Free The Lost by Vicki Pettersson Page A

reservations were, there was little she could do about it now.
    â€œVery well,” she said, standing so that Kit could see straight up her narrow nose. “I’ll see that she’s ready. You’ll be visiting in the atrium, our common area. There will be nurses there to assist you, and her, if needed.”
    And she strode from the room, spine ramrod-straight, without a backward glance.
    â€œWas that a warning?” Grif muttered, when she’d gone.
    â€œDo we look that threatening?” Kit replied, glancing down. Grif didn’t bother looking at himself—he’d been stuck in the same clothing for more than fifty years—but since they were waiting anyway, he took the opportunity to give his partner a good once-over. They’d stopped at home after leaving the abandoned tract house, and she was now wearing a navy Japanese kimono dress that wrapped tightly across her chest and flared into an A-line skirt trimmed in red. Her bag and hoop earrings, both bamboo, matched the wedges on her feet, and the crimson flower behind her ear contrasted boldly with her onyx hair, currently tucked into a black snood pinned behind her bumper bangs.
    She’s like living, breathing origami, Grif thought, studying her from toe to head. She took a new delicate shape every day.
    â€œWell?” Kit said, when his gaze finally reached her eyes.
    One corner of Grif’s mouth lifted. “I’m not scared.”
    Kit snorted, but sobered quickly as Ms. Howard reentered the room. She’d been gone less than two minutes, and though Kit and Grif automatically stood, she returned to her position behind the desk, and took a seat.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said, folding her hands, not looking apologetic at all, “but Ms. DiMartino seems to have had a change of heart. She no longer wishes to see you. In fact, her preference is to have no visitors at all for the remainder of her stay.”
    Meaning, Grif thought, don’t have her nephew call and try to convince her otherwise. The speed of Ms. Howard’s return indicated she certainly hadn’t tried.
    â€œDid she say why?” Kit asked, hands clasped.
    â€œShe doesn’t need a reason,” Ms. Howard said, lifting her chin. “Here at Sierra Vista, we teach our patients ‘no’ is a complete sentence.”
    â€œOf course,” Kit said quickly, though her voice was tighter now. She tried clearing it. “It’s just that we’re . . . disappointed. We were hoping she could help.”
    â€œMs. DiMartino’s first priority is to help herself. Frankly,” said Ms. Howard, looking pointedly at Grif, “I was surprised she agreed to see you in the first place.”
    Maybe he should have given himself a good once-over, Grif thought, frowning. “Why’s that?”
    â€œShe’s not that fond of men, Mr. Shaw. She doesn’t trust them, will never abide being alone in their company, and certainly doesn’t consider them friends.”
    â€œStrange,” Grif muttered. “She wasn’t like that when I knew her.”
    â€œExcuse me?” Ms. Howard said, eyes narrowing sharply.
    â€œNothing,” Kit said quickly, and Grif shifted uncomfortably. Looking all of thirty-three years old, same as when he’d died, he certainly couldn’t explain to Ms. Howard that he’d known the now sixty-two-year-old woman when she was only twelve. “We’re just surprised her nephew didn’t say as much.”
    Ms. Howard shrugged. That wasn’t her problem. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”
    â€œWell, thank you for your time,” Kit said warmly, though Grif just stood and left.
    â€œWhy do you bother being polite to such people,” he said when Kit finally caught up to him halfway down the sterile hallway. He gave the double door leading outside a violent push. “You can’t sweeten up vinegar.”
    â€œBecause