Free The Messenger: A Novel by Jan Burke

get…any belongings from your car?”
    “My purse is in it,” she said. “That’s all I need from it now.”
    “I’ll wait here. Get your purse…and anything that has your address…or name on it…set out flares if you have them.”
    “Maybe it would be smarter to call the police from your place. And ask them to send an ambulance and a tow truck or two.”
    “Don’t have a phone here.” At her look of surprise, he added, “It’s something of a retreat…No computers, no phone, very low tech.”
    Since this speech seemed to exhaust him, she told him not to say anything more, contradicted this immediately by telling him to call out to her if he needed her, and saying that she’d hurry back, hurried off.
     
    “So she believes she’s saved my life,” Tyler said to Shade.
    Shade regarded him steadily.
    “No, of course I won’t behave as if I’m ungrateful.” He drew a painful breath. His ribs hurt like hell. “It’s going to cause complications, though.”
    Shade turned his back, staring off toward the intersection, where Amanda was lighting flares.
    “Go ahead and ignore me.”
    The dog seemed to take full advantage of this permission.
     
    Amanda came running back toward them, the purse banging at her side. She dropped something—the car registration? She stooped to pick it up, nearly fell over, but clambered back up and kept coming. He wondered if he had ever seen a more ungainly young woman in his life. And yet, he decided, there was some sort of grace there, wasn’t there? A kind of sweet, unconscious freedom in her movements. As he kept watching, he remembered that Ron had once said she was only clumsy when she was nervous or upset. Why wouldn’t she be upset, given what she must have experienced tonight? And, of course, he made her nervous. The thought made him frown.
    She saw him, then came to a lurching halt, her eyes widening. Clearly frightened. He made an effort to stop frowning. He felt certain his smile looked like a grimace.
    Then he realized she was staring at the dog. “I thought he would run off again,” she said.
    Belatedly, he remembered that Ron had told him she was afraid of dogs. “His name is Shade. He won’t hurt you, I promise.”
    “He’s yours?” She sounded horrified.
    “You might say I’m his. He’s a very good dog, very smart.”
    She rubbed at a place on her face, near her eyebrow.
    Shade approached her, rolled over on his back to expose his belly, and wagged his tail.
    Tyler could only stare at the dog in shock. He had never seen Shade do this for anyone but himself.
    When she stood frozen in place, Tyler said, “I believe he wants to be friends.”
    She bent slowly, hand shaking, and quickly touched the dog’s chest.
    Shade waited until she straightened. He stayed low, tongue lolling from a doggy smile, tail still wagging. Looking for all the world like the most obsequious mutt on the planet.
    “Does he always roam around at night?” she asked.
    “Rarely. He usually stays close to me.”
    Shade looked back at him.
    “We’d better get going,” Tyler said, and tried taking a few steps.
    She rushed to his side, heedless of the dog now. It was easier to walk with her help. He told himself that even when he reached the point when he knew he could manage on his own.
    Except to hold the hand of someone who was dying, he had not allowed himself to be in physical contact—even such limited contact—with a woman in years. He told himself that was why he was responding to her so strongly.
    A young man’s body, a young man’s thoughts, he told himself bitterly, but kept his arm around her until they reached his front door.
    He unlocked the door, and pulled a matchbook from his pocket. He lit the candle near the door, then used this to light an oil lamp. A quick look assured him that the men who had attacked him had not vandalized his home.
    “No electricity?” she asked.
    “No. Entirely rustic—well, almost.”
    “Almost?”
    “Indoor