The Cursed

He was sorry Hannah had been with him. She hadn’t gotten hysterical; in fact, she’d handled it very well.

 

When they’d gotten to the surface, the Coast Guard had radioed Liam, and they’d reached the dock at about the same time. While Dallas had described finding Yerby’s body, Hannah had stood perfectly still on the dock, wrapped in a large beach towel, watching. Afterward Liam had walked over to ask her, “You okay?”

 

She had nodded.

 

“What the hell were you doing down there?” Liam asked.

 

“I hoped...I hoped I might find a clue, something to help,” she said.

 

Then Liam had looked at Dallas. “You let her go down with you?”

 

“She threatened me with you,” Dallas said, then turned to Hannah. “Now let’s get you back to your place.”

 

She didn’t fight him.

 

In the car, she was quiet. “Do you mind if I swing by my place to get a few things?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. She didn’t even fight the fact that he was coming home with her, although he had expected trouble since her cousin was coming in sometime that day.

 

He decided not to talk anymore and just drove into the Truman Annex and parked. She got out of the car and followed him, still saying nothing.

 

He had a town house with a small yard—with nothing in it. He hadn’t really noticed that until now. As he opened the front door and ushered her in, he felt for the first time the coldness of his place. He had all the right things, even a leather sofa and chair in front of the electric fireplace that he’d never even used. Of course most people down here had to crank up the air-conditioning so they could use the fireplace and enjoy the ambiance.

 

There were no pictures anywhere, he realized.

 

He compared his apartment to the Siren of the Sea, which was everything this place wasn’t.

 

She clearly didn’t notice. She had tugged on the shorts and T-shirt that she’d brought with her but still had the towel wrapped around her as if she was cold.

 

“You all right?” he asked.

 

“Of course.”

 

“I can get you something warmer.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“I’ll only be a few seconds. I’m going to take a quick shower and change,” he said.

 

“Okay.”

 

He set his hands on her shoulders, trying to get her full attention.

 

“Stay inside. The door’s locked, so leave it that way. Okay?”

 

“Of course,” she said.

 

Dallas ran upstairs, stripping off his shirt as he went, and he was naked by the time he reached his bathroom. He was showered and dressed within five minutes. He threw together a bag just as quickly—one thing he excelled at was split-second packing.

 

When he came back downstairs, she was exactly where he had left her. Clearly he needn’t have worried about her walking out. She had barely moved. She was staring at the fireplace as intently as if a fire were burning there, as if there was something to see.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

They walked back out, and as he locked the door to his place he thought how odd it was. He’d felt as if it was home before. He spent so much of his time working, it had been fine. A place to sleep. Now...

 

He might as well have been leaving a chain hotel.

 

The drive to her house was short—a matter of eight or so blocks. She got out of the car, walked up to her door and turned the key in the lock. He entered the Siren right behind her, wary and ready for anything.

 

There really was something enchanting about the house. It had pictures, flowers...life. But he could tell that she was waiting—as he was—to feel whether anything had changed.

 

“We’re here,” Melody Chandler said, materializing in the doorway to the kitchen. “And everything is fine. Oh, dear!” she added, seeing Hannah’s face.

 

“We found the missing diver,” Hannah said.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Melody said. She apparently knew from Hannah’s expression that they had found her dead. “She stayed here, right?”

 

Hannah nodded. She spoke to no one in particular as she said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

As she started for the stairs, Dallas reached out and touched her shoulder. She started, spinning around.

 

“I’m sorry. I just...are you okay?”

 

She was looking into his eyes. She almost smiled as she nodded.

 

“Want me to make coffee for when you come back down? Tea? Something stronger?”

 

She managed a weak smile. “Nothing like a drop or two of Jameson’s in a cup of tea.” Then she turned and ran up the stairs.

 

When she was gone, Dallas looked at Melody worriedly. “Do you think she’s all right? She’s hardly spoken.”

 

“She’s going to be fine. She cares about people—which is good—but it means she takes things hard,” Melody said. “Can I help you in the kitchen? I can show you where to find the tea bags—and the Jameson’s.”

 

He had just set out cups and the teapot, and gotten the water almost to boiling, when he heard a car in the drive.

 

Melody, who had been perched by the table, and Hagen, who had been leaning in the doorway, disappeared into thin air.

 

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