|
|
|
|
|
|
|
twisted on an unknown path, Franklin stopped short. Chris's tennis shoes slid in the mire, and he bumped into the doctor's back. D.J. shifted and moaned. She lifted her head, looked at Chris, then at Franklin, and then at the shadowy structure looming in the darkness several yards ahead. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Her chest hitched, almost like a sob, and Chris held her tighter against him, afraid she'd caught a chill in the damp night air. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I hate this place." Her voice wavered in a totally un-D.J.like manner. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I know, little girl, I know." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris frowned at Franklin's answer. The two must truly be old and dear friends if D.J. allowed Dan to call her "little girl" all the time. If Chris tried it, she'd probably break his nose. The doctor continued on toward the house, leaving Chris and D.J. at the base of the incline alone. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Why do you hate this place?" Chris asked. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
D.J. turned her head to look at him. Her face was so close to his, Chris could see the bright sheen in her eyes, reminding him of unshed tears. Then her breath hitched again and Chris frowned. Something was wrong. She bit her lip, then looked back at the house. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Put me down," her voice demanded, and when he hesitated she took matters into her own hands and gave him an elbow under the ribs. His breath left him in a whoosh of pain, and Chris released her legs. She slid toward the ground, a sinuous movement of her body against his that he was unable to enjoy while he gasped for breath. |
|
|
|
|
|