Free Drawn to Life by Elisabeth Wagner Page B

when I tell you that you will heal and that you will live. Everything will be OK.” He rose, moved over to me, and patted my shoulder. “Remember how far you’ve come. You’re alive. You’ve survived the worst. You’re making progress here.” He smiled at me.
    I had no clue how to answer and just stared at him blankly.
    “Appreciate what you’ve already achieved, Mia. Focus on that, not on how far you still have to go. I know you’re not where you want to be, but you’re also not where you were anymore.”
    I responded with a faint smile.
    I was not OK. But I would be. Not today, not tomorrow . . . someday .

Chapter 11
    Mia—Soothing Eyes
    En route to Budapest, June 2012
    Everything was OK.
    The guy was only giving me back my sketchbook. Or was intending to give it back, before he’d started poking around inside. I hated when people looked at my drawings without permission. My sketchbook was private.
    Then, when he did hand it to me, our fingertips touched. It was only a very brief, light touch, but my body immediately went into defense mode. Anxiety gripped me. I sensed an emerging panic attack. I breathed evenly, stretching my hands, clenching and unclenching my fingers. Dr. Weiß’s damned breathing technique wasn’t helping much, though. It always took too long to relax me. And those pointed glances that guy was throwing my way weren’t helping any.
    I had barely begun my trip, and someone was already on my case. No, not just someone—Samuel Winter, the bulldozer, demolisher of human lives. I’d seen the newspaper ads sporting his image plenty of times, so I’d recognized him right off. If you dug even a little into the architecture and real-estate world, it didn’t take long to understand what kind of business he was in. Nobody wrote much about it. Things like that got covered up. But my coworkers and I had stumbled onto the truth. How could he lend his face to something so underhanded?
    I ignored him. I didn’t feel like small talk, and certainly no small talk with him. Though I would have loved to look into those eyes once more.
    So I finally turned around.
    Incredibly long eyelashes framed his dark gray eyes. He was smiling broadly. I knew about his company’s dirty schemes and would never want to socialize with someone like him, but I couldn’t help being intrigued. He was stunning. More good-looking than any newspaper ad could convey. Far too good-looking. He was tall. Taller than I had first thought. Wavy black hair. The light stubble on his jaw and slightly crooked nose completed his perfect appearance. He was manly. Sexy.
    He continued to smile at me without saying a word. At first, I was speechless, hooked by those shimmering eyes. Somehow, they soothed me. The beat of my heart calmed. My body relaxed. I was less fearful of speaking.
    “So, you like to sneak through other people’s stuff?” I’d sounded harsher than I’d intended.
    I turned my back on him again and tried hard to ignore him. It would have been far easier had he not been sitting across from me. I didn’t feel like company, even his company–especially his company. I was already overwhelmed by my own.
    I must have dozed off. When someone gently shook my shoulder, I sprang awake in alarm. Frozen, breath caught in my throat, I hoped whoever it was would just go away.
    Thank you . . . now leave. I gasped for some air and tried to suppress my rising fear, biting my lower lip until I tasted blood.
    Finally, I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly until they adjusted to the harsh overhead light. Outside it was dark. I could see the orange lights of a station’s platform illuminating the scenery—people racing to catch trains, people waiting, people laughing and busy with normal lives, full of energy.
    “We’ve arrived in Budapest. You need to get off,” Samuel said and gestured toward the exit. He had on his backpack and was holding a guitar.
    Unhurriedly, I stood up and stretched, slung on my backpack, then headed