“I’m Sidney Gates. I’m a friend of Dylan’s,” he explained gently. “What was that you were saying about a knight in shining armor?”
“Dylan,” she whispered. His arm tightened around her. The man named Sidney smiled.
“Dylan is your knight in shining armor?”
“Like the knight knocker,” she mumbled.
Sidney glanced at Dylan, a question in his eyes.
“The door knocker. On the front door. She used to like it.” Alice turned her chin and stared at Dylan in amazement. It was like he’d just taken form in front of her eyes, and she was seeing him for the first time. Different. Familiar.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she said.
Dylan nodded, his expression very grim. “Come on. I’ll take you to the bathroom.” He gently helped her to her feet. Alice swayed. Everything went foggy and then black.
“Dylan,” the man said sharply.
“I’ve got her,” Dylan said.
She couldn’t see him anymore. But sure enough, Dylan’s arms were right there when she sank into them.
WHEN she awoke, she again could hear Dylan, even if she couldn’t see him. It reassured her. She was lying on her back. She blinked her eyes open heavily, and saw she was still in the sunlit den. Not much time had passed, if the quality of the sunlight was any indication. She was stretched out on the velvet couch.
“We should take her to a doctor,” Dylan was saying.
“I’m a doctor.”
“She should be in a hospital.”
“She’s not physically ill, Dylan. She’s in shock. This is what shock looks like. It’s not as if a pill is going to make her fine. I’ll know better what to do when she wakes up. Don’t say anything until we see how much she remembers about the past hour or so. I need to determine how much she’s integrating.”
She didn’t know what that man meant. It was like he was speaking English, but in a garbled, inexplicable manner that her brain couldn’t quite interpret. Alice blinked and saw the two men standing just feet away. She immediately recognized Dylan’s tall, formidable form. She recalled his casual clothing—jeans and a dark blue T-shirt from this morning. It’d been what he’d put on after they
showered.
After they’d made love.
Everything was muzzy, but the memory of their soulful, fiery lovemaking early this morning possessed a crystalline clarity. Other memories pressed at the edge of her consciousness. The pressure of them made nausea rise in her belly and her throat to tighten. She willfully pressed the intruding thoughts down.
One thing, she definitely recalled all too well.
Sidney knew your father.
The memory of Dylan saying that with a rigid expression had been burned into her brain, surviving even the fog.
“Dylan,” she croaked.
Both men glanced around sharply.
“I’m here,” he said gruffly, sitting on the edge of the couch, his hip pressing against her waist. He took her hand. “You okay? Do you want some more water?”
She shook her head and swallowed. “No. I’m all right.” She started to get up.
“Not yet,” Dylan said firmly, halting her with a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said, meeting his stare. “I want to talk to this man. The one you said knows my father.”
I want to get this over with.