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lack of emotion following the shooting of the Lakeview teenager. Perhaps her cool facade merely covered up the deeper pain she hid inside. Ever since they'd left Lakeview she'd been on edge. After her reaction to the black van and the maid's arrival, not to mention her odd habit of talking to herself as if she expected an answer, Chris had to wonder if D.J. perched on the verge of a breakdown. |
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And if she did, what then? He could hardly take her back to Lakeview and check her into the seventh-floor psychiatric wing at Lakeview General. She'd be an easy target there for whomever stalked them. The nurses weren't trained to protect herhe was. He wasn't even sure if the police could be trusted. This entire mess had started the day he'd walked into the Lakeview Police Department. |
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He had no way of knowing for sure if he had guessed wrong and D.J. wasn't a target. But unless he could be certain of her safety, he would never leave her to face an unknown enemy alone. |
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Chris shoved the pillows on the bed into a back rest, grabbed the television remote control, and began to flip through cable channels. Instead of watching the changing screen, he stared at the locked door separating him from D.J. He hated that door. He wished it stood open so he could see her, or at least hear her. |
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Almost as though his thoughts had turned into actions, the lock turned and the door swung open. Chris dropped the remote and sat up, waiting for D.J. to come into the room. |
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He frowned. The door hung halfway open. Silence ensued. No one came through the opening |
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