Read Survivalist - 24 - Blood Assassins for Free Online

seemed to be studying with microscopic intensity and asked, “What’s your point, Emma?”
    “That sometimes we lose things—or people—even though we tried our best not to. And, it’s not our fault. When my mom died, for a long time I wondered if maybe something I’d done or hadn’t done could have changed things. After a while, I guess I learned that nothing I could have done could have changed things. If you had a hole in your pocket, and your lighter fell out, you might never find it.”
    He smiled. “I know it sounds obsessive, but I always check my pocket seams before I put on a pair of pants. The same with jackets.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And anyway, this is different.”
    “Why? Because when the Nazis hit your hospital a hundred and twenty-five years ago, you survived and she didn’t survive as well? So, you should be feeling guilty for living? I don’t buy that, John. Want some dinner?”
    “Maybe I should go.”
    “Where?’
    “I don’t know.”
    “You’re the sensible one. Eating regular meals is good for your health. If you want to be healthy enough to go after the men you want to kill, then you’ll need your strength.”
    “Mother?” John asked, smiling. But the smile faded again.
    “Maybe that’s what you need, and maybe not. But, that’s not what I am. But I like cooking for you. Want some fresh coffee or are you planning on poisoning your digestive system?”
    John Rourke said, “Well, since you put it that way.”
    She got up to start dinner.
    *
    He ate little, having no taste for it, despite the fact that she was right and the food was good. He’d eaten nothing all day.
    She sat across from him, looking at him now and again. Finally, John Rourke said to her, “You’re a good friend.”
    Emma Shaw stirred her coffee with a spoon, didn’t look up from it as she said, “What’s on your mind?’
    “I don’t know.” He got up from the table, walked across the room and went out onto the porch.
    After a few seconds, she followed him. He was lighting one of his thin, dark tobacco cigars as she came up beside him.
    “Those things taste any good?’ Emma asked him.
    John Rourke just looked at her. “What?”
    “I asked if they taste any good, the cigars.”
    “I like them,” Rourke told her, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. What a pecular woman Emma Shaw was, Rourke thought.
    “Let me try,” she said, her hand touching his, taking the cigar from between his fingers. She inhaled; to her credit, Emma Shaw did not cough. “Strong. Sure these things aren’t carcinogenic?”
    “The ones I smoked in the Twentieth Century were, even the ones Annie made for me out of tobacco she raised herself. These are German. Won’t cause cancer.”
    “And when there’s the war, will the Germans fly them into Hawaii just for you?”
    “If I asked them to,” Rourke nodded, “they’d get me a few.”
    She inhaled again, this time exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “But you’d go without before you’d do that, smoke cigarettes. Strategic material would take preference, right?’
    “Uh-huh,” Rourke nodded.
    “But I suppose you’ve planned ahead, have a long-term supply laid up.”
    “Uh-huh,” Rourke nodded.
    Emma Shaw puffed on the cigar again. “Figured out what’s on your mind yet?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Want to hear what’s on my mind?” Emma asked him. “Sure.”
    “You feel like you could burst inside? Because of what’s happened?”
    Rourke didn’t answer her.
    “Do you feel so sad you almost want to die?”
    John Rourke took back his cigar, inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs. He looked out into the night. There was a beautiful, albeit not majestic, view. “Nice just standing out here in the fresh air,” Rourke said.
    “Sarah is dead. Natalia is Michael’s woman. You’re lonely. Everybody has somebody, except you. Do you want me?”
    John Rourke turned around and looked at her. “What?”
    “Do you want me, John? Like I want you, John? I