Eternal by V. Forrest (new reading TXT) 📗

Her hand on her pocket, cradling the cell phone that would be her last communication ever with Shannon, Fia allowed her gaze to drift to the head propped upright against two flowered pillows. Shannon’s beautiful blond hair, slightly singed, flowed over the pillows. Her blue eyes were half closed, her skin waxen. But what drew Fia’s attention was her mouth. Shannon still had cherry lip gloss on her pouty lips; Fia could smell it. The sweet scent almost made her gag.

Sweet Mary, Mother of God, Fia thought. How could the lip gloss survive this carnage? Then a shadow inside Shannon’s mouth drew her attention. “Gloves,” she hollered, sticking her hand out behind her.

When she’d arrived at the scene, she’d insisted everyone get out of Shannon’s small, purple-and-green bedroom, which appeared to be more a teenager’s room than an adult woman’s. Fia wanted to see Shannon alone. Be with her alone.

A pair of purple gloves appeared in her hand. Fia never saw which EMT handed them to her. She continued to stare at Shannon’s pursed lips. “You have a tongue depressor?”

Behind her, she heard someone digging in a metal box, moving items wrapped in crackly plastic. A wooden tongue depressor appeared in her outstretched hand.

“You got something in there?” Glen asked from the hallway. He had been interviewing one of Uncle Sean’s cops, the first person on the scene after Mrs. Hill had called it in. Mrs. Hill had gotten worried when Shannon hadn’t brought Mr. Hill his morning paper from the driveway. Mrs. Hill said the door was unlocked, as always, and when Shannon hadn’t answered her phone or a knock at the door, she had known something was wrong and had come in.

“Special Agent Kahill?” Glen asked from the doorway in his best FBI voice.

“Just a sec,” she said. She approached the bed, trying to ignore the smell of singed hair and flesh that mixed with the sweet scent of the lip gloss. She ignored Shannon’s half-lidded, empty gaze.

Something was in her mouth.

Touching the top of Shannon’s head just gently enough to prevent moving it, Fia pushed the tongue depressor into her mouth and poked at the object. It popped out and would have hit the bed had Fia not released the top of Shannon’s head and caught it.

“Fee, what is it?” Glen’s voice had gone from tough-guy special agent’s to concerned boyfriend’s.

She was barely able to choke the word out as she stared at her gloved hand. “Garlic.”

“What?” He stepped into the room.

A wave of dizziness washed over Fia. For a moment, she thought she might faint or be sick. Maybe both.

Slowly, it passed.

“Garlic,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She held up the cloves for him to see.

“Why the hell—”

Fia squatted and took a small evidence bag from the kit just inside the door, not really hearing what Glen was saying. She didn’t have to ask why there was garlic in Shannon’s mouth or what it meant.

“I don’t understand why you have to go.” Glen lay on his side in the bed with its ruffly blue linens and blue fish stenciled on the headboard. He was covered to the waist with a sheet, but as he grabbed her hand to stop her from climbing out of bed, it shifted, giving her a nice view of his dark nest of hair and dangling participles.

The man had fine participles, she’d give him that.

She made herself look away and think of something other than his rising hard-on. Something she disliked. Getting her teeth cleaned. Scraping the floor drain in her shower. “I have to go because this is the Blue Gill room and my room is the Starfish room.”

He wouldn’t let go of her hand and she sat back down on the edge of the bed. She tried to reach for her T-shirt so she wouldn’t have to have this conversation stark naked, but he refused to give her enough line to reach it.

“Please don’t tell me you don’t want your parents to know you’re sleeping with me.”

“It’s not the sleeping part I’m trying to keep from them.”

“Fee. Once again, I’m trying to be serious, and you’re not.”

She groaned and flopped back down on the bed, head on the pillow beside him, taking care not to brush her hand against that which dangled. She didn’t want to start anything she didn’t have time to finish. She needed to get out of the room so that Glen would go to sleep, so she could make the council meeting. This was not a night to be late.

“Please.” She turned her head to look at him. “I know where you’re going with this and I don’t think I can deal with this conversation tonight.”

He was quiet for minute. “Okay.”

“Okay?” That had been entirely too easy. Twice in the last week he’d attempted to talk about “their relationship” and both times she’d managed to sidestep the conversation nicely.

“Okay for tonight. I understand you’ve had a crappy day. Back in Clare Point again. Shannon this time.” He drew his hand across her cheek. “But you’re not going to keep putting me off. I know we’re moving awfully fast, but you’re trying to pretend we’re not moving at all.”

She stared at the ceiling, watching the fan turn. Painted blue, of course. “Glen—”

“This is not a conversation, which means you don’t have to speak. I just want to say that when you’re ready to have it, I am. I just want to say that even though this is early on and it’s sudden and all that, I want to make it work. I’m not an impulsive guy, you know that, Fee. But this…it just feels right.”

She turned her head. He was looking into her eyes. She was melting.

“You feel right,” he whispered.

Fia sat up, grabbing the pillow, using it as a barrier between her naked body and his. Her heart and his.

He was a human. She couldn’t do this. She knew she couldn’t do it. Not