and every light in the room burning.
Chapter 3
AFTER THE GUT-SHOT of panic, it was hard to face the kitchen, the people, the pretense of being normal. But not only was she essentially broke, she'd given her word. Six o'clock sharp.
Her only other choice was to go back, retreat, and all the months she'd been inching forward would be wiped away. One phone call, she knew, and she'd he rescued.
And she'd be done.
She took it a step at a time. Getting dressed was a victory, leaving the room another. Stepping outside and aiming her feet toward the diner was a small personal triumph. The air was cold—winter still had a few bites left—so her breath puffed out visibly in the shimmer of predawn. The mountains were dark and sturdy silhouettes against the sky now that the night's fat moon had sunk below the peaks. And she could see a long, low blanket of fog spread out at their feet. Fingers of mist rose from the lake and whisked around the leafless trees, thin as fairy wings.
In the chilly dark, it all looked so fanciful, so still, so perfectly bal-anced. Her heart jumped once as something slid out of those mists. Then settled again as she saw it was just an animal.
Moose, elk, deer, she couldn't be sure at this distance. But whatever it was seemed to glide, and the mists tattered around it as it moved closer to the lake.
As it bent its head to drink. Recce heard the first chorus of birdsong. Part of her wanted to just sit down, right on the sidewalk, and be quietly alone to watch the sun rise.
Soothed, she began to walk again. She'd have to face the kitchen, the people, the questions that always circled around the new tace in any job. She couldn't afford to be late, to be nervous, and God knew she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than absolutely necessary.
Stay calm, she ordered herself. Stay focused. To help her do just that she recited snatches of poetry in her head, concentrating on the rhythm of the words until she realized she was murmuring them out loud, and cringed. No one around to hear, she reminded herself, and the distraction got her to the door of Angel Food.
The lights burned bright inside, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She could see movement inside—Joanie, already in the kitchen. Did the woman ever sleep?
She had to knock on the door, Reece told herself. Knock, put a smile on her face, wave. Once she took this next step, once she pushed herself inside, she'd drown this anxiety in the work.
But her arm felt like lead and refused to move. Her fingers were too stiff, too cold to curl themselves into a fist. She stood where she was, feeling stupid, useless, helpless.
"Problem with the door?"
She jolted, swung around. And there was Linda-gail slamming the driver's door of a sturdy little compact.
"No. No. I was just—"
"Zoning? You don't look as if you got much sleep last night."
"I guess I was. I guess I didn't."
The already cold air chilled with every step Linda-gail took toward her. The bright blue eyes, so friendly the day before, were aloof, dismissive. "Am I late?"
"Surprised you showed up at all with the night you must've put in."
Reece thought of huddling in bed. gripping the flashlight, listening. Listening. "How do you—"
"Lo's got a reputation for endurance."
"Lo? I don't— Oh!" Surprise laced with amusement jumped right over the nerves. "No, we didn't— I didn't. God. Linda-gail, I met him for like ten minutes. I have to know a guy at least an hour before I test his endurance."
Linda-gail lowered the hand she'd lifted to the door, narrowed her eyes at Recce. "You didn't go to bed with Lo?"
"No." This, at least, she could handle. "Did I break some secret town tradition? Am I going to be fired? Arrested? If being a skank is part of the job requirement, it should've been made clear up front and I should be making more than eight an hour."
"That clause is voluntary. Sorry." Through a flush, the dimples winked. "Really sorry. I shouldn't have assumed
Chapter 3
AFTER THE GUT-SHOT of panic, it was hard to face the kitchen, the people, the pretense of being normal. But not only was she essentially broke, she'd given her word. Six o'clock sharp.
Her only other choice was to go back, retreat, and all the months she'd been inching forward would be wiped away. One phone call, she knew, and she'd he rescued.
And she'd be done.
She took it a step at a time. Getting dressed was a victory, leaving the room another. Stepping outside and aiming her feet toward the diner was a small personal triumph. The air was cold—winter still had a few bites left—so her breath puffed out visibly in the shimmer of predawn. The mountains were dark and sturdy silhouettes against the sky now that the night's fat moon had sunk below the peaks. And she could see a long, low blanket of fog spread out at their feet. Fingers of mist rose from the lake and whisked around the leafless trees, thin as fairy wings.
In the chilly dark, it all looked so fanciful, so still, so perfectly bal-anced. Her heart jumped once as something slid out of those mists. Then settled again as she saw it was just an animal.
Moose, elk, deer, she couldn't be sure at this distance. But whatever it was seemed to glide, and the mists tattered around it as it moved closer to the lake.
As it bent its head to drink. Recce heard the first chorus of birdsong. Part of her wanted to just sit down, right on the sidewalk, and be quietly alone to watch the sun rise.
Soothed, she began to walk again. She'd have to face the kitchen, the people, the questions that always circled around the new tace in any job. She couldn't afford to be late, to be nervous, and God knew she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself than absolutely necessary.
Stay calm, she ordered herself. Stay focused. To help her do just that she recited snatches of poetry in her head, concentrating on the rhythm of the words until she realized she was murmuring them out loud, and cringed. No one around to hear, she reminded herself, and the distraction got her to the door of Angel Food.
The lights burned bright inside, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. She could see movement inside—Joanie, already in the kitchen. Did the woman ever sleep?
She had to knock on the door, Reece told herself. Knock, put a smile on her face, wave. Once she took this next step, once she pushed herself inside, she'd drown this anxiety in the work.
But her arm felt like lead and refused to move. Her fingers were too stiff, too cold to curl themselves into a fist. She stood where she was, feeling stupid, useless, helpless.
"Problem with the door?"
She jolted, swung around. And there was Linda-gail slamming the driver's door of a sturdy little compact.
"No. No. I was just—"
"Zoning? You don't look as if you got much sleep last night."
"I guess I was. I guess I didn't."
The already cold air chilled with every step Linda-gail took toward her. The bright blue eyes, so friendly the day before, were aloof, dismissive. "Am I late?"
"Surprised you showed up at all with the night you must've put in."
Reece thought of huddling in bed. gripping the flashlight, listening. Listening. "How do you—"
"Lo's got a reputation for endurance."
"Lo? I don't— Oh!" Surprise laced with amusement jumped right over the nerves. "No, we didn't— I didn't. God. Linda-gail, I met him for like ten minutes. I have to know a guy at least an hour before I test his endurance."
Linda-gail lowered the hand she'd lifted to the door, narrowed her eyes at Recce. "You didn't go to bed with Lo?"
"No." This, at least, she could handle. "Did I break some secret town tradition? Am I going to be fired? Arrested? If being a skank is part of the job requirement, it should've been made clear up front and I should be making more than eight an hour."
"That clause is voluntary. Sorry." Through a flush, the dimples winked. "Really sorry. I shouldn't have assumed
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