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there the day of the empty elevator shaft. He had burst in last evening, and the fire had occurred soon after. Both times Abby had sensed something wrong. She should be able to predict the next threat emanating from the angry man, particularly after she had made a point of questioning him. |
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But she could not predict a thing. |
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Again she recalled little Jimmy Danziger, dead on the trail west so many years ago because she could not foretell his reaction to the bee sting. Had she come forward all these years to protect Mike, only to find she could not save him either? |
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The familiar deep voice from the doorway startled her, and she sat up, clutching the sheet to her. "Come in, Mike." |
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He turned on the light, entered the room, and sat on the bed beside her. She smelled the clean scent of soap; he, too, had showered. His damp hair, the color of rich coffee, was mussed over his forehead and hung to his shoulders. A short, silky blue robe was tied about his waist, and his lean and muscular legs were bare. |
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"You can't sleep either," he said. It was a statement, not a question. |
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"No." She hesitated. "Mike, why?" |
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"Why am I here?" His voice sounded confused. His eyes were shadowed as they bored into hers. "Because you called me. Just as you called me with your crying last night and from the fire tonight. As you claim to have called to me from . . . how many years ago?" He paused. "This can't be |
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