Digging for answers

[Nora Saint-Clair]

The voice dropped like a knife landing point-down on a cutting board. She hadn’t heard the door. Hadn’t sensed anything. One minute she was elbow-deep in the cabinet looking for that damn bottle of painkillers, and the next, her spine had gone ramrod straight and her breath caught in her throat. Her hand closed around the childproof cap of the medicine bottle, but she look turn yet. Not immediately.

Eliot Lageaux.

Of course it was him. That voice was carved in thin arrogance. Her fingers tightened around the bottle, as if it were a weapon instead of acetaminophen. She turned slowly. He was in the armchair, legs crossed, casual as a guest. The corner was dark enough that she hadn’t seen him before, deliberately dark, she realized. Her chest burned with a rapid, silent inventory. How long had he been here? What had he seen? Had he heard Claude mention the headache? Had he seen the glyphs on her laptop earlier? Had he felt… anything? Panic tried to claw its way up her throat, but she shoved it back down. Deep. Ice over it. Lock it up. She once liked straight to the face of the Regus himself. She could play along in front of Eliot.

She stepped forward until she was between Eliot and Claude, instinct burning at the edges of her posture. Not defensive, but maybe a little defiant. Her shoulders squared. Chin up. Her fingers brushed her hip, just in case. He wouldn't be able to know for sure that she was unarmed, so it was best to let him think she was.

Nora didn’t speak yet, not because she didn’t have anything to say, but because she had too many things to say. Questions. Threats. Demands.

But none of them would be useful if her voice cracked. Her throat felt dry, like she’d swallowed dust. She drew a breath, slow and steady. Measured. Let her voice come out cool, sharp at the edges. “It’s... good to see you too, Mr. Lageaux,” she said, careful with her tone. Not too cold. Not too familiar. Controlled. Measured. She hadn’t called him Eliot, and she wouldn’t, not until she knew why he was here. “I wasn’t expecting company,” she added, quieter now. “Especially not tonight.”

If he’d come to confront her, he wasn’t getting the satisfaction. If he’d come for Claude—her stomach twisted—he would regret it more than anything he’d done in his life.