bathroom door open behind him.
“Is there any news?”
At the apprehensive question, he glanced toward Liz. She’d combed her hair and applied lipstick. But the color she’d added to her lips only served to emphasize the pallor of her skin.
“No. I brought some food. And drink.”
She eyed the eclectic assortment. Small plastic containers of vanilla pudding and lime Jell-O, plus a turkey sandwich. The beverages included a small carton of low-fat milk, a container of orange juice, and two different kinds of soda.
Liz shook her head. “I’m not hungry. But thank you.”
“I admit the selection isn’t great. But you might want to eat a little until we can round up more substantive fare.”
She skirted the bed and took a seat on the far side. Away from the food. “I don’t think I can manage anything right now.”
“Coffee’s on the way, if you’d rather have that.”
“No. I had too much caffeine last night.” She surveyed the drinks. “Maybe I’ll try the milk.”
When she started to rise, he waved her back. “Let me see if there are any cups in the bathroom.”
He found one, ripped off the covering, and carried it and the milk container around the bed to where she sat. Setting the plastic cup on the windowsill, he opened the carton and poured the milk for her.
As she murmured a thank-you and reached for the cup, he frowned. Her fingers were red. Almost as red as her crimson nail polish. As if they’d been burnt. Or rubbed raw.
After a quick shift into analytical mode, it took him all of two seconds to evaluate the evidence and arrive at a conclusion.
She’d spent the past few minutes scrubbing off her sister’s blood.
No wonder the sight of food—and the thought of eating—turned her stomach.
He retraced his route back to the other side of the bed, picked up the tray, and headed for the door. “I’ll get this out of the way.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
At her question, he angled toward her. “Yes. But I can eat in the hall.”
“You don’t have to leave on my account. I can tolerate watching someone else eat, even if my stomach won’t let me do the same.” Her gaze locked with his. “However, if you’d rather not spend any more time than necessary in my presence, don’t feel compelled to stay.”
Taken aback by her blunt remark, he froze. A flush seeped onto her cheeks as he stared at her—suggesting the comment had surprised her as much as it had him.
Before he could think of a response, she spoke again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be snippy. Just . . . forget I said that. Chalk it up to stress. Go ahead and eat out there with your colleague. I’m sure he’s far better company.”
She took a sip of her milk. Lowered the cup.
Jake suddenly found himself fighting an impulse to wipe away the white mustache that clung to her upper lip.
Which was nuts.
He should be hightailing it out of the room instead of thinking about getting up close and personal. She’d given him an out. He ought to take it. Because her assessment was correct. He didn’t want to spend any more time in her company than necessary.
Or he hadn’t, anyway, when he’d first been handed this assignment.
Yet somehow, in the past few hours, his attitude had undergone a subtle shift. The Liz sitting across the room from him, facing a crisis alone, digging deep for strength as she kept vigil over her sister, didn’t jibe with the mental image he’d created of a selfish woman who ranked matters of the heart low on her priority list.
Then again, for all he knew, she might have called her office while he was away. Taken the opportunity to catch up with voice mail or email. He was certain a BlackBerry lurked somewhere in the recesses of her purse.
But somehow he didn’t think she’d done that.
And for whatever reason, the thought of leaving her alone in this sterile room didn’t sit well.
Besieged by conflicting impulses, Jake went with his gut. “I’ll eat in here.”
Did the tense line of