The Mistress

“That one death was not enough.”

12 THE PAWN

Laila watched as her uncle and Kingsley spoke to each other in hushed French. She ached to know what the note said that she’d delivered. As the carrier, she felt she deserved to be told what it said. The anguish on her uncle’s face, his naked fear, however, kept her from demanding more answers. He’d tell her in time if she needed to know. No matter how scared she was, she trusted him.

“Hey,” came Wes’s soft voice at her shoulder. “Let’s go get your face cleaned up. Okay?”

She let him take her by the hand as she stood up on shaking legs. He led her to a bathroom at the end of the hall. While Wes dug through drawers she sat on the countertop by the sink.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?” she asked, keeping her back to the mirror behind her. She didn’t even want to see how bad she looked.

“There is, like, an entire hospital full of first-aid supplies in this bathroom. I’m not even going to think about why.”

Laila smiled. “I can probably guess.”

Wes washed his hands in the sink for a solid two minutes. He scrubbed his nails, used tons of soap and scalding water and dried them on a new clean towel.

“You wash your hands like a surgeon,” she said.

He smiled ear to ear, a smile so bright it was like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. But the cloud came back in an instant and both sun and smile were gone again.

“I work in a hospital. Part-time orderly stuff. I want to be a doctor someday, though.” Wes tossed the towel aside.

“I work in an animal clinic. I’d be too scared to work with people. They talk back.”

“That’s my problem with working with animals. They can’t tell me where it hurts.” He stood directly in front of her so that her knees almost touched his hips. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

“I think I’m okay. I’m sore all over.”