Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [112]
Her purse, car keys inside, were in the front hallway. What excuse could she make to get it?
Or maybe a weapon . . . what could she use as a weapon? There were knives, yes, in the drawer, but could he not turn a knife on her? She was strong and in good shape, but he appeared to be as well, and had the advantage of height and weight. He could overpower her easily.
He pointed to the frying pan. “The pan is starting to smoke.”
She poured batter into the pan without measuring.
“How did you meet Father Tim?” he asked. A normal question, the kind a sibling would ask after a long separation. As if there had been no talk of dead women or abused children.
Kendra’s stomach turned again. This can’t be happening. It can’t be happening.
“Through Selena.”
Focusing her attention on the lone pancake in the frying pan, watching the bubbles rise in the batter, she thought back on days long ago when she stood in front of the stove at the house in Princeton, listening to Ian’s chatter about school and that day’s soccer or baseball practice. Ian had loved to play soccer.
“Where did you live?” she asked, the thought occurring to her. There’d been so much so fast, she’d hardly had time to think.
“On the streets.”
“Where?”
“San Francisco, mostly. That summer, me and Zach were watching TV one night and there was a documentary about these runaways who lived together out there, like a family. It looked so cool, the way they helped each other, like a real family.”
“You had a real family.” She turned to him with a frown. “Why wasn’t that good enough?”
“We talked about that, Kenny,” he said calmly. “I don’t want to talk about that again.”
The first real stirrings of anger began to push aside the fear, ever so slightly, within her.
“You put us—her and me—through hell.” She turned on him with a growl. “She never stopped weeping for you. There wasn’t a day that passed that she didn’t mourn for you. Don’t tell me you don’t want to talk about it.”
His reaction was swift. In less than a blink, he had her by her wrists.
“You’re breaking my heart,” he snarled. “Don’t make me break your arms.”
They locked eyes, and he held her still, for another moment. The fury in his eyes was terrifying. Whatever demon drove him was very close to the surface.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Kenny.” He dropped her hands. “Do not make me hurt you.”
He backed up, slowly, his breath coming in ragged spurts as he visibly struggled to regain his composure.
“Turn that over,” he said, pointing to the pancake. “It’s going to burn. You know I don’t like burned pancakes.”
He sat down again, lit another cigarette. For a time, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft rustle of the evening breeze through the large maple tree outside. She turned the pancake onto a plate and offered it to him without speaking.
He pushed the plate back to her, saying, “Keep it warm while you make more. I want a whole stack. And get yourself a plate. I want you to eat with me.”
“I’m not hungry.” The thought of putting food into her mouth made her blanch. How could anyone eat in the presence of such a monster?
“I said, I want you to eat with me.”
She poured more batter into the pan and got out a second plate, wondering how late Adam’s plane would be. What were the chances he’d arrive soon?
“There. That’s better.” He relaxed a bit, resting his arms on the table. “And what’s doing with my coffee? Boy, some hostess you are.” He chuckled as if sharing a joke.
Kendra opened the cupboard and took out a mug.
“You’ll have some, too.”
She took down a second mug and placed it next to the first on the counter.
“I take sugar, no cream.”
She reached for the sugar bowl and placed it on the table.
“Aw, you’re mad at me now, aren’t you?” His slender fingers toyed with the pack of matches. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Kenny. Don’t you have things you don’t want to talk about sometimes?