Safe Harbour. Marie Ferrarella

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      CHAPTER FOUR

      SMILING TO HERSELF, she flipped the lock on her bedroom door as a precautionary measure. Not because she didn’t want Silvio to walk in—he was the only one she actually didn’t mind coming in at this point. However, if anyone else walked in and saw the stranger in bed while she was in the shower, she would have to do a great deal of explaining really quickly.

      “Silvio doesn’t trust you,” she said to the stranger lying on top of her comforter—she was probably going to have to get a new one, she realized. Blood didn’t always wash out. “Are you trustworthy?” she asked as she stood studying his face. It was a handsome face, but did it belong to a man who was ultimately trustworthy? A man who told the truth at all times, not just when it was convenient? “Am I being a fool to think I’m safe with you? How did you get on our beach?” she wondered out loud. “And who shot you and why? Or was this just an unfortunate accident?

      “Boy, I can’t wait until you regain consciousness. I’ve got so many questions for you. Questions you’re going to have to answer truthfully or I’m going to be so disappointed in you,” she said. “I’m climbing out on this limb and it’s not very comfortable out here to say the least.”

      She straightened.

      “I’d better get into that shower or I’m never going to leave this room.” With that, she grabbed the clothes she intended to wear that day—a pair of denim shorts and a blue tank top—and hurried into the bathroom. She remembered to lock that door before she stepped into the shower.

      * * *

      THE WOMAN’S VOICE came to him from a great, long distance. It sounded melodic. It also sounded fast. So fast he could only vaguely make out what she was saying.

      Something about trust and not lying, he thought. Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was about something else.

      It didn’t matter.

      He was probably dreaming. He’d been winking in and out for a while now.

      Splintered memories began coming to him in fragmented bits and pieces. The last thing he remembered was pain exploding in his chest and someone throwing him overboard—or had he jumped?—while someone else was cursing that he should have been tied up first, just in case.

      He remembered trying to swim, trying to find where the shore was. Remembered telling himself not to panic, that if he panicked, then he was lost.

      Dead.

      Was he dead?

      He’d never believed all that much, not like his mother, but now he would have liked to believe that there was something after life was finally over. Some kind of continuation.

      Man but he was tired.

      So tired.

      He needed to rest, needed to get away from this burning in his shoulder.

      Rest.

      Was that it? Was this eternal rest, forever and peaceful?

      He was too tired to think. He’d think about that later, when he wasn’t too tired anymore....

      Provided there was a later....

      * * *

      STEVI HURRIED OUT of the bathroom freshly dressed, her hair still wet. Her footprints marking her passage from the bathroom into her bedroom were slightly damp as well, leaving an impression first on the floor and then on the rug.

      She took no notice. Her attention was on the man in bed.

      “Still not with us, huh?” she observed. Was there someone searching for him this very moment, or was he a loner, the answer to her prayer for some excitement?

      Right, special delivery.

      Taking a hairbrush from her bureau, she brushed her hair back, out of the way. When it dried, it would be curlier than usual, but she really didn’t care about that right now. She had a job to do.

      “Well, maybe you need all that extra sleep to get over what you’ve been through. We’ll talk about that later, too. Right now, I’m going to get some breakfast. Don’t worry,” she quickly interjected as if he had actually rendered an opinion. “I’ll bring some СКАЧАТЬ