We were in the sitting room, after dinner. Daniel and Justin and I were reading; Rafe was playing piano, a lazy Mozart fantasia, breaking off now and then to repeat a phrase he liked or had messed up the first time; Abby was making her doll a new petticoat out of old broderie anglaise, head bent over stitches so tiny they were almost invisible. I didn’t think the doll was creepy, exactly-she wasn’t one of the ones that look like puffy, deformed adults; she had a long dark plait and a wistful, dreamy face, with a tip-tilted nose and tranquil brown eyes-but I could see the guys’ point, all the same. Those big sad eyes, staring at me from an undignified position on Abby’s lap, made me feel guilty in a nonspecific way, and there was something disturbing about the fresh, springy curl of her hair.
Around eleven I went out to the coat closet for my runners-I had wriggled into my supersexy girdle and tucked my phone in there before dinner, so I wouldn’t have to break routine by going up to my room; Frank would be proud of me. I did a wince and a little under-my-breath “Ow” as I sat down on the hearth rug, and Justin’s head snapped up. “Are you all right? Do you need your painkillers?”
“Nah,” I said, disentangling my shoelace. “I just sat down funny.”
“Walk?” Abby asked, glancing up from the doll.
“Yep,” I said, pulling on one of the runners. It had the shape of Lexie’s foot, a fraction narrower than mine, printed on the insole.
That tiny suspension all through the room again, like a caught breath. Rafe’s hands left a chord hanging in the air. “Is that wise?” Daniel inquired, putting a finger in his book to mark his page.
“I feel fine,” I said. “The stitches don’t hurt unless I twist sideways; walking isn’t going to burst them or anything.”
“That’s hardly what I had in mind,” Daniel said. “You’re not concerned?”
They were all looking at me, that unreadable quadruple gaze with the force of a tractor beam. I shrugged, pulling at a shoelace. “No.”
“Why not? If I may ask.”
Rafe moved, threw a taut little trill somewhere in the piano’s upper octaves. Justin flinched.
“’Cause,” I said. “I’m not.”
“Shouldn’t you be? After all, if you have no idea-”
“Daniel,” Rafe said, almost under his breath. “Leave her alone.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go out there,” Justin said. He looked like his stomach hurt. “I really do.”
“We’re worried, Lex,” Abby said quietly. “Even if you’re not.”
The trill was still going, on and on like an alarm bell. “Rafe,” Justin said, pressing a hand to his ear. “Stop.”
Rafe ignored him. “Like she’s not enough of a drama queen without you three encouraging her-”
Daniel didn’t seem to notice. “Do you blame us?” he asked me.
“So you’ll just have to worry,” I said, shoving my other foot into its shoe. “I don’t care. If I get all jumpy now, I’ll be jumpy forever, and I’m not doing that.”
“Well, congratulations,” Rafe said, ending the trill with a neat chord. “Take your torch. See you later.” He turned back to the piano and started flipping pages.
“And your phone,” Justin said. “In case you feel faint, or…” His voice trailed off.
“It doesn’t seem to be raining any more,” Daniel said, peering at the window, “but it might be chilly. Are you going to wear the jacket?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. This walk seemed to be turning into something at the organization level of Operation Desert Storm. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
“Hmm,” Daniel said, considering me. “Maybe I should go with you.”
“No,” Rafe said, abruptly. “I’ll go. You’re working.” He banged the piano lid down and stood up.
“Bloody hell!” I snapped, throwing my hands up and giving the four of them an outraged glare. “It’s a walk. I do it all the time. I’m not taking protective clothing, I’m not taking emergency flares and I’m definitely not taking a bodyguard. Is that OK with everyone?” The thought of a private chat with Rafe or Daniel was interesting, but I could get those some other time. If someone was waiting for me out in the lanes, the last thing I wanted was to scare him off.
“That’s my girl,” said Justin, giving me a faint smile. “You’ll be fine, won’t you?”
“At the very least,” Daniel said, unperturbed, “you should take a different route from the one you took the other night. Will you do that?”
He was watching me blandly, one finger still caught between the pages of his book. There was nothing in his face except mild concern. “I’d love to,” I said, “if I remembered which way I went. Since I don’t have the first clue, I’ll just have to take my chances, won’t I?”
“Ah,” Daniel said. “Of course. I’m sorry. Ring if you want one of us to come meet you.” He went back to his book. Rafe thumped down onto the piano stool and crashed into the Rondo alla Turca.
