Page 25 of The Deadly Shallows

A door opened, and two chattering nurses entered.

The shadow disappeared.

“Hello?” she called.

“Yes?” one of the women asked.

Adrenaline let loose, flooding her limbs with shaky warmth. She poked her head out of the curtain. “I thought I heard someone in here just before you came in.”

The two nurses—one blond and one brunette—looked about.

The blonde paused on the far door. “That door just shut, so someone must have been in here, but it’s just us now.”

“You didn’t see who went out?” The nape of her neck wouldn’t stop tingling.

The blonde frowned. “No. Are you all right?”

“Yep.” She was being ridiculous—her body still on high alert from the shooting. “Just got startled—that’s all.”

“Showering in here at night spooks me sometimes too,” the blonde said.

“Yeah,” the brunette chimed in. “It can be isolating in here.”

“And creepy,” the blonde added. “Especially when the overhead lights flicker, which they always seem to do when I’m in here alone, running late after shift.”

Okay. So she wasn’t the only one creeped out, but they were talking about short-circuiting lights—not someone heading for her without a word.

She swallowed, then released a tight exhale. “Thanks, guys,” she said, appreciating their kindness.

“No problem, honey,” the blonde said.

Taking a moment, she changed into the clothes Gabby had brought—a soft pair of jeans, comfy T-shirt, and long-sleeve burgundy knit hoodie with hunter green stripes on the arms. Dressed, she sat on the bench, thankful the ladies were still in the locker room, and pulled on the wild-patterned wool socks and fleece-filled UGG boots from the bottom of the bag. She lifted out a cosmetic case and unzipped it to find a hairbrush along with an unopened blush, mascara, and lip gloss.

No sense using the mascara because she’d be crying for days, but maybe a little blush. As she’d glanced in the mirror running over the sinks and noted how pale she was, how red her eyes were . . .

She grabbed the plastic bag she’d shoved the bra she’d been wearing in and tossed it in the trash. Even if the blood came out, she’d never wear the sports bra again because every time she’d see it, Molly’s contorted face would flash before her eyes.

“I better go,” Caleb said. Though going was the last thing he wanted to do, but Austin needed her rest.

“Okay,” she said. Was that a twinge of disappointment in her voice? Was she becoming as addicted to his presence as he was to hers?

He rubbed his hands along his thighs, then forced himself to stand.

She followed suit. The blanket she’d draped across them slipped to the love seat.

“Come on, Dirk,” she said. “Time to go in.”

Dirk grumbled—actually grumbled. Then even more reluctantly than them, he roused himself to a standing position and lumbered lazily into the house.

“Sure you have to go?” she asked, flooring him.

He wanted to stay with everything in him, but . . . he looked at his watch. Almost 2400. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll be back at 0600 to pick you up.”

She’d ride to the base with him, and he’d drop her at her car still parked outside the site of the shooting. No longer would folks think of it as Ira Stiller Hall. It would now be known as the site of a horrific tragedy.

He stepped into the brisk night. Idiot. She’d pretty much asked him to stay, and he was leaving. Why?

Because she needed rest.