She laughed. He loved a woman’s laugh.
The fanning motion across from him stopped for a moment, then resumed. “So have you been more satisfied with your life since moving here?”
Here it was. His opportunity to open up. Share. He cleared his throat. He had an urge to say something glib, to pass his earlier statement off as a joke. But something in her voice, a hesitation before asking, perhaps a similar resignation, he didn’t know, but he sensed a kindred spirit. He and Hannah had both turned their backs on life.
Maybe being stuck in an elevator wasn’t such bad luck at all. Maybe it was Murphy’s way of giving him a wake-up call. But what could he say? He’d been undercover for most of his adult life. It was hard to know the difference between reality and make-believe. “My parents died when I was seventeen.”
“Mmm.”
The sound, almost a hum, didn’t really mean anything, but it was oddly comforting. An invitation to continue.
There was no need to close his eyes, his usual habit when thoughts of that day threatened to return. But it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t be any darker than the elevator, and it wouldn’t block the picture of his mother and father dead on the living room floor. “They were murdered.”
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