Finding The Edge. Debra Webb
her neighbor’s flight had been changed at the last minute. If Mrs. Cackowski would break down and get a cell phone, Eva could call and check with her. She should probably call the property manager and tell him about the red paint—or whatever it was—all over her window. The two windows in her apartment didn’t open so it wasn’t like she could clean it up herself. Since she faced the street her neighbors wouldn’t be happy about the unsightly mess.
A knock on the door had her jumping away from it. “You okay in there?”
Eva put her hand to her throat. “Fine. I just need a moment.”
She went to the sink and turned on the water. How was she supposed to deal with all this? Her actions had caused a man’s death. Shouldn’t she feel something besides empty and cold about it by now? Last night a patient had required a psychological consult. After the doctor had assessed the patient, Eva had spoken to the psychiatrist briefly about what happened to her. He’d warned that she was in the shock and denial phase right now. In time the reality would hit and she might fall apart.
Start counseling now, he’d warned.
Like every other nurse and doctor she knew, the last person she wanted to spend time fixing was herself. It was far easier to take care of everyone else’s problems. Funny how she’d worked so hard and long to keep her life simple. Work, eat, sleep and repeat. Once in a great while she bothered with dating.
How had her simple existence turned so suddenly complicated?
Maybe the shrink had been right about the shock and denial. She had pretty much been attempting to pretend Friday night never happened. She might have been successful if not for the continued threats.
After splashing some water on her face, she reached for the hand towel and dabbed her skin dry. At this point she didn’t know if she had enough time left to reach the reality phase.
She could be dead before then.
Wednesday, May 9, 8:15 a.m.
Eva scarcely slept at all. Between worrying about what the gang leader Miguel Robles might do next and the idea that Todd Christian was on her sofa, how could she hope to sleep? At some point after two this morning, she’d finally drifted to sleep only to dream about being chased by killers. She’d jerked awake in a cold sweat to the sound of the shower.
For the next several minutes she’d battled with her errant mind and its inability to control the wellspring of images involving Todd Christian naked in her shower. When he’d finished and she was certain he’d moved to the kitchen, she reluctantly headed to the bathroom. With the water as hot as she could bear it, she still couldn’t wash away the scent of him...it clung to the tile walls, to the bar of homemade soap a friend had given her, insisting that no bodywash on the planet could compete. Despite rinsing the soap thoroughly, simply smoothing the bar over her skin aroused her. Shivers tumbled over her skin with every slow stroke. Her nipples hardened with the sweet ache of need and she once again found herself fighting to keep memories of their lovemaking at bay. How could those memories still be so vivid? So intoxicating?
Todd Christian was like an addictive drug. And like the wrong kind of drug, he was bad for her.
By the time she turned off the water she felt ready to explode with tension. Taking her time, she dried her skin and then her hair. By the time she finished, she had gone from the edge of orgasm to teeth-grinding frustration.
This arrangement was not going to work. No way, no how.
Shoulders squared, purple Wednesday scrubs and her most comfortable nursing clogs on, she walked into the kitchen to tell the bane of her existence he had to sleep somewhere else. She could not have him in her apartment like this. There had to be some other arrangement. Might as well get it over with now and salvage what little sanity she had left. The sooner, the better.
“Good morning.” He smiled and saluted her with his coffee mug. “I scrambled a few eggs and popped in some toast while you were showering. Hope you don’t mind.”
If the scent of the freshly made toast and the coffee hadn’t distracted her, she might have been able to hang on to her determination. Instead, her need for fuel took over and she decided she would tell him this wasn’t going to work as soon as she ate. Why let the food get cold? The least she could do was be civil. If she let her frustration show she would only look immature. She would die before she allowed him to see how easily he could still get to her.
“Morning.” She poured a cup of coffee and reached for a slice of toast.
The sheets they’d tacked up over the living room window last night blocked the morning light she usually enjoyed. The lack of natural light was a stark reminder that her life was a mess. She had killed a man.
She sagged against the counter. Didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant to kill him; he was dead just the same. Nineteen years old. A damn kid.
“Don’t go there, Eva.”
She blinked, his voice pulling her from the troubling thoughts. “I... I was just thinking about work.”
He shook his head. “You were thinking about what happened in that bathroom on Friday night. The pain was written all over your face.”
How the hell could he still read her so well all these years later? It wasn’t fair. Just another reason he had to go. Today. She absolutely could not allow him back into her life. She’d thought she could handle this situation, but she couldn’t. It was impossible. Unrealistic.
“You don’t know me anymore, Todd.” She set her cup aside and grabbed one of the two plates he’d placed on the counter. She raked a few eggs into the plate and snagged a fork. “I’m not the same naive young girl I was ten years ago.”
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