Chapter 14
Bedroom Story
SHE SAT ON the edge of the bed and patted my forehead gently with a towel that felt cold and good. I could see a portion of the room in which Christenson had blackjacked me down— but I couldn’t see Christenson. My head ached all over.
“Damn him!” she breathed fiercely. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
I smiled a little. “He shouldn’t,” I agreed shakily. “It won’t get him anywhere.”
Her oval face was pale in the faint light of what seemed to be an alcove bedroom. I lay motionlessly and watched her blink back some tears. She saw I was watching her, moved the towel over my eyes. Her fingers touched the skin of my face. They were soft, nice.
“He knew it wouldn’t— get him anything,” she said. “He just— got sore.”
I nodded. It didn’t help the pains in my head any.
