Craving Read Online Free Page B

took it from my shaking fingers and read the time stamp on the luggage tag.
    “She flew in today. She was on a plane when . . .”
    His voice sounded odd, like he was in a car and being carried away from me at an incredible rate of speed.
    I woke up on the ground, a wet paper towel on my head, someone shining a light in my eyes. I sat up, finally understanding how important it was to breathe on a regular basis.
    “Where is she?” I gasped.
    “You can’t see her, dear,” Cynthia said. “She’s too badly hurt.”
    “Right now,” I raged. “I want to see her right now !”
    They pulled me upright and Unger took only enough time to give his coworkers a vengeful look, as if they had somehow caused it.
    “I’ll take her,” he said and helped me to my feet.
    It was the same as it had been the day before, the same journey to the bowels of the building, the same grey hallway, the same dusty blinds. A heated conversation was going on inside the room. I spent the time staring into space, wondering if I had lost my mind.
    When he came back, he seemed a bit frazzled. The shades were jostled.
    “Are you sure this is what you want? She’s . . . she hasn’t been cleaned or . . .”
    “Now!” I hissed.
    He gave a final sigh of concern and tapped the glass.
    The blinds went up.
    There she was, for certain, inside a dark rubber bag, still wearing a pin-stripe suit and pink blouse. Her head was at an odd angle and was slightly misshapen. Blood had congealed at the back of it. She was pale, a mottled, darkish tide-line surrounding her ears and the back of her neck. One of her earrings was gone, and even though it was covered, her right leg was obviously broken.
    My God, I thought, I was only a few minutes too late. I could have saved her!
    I think he saw it in my face. The blinds dropped.
    “I’m sorry for your loss.”
    I turned to look at him, my touchstone to reality. It was obvious he was a good man.
    “You already said that,” I breathed.
    He managed a hard swallow. “Did I?”
    “I just talked to her,” I murmured vaguely, glancing around. “She had an argument in an alley. Make sure you look closely at her arm. I don’t know where they came from. May I have her keys?”
    I don’t think he knew what to make of me, really. I was speaking in riddles, but in his eyes, I was either the worst criminal in the history of assassinations, or I was a psychic. He apparently had enough faith in his ability to decode it.
    He pulled out one of his cell phones and spoke briefly with someone about the search of Eva’s apartment. Evidently, his coworkers had been and gone, finding nothing to lead them to believe her death was anything beyond self-perpetrated. He hung up and, in a few moments, retrieved the keys from the evidence clerk. As I walked away, he scribbled notes, following close behind me. He didn’t leave my side until I got to the rental car.
    “Ms. Pierce?”
    I froze with the key in the lock.
    “Did you really . . . see me?”
    “I wouldn’t make something like that up.”
    “I can see that. I don’t know what’s going on. I . . . I’ve seen some strange things . . . nothing like this . . . I promise you, I’ll do my absolute best.”
    I could hear the sincerity in his voice, peeking through the disbelief. “Thank you.”
    “Do you have a cell number?”
    “No.”
    “Then, I assume you can be reached at her home?”
    I nodded, prepared to leave, but as I stared at my reflection in the window, I knew there was more to be said. “She didn’t commit suicide.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “I . . .” But how could I say it? I knew because some wacked-out shit was happening to me: her dearest sister, her caretaker, the one who’d practically raised her. I was having some kind of weird psychic break and that was how I knew? “It just doesn’t make any sense,” I finished.
    He touched my arm, and this time, he really meant to be comforting. Funny, how one unordinary thing could snap a person out of