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Taking a deep breath, she removed the towel, staring in the mirror at her body. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She did everything she could to avoid looking at herself naked. The scars that riddled her body just served to remind her of everything that she’d suffered through.
She was a coward.
She ran her trembling fingers over the large scar on her stomach. She sucked in a breath. Logically, she knew that it was old, faded. Had been there for years. But when she touched it, she flinched. As though it had pained her.
Her breathing grew shallower. She forced her fingers away from that scar and to the one over her right breast. Her screams of pain filled her head.
“Calm. Calm.”
The last scar she touched was the most recent. This was the reason her nightmares had become a nightly occurrence. A bullet wound through her arm. A flesh wound. It was healed, but she could still feel it searing through her skin.
Unable to take any more, she wrapped the towel back around her. She headed towards the bed. Today, she was going to hide. Grabbing her favorite onesie, she pulled it on. It had a skull and crossbones on the front and a drop-seat. Lifting the pillow, she drew out the hidden item underneath. If anyone saw her in the onesie or found out she slept with this, she’d be humiliated.
Likely, her mother would have her committed. They’d claim she had temporary insanity or something. There was no way her thirty-four-year-old daughter would be sleeping with a toy parrot. But she wasn’t giving Squawkers up. She couldn’t. Her father had bought Squawkers for her when he’d taken her to a musical show about pirates. She’d been six. That had been one of the best days in her life.
Squawkers was all she had left of him, other than her memories.
Almost all day, every day, she had to push herself to be better, stronger, smarter. She had to hold back what she was really thinking. She hid beneath dull clothes and a cool demeanor. This . . . this was the only way she had of unwinding.
She knew what she was. She understood her needs and desires. But having a soft toy and sucking her thumb . . . it often wasn’t enough to keep the anxiety and pressure at bay.
She clutched Squawkers tight and slid under the covers. Today, she’d hide.
Tomorrow, she’d try to fix herself.
“Have you seen Georgie today?” Kiesha asked, striding into his office.
“Hello, Kiesha, how are you feeling today? Wake up with a headache?” Ed replied.
“I’m fine. You know I don’t get hangovers. Have you seen Georgie?” she demanded.
“No, I haven’t seen Agent James. She’s probably sleeping.” He wished he was.
“She’s not sleeping. I was just at her motel room, I banged on the door for fifteen minutes. By the way, that guy in the room next to her is a total grump. Hot, really ripped. But an absolute grump.”
He groaned. “Maybe he didn’t want to be woken up at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning by some crazy woman banging on a door for fifteen minutes.”
Kiesha waved her hand dismissively. “The point is, she’s obviously not in her room or sleeping or she would have heard me. I want her to come to breakfast before we head out to see Loki.”
“I’m trying to work here, Kiesha.”
“Isn’t it your day off?”
He ran his hand over his face. When was the last time he’d gotten a day off?
“You look tired. You should go home and sleep,” she said in a gentler voice.
“I intended to spend the day at home sleeping, but instead I have piles of paperwork to finish due to a brawl that broke out last night. And maybe I’d get through that paperwork quicker if I didn’t get interrupted.”
“Nobody is going to die because you haven’t completed some paperwork, Ed. You’re becoming a workaholic. You need to live a little.” A calculating look came over her face. Fuck. What was she up to? “When was the last time you went on a date?”
“Uh-uh, no. You are not matchmaking.”
“Me? Of course not! I do have a funny story for you, though.”
“What kind of funny story?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well, it turns out that Georgie thought you and I were getting it on. Gross, right?”
