The car picked up speed, and the sound seemed to lull me.I could relax, I thought as I felt the tingling of circulation in my limbs. I was in Trentโs car, wrapped in a blanket, and held in his arms. He wouldnโt let anything hurt me. He wasnโt singing, though,I mused.Shouldnโt he be singing?
Kim HarrisonHey,โ the other said, coming to life. โYouโre supposed to be in jail.โ Al grinned at him, his white-gloved grip tightening on the wooden handle, which was intricately carved in the shape of a naked, writhing woman. Nice. โAnd your momma wanted you to have a brain,โ he said, yanking the door open and slamming it into the guyโs face.
Kim HarrisonI frowned, wondering if Trent would mind being the size of a fairy for a day. He could talk to the newest tenants in his garden.
Kim HarrisonI wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.
Kim HarrisonRachel,โ came a raspy voice from the upper level, and both Trent and I turned. It was Quen, wrapped in a blanket as if it was a death shroud, the black-haired intern at his side, supporting him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and I could see him wavering as he stood there. โDonโt touch Trenton,โ he said, his gravelly voice clear in the hush, โor Iโm going to have to come down thereโฆand smack you around.
Kim Harrison