-bred."

"Because I don't know exactly how being a Listener works."

"What?" Her brows lifted. "There's something you don't know about all this psychic business?"

"Don't be sarcastic. Listeners are very rare. Even Michael Travis's group doesn't know much about them." He added, "And there's a hell of a lot I don't know about a hell of a lot of things."

"For instance?"

"If the voices are issuing from a French or German or Italian, will the echoes the Listener hears be in that language? Or are the echoes an emotional transmittal that are translated in the language and understanding of the Listener?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She frowned. "Am I to understand I'm supposed to not only listen to these damn voices but have to translate them?"

"We'll only know that when you try to access them." He was silent while the waiter poured their coffee and then discreetly vanished. "Regardless, you'll have to try."

"I don't have to do anything. It's my choice." She lifted her cup to her lips. "We made a deal. If this will help me get Molino, I'll try to do it."

"It will help you get Molino."

"Who am I supposed to hear?"

"Edmund Gillem."

She moistened her lips. "Is he... dead?"

"Yes, he was supposed to have killed himself six weeks ago."

"Supposed?"

"He's dead. He probably did commit suicide. But I need to know the circumstances."

"Why?"

"I'm searching for a Ledger. I believe he knew where it was."

"And you think I'll be able to find out?"

"There's a strong possibility." He paused. "Or I wouldn't make you go through this. It's going to be ugly."

"You're warning me."

"Yes. Just because I want you to do this is no sign I want you to go in blind. Be prepared, Megan." She gazed down into the coffee in her cup. "That Ledger must be very important to you."

"It's important to quite a few people. Do you want me to tell you about it?"

She thought about it. Then she shook her head emphatically. "I don't want to know anything about it. I don't want to be involved in what you're doing. I want to find out what you want me to find out and then go after Molino."

"Ah, I see. You want to stand apart until you can go in for the kill?" She flinched. "If that's the way you want to put it."

"It's the way it is." He shrugged. "And I can't blame you. You're still teetering on the bank of the quicksand and trying not to fall. It's perfectly natural to try to protect yourself as much as possible." He gestured to the waiter. "Are you ready to leave? The inn is about twenty miles from here and it seems pretty comfortable. At any rate, we'll only be there for one night. Providing Harley does his job and we get you in safely."

"Why shouldn't it be safe?"

"I just like to be certain. There's a possibility Molino might have staked the place out or hired someone to watch or report."

"I can't believe he's expecting a Listener. That's too weird."

"No, he was expecting me. But I managed to slip in and out in Rome without him knowing I was on the grounds."

"What grounds? Where are we going?"

He threw down cash on the waiter's tray and rose to his feet, "The circus."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, CIRCUS?" Megan asked as soon as she got into the car.

"Exactly what I said. Edmund Gillem died in his trailer at the Carmegue Circus. He was outside Rome at the time. The circus travels all over Europe and Chantilly is the second stop since Rome."

"And I'm supposed to go and sit in his trailer and wait and see what happens?"

"That's right."

"If he died in Rome, how do you know that the trailer is still with the circus?"

"It's owned by them. They only rent the trailers to the performers."

"Was Edmund Gillem a performer?"

Yes.

Her lips twisted. "A fortune teller?"

"No, he wouldn't take the chance of being that obvious. He was a horse trainer. He had a powerful empathy with animals and had six beautiful horses that did some pretty neat tricks. Nothing fancy. Nothing that would get him a contract in Las Vegas. But that's the way he liked it. He didn't want to attract too much attention and the job allowed him to constantly travel around the continent."

"He sounds like a gypsy."

"He enjoyed the vagabond factor but he regarded the travel as part of his job."

"Was he married?"

"Not at the time of his death. He was married several years ago to a German shopkeeper, but they were divorced after five years."

"You know a good deal about Gillem."

"I researched him extensively before I decided he was the man I was looking for and zeroed in on him. He was a good man. I think I would have liked him."

"He must have been unstable if he committed suicide."

"Maybe."

"You said that the voices were only centered and heard in places that had known extreme high stress or tragedy."

"As far as we know."

"Then you think that trailer was the site of one of those factors. Suicide is certainly a tragedy, but it doesn't have to always be high stress. Sometimes it's only sad and resigned."

"I don't believe Gillem's death was either quiet or resigned. He died violently. He cut his throat with a jagged piece of mirror."

Horror sleeted through her. "Why?"

"He left no note. You'll have to tell me."

"If I can." She shook her head. "I don't know anything about this. I don't know if I'm even capable of hearing anything but a meaningless jumble."

"You were able to distinguish conversation in that cave."

"But can I do it again?" And did she want to do it again? Of course, she didn't. She was already dreading going to that trailer. "You said yourself you didn't know what to expect from a Listener. And I have to be the most inexperienced Listener on the face of the planet."

"Are you backing out?"

Yes.

"No." She wouldn't run away at this first challenge. It wasn't only her deal with Grady, but the fact that if she didn't face the voices again, she would fear them all her life. "I won't back out." She looked out the window of the car. "But I want your promise."

"That I'll help you?"

"No, that you'll stay out of it. I want to be alone in that trailer. I don't know if you're able to make things easy for me. You said you weren't able to do it that night at the cave. If you can, I don't want that to happen."

"I couldn't do much unless you let me. You're too strong now." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Let me, Megan. Don't close me out again."

"I don't want you. I have to handle this by myself. I won't be a cripple. Promise me."

He was silent before he reluctantly nodded his head. "Okay, you have my word." He added bitterly, "Happy now?"

"No." She tried to steady her voice. "I'm scared. But it doesn't make any difference. It's the way it has to be."

"You mean it's the way you want it."

It wasn't the way she wanted it. She wanted to lean on his strength. She wanted to be cocooned and protected against sharp winds and the voices that never stopped. She repeated, "It's the way it has to be." She changed the subject. "Are we almost at the inn?"

"A few miles ahead. I booked a cottage with adjoining rooms. I want to keep an eye on you."

"Good idea. I've no objection to being kept safe. I have enough on my plate. As far as I'm concerned, that's your job."

"And I'll do it. I wish you'd—" His cell phone rang and he glanced at the ID. "Harley." He picked up the call. "What's the word?" He listened for a moment and then looked at Megan. "He's scouted out the circus and he sees no sign of Molino or his men. We can't be absolutely sure and he's still checking. He can arrange for you to have the trailer either tomorrow night—" He paused. "Or tonight. Your choice."

She tensed. She hadn't expected to have to make that decision. She had thought she'd have time to mentally prepare herself.

"No pressure," Grady said quietly. "Tomorrow night is fine."

But that would mean she would have all those hours to dread and imagine what waited for her in that trailer. And how could she mentally prepare herself anyway? She didn't have any idea what was going to happen. "Tonight."

He hesitated and she thought he was going to argue with her. Then he said curtly into the phone, "Tonight." He hung up the phone. "It's only nine now. We'll have to wait until about three A.M. before we move. We'll go on to the inn and get settled."

"Fine." Don't shake. Don't let him see how frightened she was. "I'll take a shower and try to call Dr. Gardner and introduce myself and ask about Phillip. Then I'll e-mail my friend Scott and his wife, Jana, and tell them I'm fine and not to worry. I didn't get a chance before I left Atlanta. I'm going to ask Scott to keep tabs on three of my patients. I can trust him to make sure they'll be okay."

"And that's all you'll tell them."

"Of course, that's all. They wouldn't understand any of this. It would worry them. Hell, I don't understand."

But what she did understand was that in only a few hours she was going to be on her way to Carmegue's Circus and that the fear was growing by the moment.

MEGAN FOUND DR. JASON GARDNER as warm and direct as Grady had said.

"I've read your uncle's report and I can't promise you anything but that I'll do my best to bring him back," he said gently. "I'll never lie to you, Dr. Blair. You've been told how serious his condition is and many people have a tendency to regard coma patients with very little hope."

"Of course, they do. Most patients remain in a deep coma no more than four weeks. After that they either die or they go into a vegetative state. Now what can we do to keep both those results at bay?"

"I believe your Mr. Grady has told you the procedures I use to treat my patients."

"Do they work?"

"Not as often as I'd like. I wish I could bring them all back," he said wearily. "It's a constant fight to keep the nursing home from shutting my annex down because the results don't warrant the cash outlay. I can't make them see that saving just one human being is worth all their fund-raisers. But I always have hope. And I work my butt off trying everything I can to bring them back. You can be sure that Phillip Blair will be given every chance, every effort by me and my staff."

"How can I help? Should I be there?"

"Not until the coma shows some sign of lessening." He paused. "Some of the patients respond. Some don't. And in the end, I don't know if my successes are due to what I'm doing or what God decides to do. How is that for a scientific approach?"

"It's an honest approach. May I call you tomorrow?"

"Anytime."

She felt a mixture of emotions as she hung up the phone. Gardner had not been optimistic but she hadn't expected optimism. But it was good to know that Phillip was being taken care of by a man who believed that a coma could be broken. As Grady said, Gardner had passion and that kind of drive could move mountains …or perhaps pull Phillip from his darkness.

"Was that Gardner?" Grady was standing in the doorway of their adjoining rooms. "Yes. Do you always listen at doors?"

"I was standing by to tell you to keep the call short. Any phone calls from now on should be limited to less than three minutes. Phones are wonderful technical gadgets but they can be traced."

"I'll remember." She looked at her watch. It was only a few minutes after midnight. Three hours before it would be time to leave for the circus. Great heavens, she was nervous. She wanted it over. She wanted to leave now.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" Grady asked.

She shook her head. "How about a walk?"

She frowned. "At midnight? What are you trying to do?"

"Waiting is always hard."

And, as usual, Grady could sense what she was feeling. "I'll be fine." She sat down at her computer. "I can keep myself busy."

She could feel Grady's gaze on her back and a moment later the door closed behind him. Distraction was the name of the game. It's only three hours.

CARMEGUE CIRCUS.

The banner over the fairgrounds was a bit faded, but the red script was bold and joyous. The same shade of red in the stripes on the big top tent in the center of the fairgrounds.

It was after three in the morning and the fairways were deserted and the booths closed.

"Edmund Gillem's trailer is on the far side of the grounds," Grady murmured. "It's being used by one of the roustabouts, Pierre Jacminot, but Harley bribed him to go into town for the night. He should have left the door unlocked."

"I'm relieved we're not going to be arrested for breaking and entering." She followed him down the fairway. It was tense and a little eerie walking down this aisle that was usually crowded with busy, happy people and that was now dark and without life.

And the trailer where she was headed was also without life. It was the place where a man had killed himself in that terrible way.

"I wouldn't be that inefficient," Grady said. "You have enough to face without dealing with the local gendarmes."

"Maybe." She could see the small silver trailer gleaming in the distance. Her palms were cold and sweating. "What if Edmund doesn't come to the party?"

"Then you'll be relieved and I'll have to find another path to follow." His gaze was also fastened on the trailer. "You could put it off until tomorrow."

"I've always hated procrastinators. I won't be one, Grady." They had arrived at the door of the trailer. "Let's just get me in there."

"Right away." He opened the door and stepped aside. He handed her a small flashlight. "Don't turn on the lights. You're sure you don't want me with you?"

"At the moment I'd welcome anyone, even Dracula, with me in this trailer." She stepped up into the darkness of the trailer and was immediately assaulted with the smell of lemon polish and sweat. "I'm okay." She slammed the door behind her.

Darkness.

Isolation.

She couldn't get rid of the isolation, but she could do something about the darkness. She turned on the flashlight.

She was standing in a tiny room with a comfortable-looking hideabed couch and a TV on a stand. An even tinier kitchenette led off the room. A black sweatshirt was tossed on the back of the couch.

Edmund's sweatshirt?

No, what was she thinking? It had to belong to the roustabout, Pierre... what's his name, who had taken over this trailer after Edmund's death. It just seemed that everything that concerned her was connected and focused on Edmund Gillem. She could feel him here.

Imagination.

Or not.

What did she do now? She didn't want to sit on that couch. She didn't want to touch anything that had belonged to Edmund. She sank down on the floor beside the door and played the beam of her flashlight around the room. A landscape print of a poppy field hung above the TV. The furniture was cheap and well used, but the carpet was gray and looked brand-new. She lifted the beam to the walls. They were wood-paneled and the surface also appeared old and discolored.

Except for a lighter, two-foot square beside the curtains. The square was an entirely different color than the rest of the walls. A photo or picture must have once occupied that spot.

Or a mirror.

He cut his throat with a jagged piece of mirror. New carpet.

Because the bloodstains would not come out of the old one? Lord, she felt sick. Poor man.

He was a good man. I think I would have liked him. Were you a good man, Edmund? What made you take your life?

An overwhelming sadness enveloped her. Life was precious and Edmund's mental agony must have been exceptional to lead him to want to leave it.

Well, it was time to stop wondering and see if this so-called gift she possessed was only a fluke or if she could really find out the answers to those questions.

She drew a deep breath and turned off her flashlight. It was pitch-dark but in her mind's eye she could still see the bareness of the wall where the mirror had once hung.

Edmund.

She braced herself and slowly, tentatively, opened herself to the voices. Nothing. No whisper. No roar. Nothing.

Relief poured through her. She had tried. She had done what she had promised. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't hear anything. Perhaps it was a fluke after all.

And then they came.

A scream of agony so intense that it hurt Megan to the bone.

"Tell us. Don't be a fool, Gillem. Where's the Ledger?"

"No," a broken gasp. "I'll never tell you, Molino. You'd only kill me anyway."

"Perhaps not. Try me."

"No."

"Sienna, continue to persuade him." Another long drawn-out cry of pain.

"We know you don't have it here. Where have you hidden it?"

"I never... had the Ledger."

"But you know who does. Who has it now, Gillem?"

"I don't... know."

"Start on his testicals, Sienna."

Another shriek that made Megan press back against the wall as if the pain was being inflicted on her body, not Edmund's. Make it stop, Edmund. Tell them. Don't let them hurt you anymore.

"Why protect them, Gillem? They're only freaks. They wouldn't help you. Not those Finders or Listeners or Mind Readers. Probably most of them are phonies anyway."

"Then why do you want to find them?" Edmund gasped. Molino didn't answer. "Tell me about the Pandoras."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who are they? How many?"

"I don't know—"

"I'm getting impatient. The Ledger. Sienna, do it." Edmund screamed again. But he didn't tell them.

The pain went on, the screams echoed on and on. "No," she whispered. She curled up in a ball on the floor.

"They're hurting us, Edmund. It's not worth it. Tell them." What could be so important that would keep him silent while enduring punishment like this? But it had been important enough to him. He could barely mutter his refusals now, but he wouldn't give them what they wanted.

Brave, she thought dimly, and good. Good men should not be tormented like this.

God, she wanted to close them all out. She felt as if she was joined to Edmund and the pain was unbearable.

She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it. It was if they were joined and she could feel his terrible loneliness. "It's okay, Edmund. I won't leave you alone." She reached jerkily up and locked the door before burying her head in the crook of her arm. "Play it out. You're not by yourself this time. I'll stay with you... until the end."

HE HAD TO GET IN THERE. To hell with his promise.

Grady's nails bit into his palms as his hands clenched. Pain was swirling around Megan with tornado force.

"What's happening?" Harley was coming toward him. "You look as if you're about to tear the trailer apart."

"If I can, I will. She locked the damn door."

"And you're not trusting her to come out on her own?"

"She's hurting. I'm going to go back to the car and get a crowbar."

"That would take time. Let me see what I can do." He bent to examine the lock. "Did I tell you I was once a locksmith?"

"No."

"Good, it would have been a lie. But during my misspent youth I did dabble in safecracking."

"Hurry," Grady said harshly.

Harley's smile faded. "A few more seconds."

The lock sprang open.

Grady jerked open the door and was into the trailer.

Megan was curled into a tight ball on the floor. She was unconscious.

Or dead?

No, she was opening her eyes. "I had to stay until it was done. It's... over now, isn't... it?" Yes. "I'm... glad." Her eyes closed again. "He was hurting so..."

He didn't know if she was unconscious again but he wasn't going to wait to find out. He picked her up and carried her out of the trailer. "I'm taking her back to the inn, Harley. Close up the trailer and meet us there."

Harley nodded. "I'll be ten minutes behind you."

GRADY WAS SITTING BESIDE HER bed when Megan opened her eyes again. "You …didn't tell me they tortured him," she whispered. "I wasn't sure they did."

"But you suspected it."

"I thought there was a good possibility. Molino wants the Ledger."

"Yes, he does." She moistened her lips. "He did unspeakable things to Edmund. Molino and a man named Sienna."

"Sienna is Molino's second in command."

"I think Molino enjoyed it. It went on for a long time. He kept calling him a freak and telling him that how he was going to hurt him next. He wanted him to be afraid, to anticipate." She shuddered. "He's a terrible man."

"You knew that before we went into this."

"I knew about him, but I didn't know him. Edmund and I were lost in that filth and we couldn't get away."

"Edmund and you?"

"That's what it seemed like. It was different than before. I wanted to leave him, but I couldn't do it. He was all alone when he died and I didn't want to desert him. I knew I couldn't do anything, but it didn't matter." She shook her head. "It's hard to explain."

"You shouldn't have locked the door."

"I didn't want you to interrupt us. I thought you might know we were hurting."

"It wasn't Gillem hurting, it was you, dammit."

"It was both of us." She raised her hand and rubbed her aching temple. "You were right, Edmund was a good man. He deserved better than to die like that. He should have lived a long, long life."

"What do you mean, it was both of you?"

"I found out some answers about Listeners you can pass on to your friend, Michael Travis. One, Edmund could have been speaking Zulu and I would still have understood him. It's emotional transmission. Two, they didn't even have to speak. I knew what they were feeling, thinking." She closed her eyes as the emotions of the night bombarded her again. "I particularly know what Edmund was going through. He didn't want to die."

He was silent a moment. "Dammit, I feel helpless. I want to help you. How can I do it? Does your head hurt? Would you like an aspirin? Hell, that sounds lame."

She opened her eyes. "I ache all over. I don't think an aspirin would help." She glanced at the strong morning sunlight streaming in the window. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven. You were out for almost seven hours. You scared the hell out of me."

"Good. You should get a little of your own back." She sat up in bed. "You're the one who sent me into that trailer. I was pretty scared myself." She swung her legs to the floor. "And now I'm going to shower and brush my teeth and dress. All the common routine things that make up our lives. I need to get away from Edmund and Molino and what happened in that trailer."

"May I ask one question?"

"No, you may not." She headed for the bathroom. "We'll speak again later. Order us dinner in your room. I need to think and absorb before I talk to you again."

He asked the question anyway. "Were you with him at the end?"

She stopped but didn't turn around. "You mean that moment when he knew he wasn't going to be able to hold out any longer and had to make sure they didn't get the Ledger?" Yes.

"You're damn right I was there," she said unevenly. "They thought he was unconscious and left him alone in the room. The mirror was the only weapon he had. He used it." She shut the door behind her and leaned back on it as sadness surged through her. Don't fall apart now. She had gotten through the night and the memory would be with her always but she mustn't let it weaken her. Edmund had not been weak. He had suffered and died and never let that scumbag have what he wanted.

She straightened and moved toward the shower.

"We'll get through this, Edmund," she murmured. "Molino isn't going to hurt anyone else. I promise you that he's not going to win."

GRADY'S PHONE RANG A MOMENT after the bathroom door had shut behind Megan. "Is she conscious yet?" Harley asked when he picked up. "About fifteen minutes ago."

"Is she okay?"

"No, she's walking wounded. What do you expect? She went through hell tonight."

"Easy. Don't bark at me. Remember, I have no basis for expecting anything. On the surface all I or any normal Joe can tell is that she just spent an hour or so in the dark." Sorry.

"No problem. Is she going to be all right?"

"Maybe. She's. different."

"How?"

Grady wasn't sure. He hadn't known what to expect when Megan woke. He'd only prayed she wouldn't be permanently damaged. And she might still be damaged, but he couldn't see in what manner. When she had gone into that trailer, he had sensed confusion and fear. When she woke, Megan had given off an aura of being deeper, stronger …formed.

And he had been aware of pure steel beneath that strength. "We'll have to see. I think she's working it out for herself right now. Have you located Molino's man at the circus grounds?"

"Woman," Harley corrected. "It's Marie Ledoute, a trapeze artist. She's a heavy gambler and she's recently been tossing around more money than she could have obtained from her salary. This morning she was very curious and asking questions of where Pierre, our roustabout, had been for the night."

"Did he tell her?"

"No, but he will and everything else she wants to know. She's in bed with him now."

"Keep an eye on her. She probably won't contact Molino until she leaves Pierre Jacminot. That will give us a little time."

"Right." Harley hung up.

Not much time, Grady thought. As soon as Molino knew where they were, he'd send someone on their trail. He should really bundle Megan up and whisk her away from here.

Not yet. He had a weird idea it would be like disturbing a butterfly when it was emerging from a cocoon. She hadn't been damaged last night and he wouldn't risk doing it now. She needed time and he would give it to her.