DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
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SERIES: Thunderstorm Series
He'd pressed his hand against her throat, slowly cutting off the air. She mentally calculated her chances. The situation was dire, but not entirely hopeless. Until that moment. She couldn't believe what he was trying to do. Once, she'd willingly let him touch her. Now, she recoiled in disgust, but there wasn't anywhere to go. Her eyes scanned the room for anything she could use as a weapon.
He shook his head with a small arrogant smile. "You won't."
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked sarcastically. No fear. She'd take time for that later.
"Because of your friend. You want her to be safe, don't you?"
Lindsay wondered about Lena Madison's fate, deciding it was wiser to deny everything. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"And that might even be true," he acknowlegded. "Don't you worry about the agent, she's as good as dead. But be aware that we have an eye on things back home. There's someone you care about, right?"
Her eyes widened as the implications of his words sank in.
"That's right, Lindsay," he said, his hand lightly caressing her cheek. "You wouldn't do anything to risk her."
All hope vanished for a moment. She closed her eyes, clinging to the certainty that she'd make it out of here, alive, somehow, and make sure that he wouldn't live to carry out the threat. Somehow...
Lindsay sits upright in bed, shaking despite the fact that she's fully clothed. Next to her, Cindy sleeps snuggled under the covers. Progress, she tells herself, waking up from a nightmare with a quiet gasp, not the scream that scared the hell out of Cindy last time. Progress to be able to have her stay.
She waits a few moments for her breathing to settle and her heartbeat to calm down, then she finally strips down to her underwear and slips back under the cover, scooting as close as she dares without disturbing Cindy's sleep.
Pretending to be asleep, I listen to the quiet sounds, thinking about the different facets of the same story. The bomb that tore the house apart killed most members of the cell. Lindsay and Lena had made it out by that time. Even if there was an investigation, probably no one would ask about the blood, or if Raynor and one of the guards really died in the bombing. There was no evidence left anyway.
We are building a new life, figuratively and literally, from the ashes, and I can't afford the thought, if only for a moment, that we could fail.
I finally turn to her, reaching for her hand in the dark.
It might be naive to think that love can overcome anything, but in any case, it's a good start.
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