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she must resemble the woman who had given birth to her. |
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D.J. glanced up, her memories fading at the sight of the elderly woman behind the counter. She ordered a meal, making sure she picked the least appetizing item on the menu for McCalla petty revenge, but all she had at the moment. Then she juggled the bags of food and two drinks all the way back to the hotel. |
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The door between her room and his remained closed, probably locked. She didn't hear a sound from the other side. Could he have fallen asleep so early in the evening? And if so, should she wake him? |
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D.J. shrugged; he'd have plenty of time to rest before this mess ended. There'd be little else to do but sleep and watch television in the hotel room. She knocked on the connecting door. Seconds later it gaped open. |
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He wore gray sweat pants and a white, tank-style T-shirt. He must have been exercising, because the shirt clung to his chest enticingingly and his hair curled in damp tendrils against his brow. |
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D.J. bit her lip. She liked him this waytoo much. In an attempt to ignore her fascination with his body, D.J. looked at the floor. McCall's feet were bare, which reminded her of Josie. The angel hadn't returned from her talk with Raphael. Perhaps D.J.'s hope would be answered, and Josie would be assighed to ruin some other poor soul's life. |
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She looked back up to meet his eyes. He stared |
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