CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As soon as Georgie opened her eyes, she was washed with sickening dread, along with surprise that she’d managed to sleep after hours lying staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the creaks of the house, ticks of the clock in the front room. Hours of tossing to get comfortable. Dozes that she’d emerged from crying out, or muttering, before she’d crashed for a stretch that had taken her through to dawn.
She gazed at the empty pillow beside her. It was slightly skewwhiff but didn’t look slept on. She peered under the doona. About half the sheet was rumpled. Franklin’s side, smooth.
Had he even come home?
She rolled onto her back, pressing her hands to her temples to ease the tension. She strained for signs that Franklin or Kat were home. Just heard the damn clock.
