Body of Lies by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online

hadn’t happened. It was probably a case of so badly wanting that door to open.
    It was still early, but she’d go to bed and try to sleep. When she woke, she’d grab some breakfast and try the church again.
    She stopped before going back into the house to glance back at the church.
    The door was still shut.
    Déjà vu.
    She had a sudden memory of last week, when she’d had that sense of . . . something . . . up on Bonnie’s hill.
    Not Bonnie. It wasn’t Bonnie. That had all been a lie.
    But maybe that feeling she’d had on the hill had not been a lie. Maybe the bastard who’d later desecrated the grave had been there.
    But this feeling was . . . different. She would swear she’d heard someone call.
    Nonsense. It was because her nerves were stretched taut and she was an emotional wreck. The only thing she’d heard calling her was the work she’d been hoping to do tonight. Everything would be better after a good night’s sleep.
    Eve woke three hours later and barely managed to get her head over to the side of the bed before she threw up.
    “Oh, God.”
    Sick. So sick.
    She staggered down the hall toward the bathroom, but threw up twice before she reached it.
    Her stomach wouldn’t stop wrenching. Pain. Nausea.
    She dropped to the floor beside the toilet.
    She threw up again and again and again.
    The stew . . .
    Her ribs hurt. She couldn’t breathe.
    Food poisoning . . .
    She was going to die.
    Bonnie.
    She threw up again.
    Nobody was here. Empty house. No one to help her.
    Get to the phone.
    She was too weak to walk. She crawled back down the hall to the bedroom. It was a million miles away and she had to stop to heave several times.
    Her ribs . . .
    The phone . . . 911. No dial tone.
    She tried the operator. “Help . . . me. Please, help . . .”
    The phone dropped from her hand. She was going to pass out.
    Not here. She’d die here.
    The balcony. Someone might see her. Maybe she could call . . .
    She wasn’t going to make it.
    That was okay. She’d be with Bonnie. Why did she keep trying? It would be so easy to give up.
    Joe.
    She kept crawling. She was out on the balcony, her cheek pressed against the wrought-iron bars. The metal felt cold, clammy . . .
    She couldn’t see anyone near the bayou and the houses were too far away for anyone to hear her if she called. The church loomed huge and dark and silent.
    “Help . . .” Her futile cry was barely audible even to her. Jesus, she couldn’t stop retching. “Help . . . me.”
    She was sliding down, her face was on the tiles. She could no longer see the bayou, only the tall, dark doors of the church. It filled her vision. Would that be the last thing she saw . . .
    Darkness.
    “No. You mustn’t sleep. Not yet.”
    She opened her eyes.
    She was being carried down the stairs.
    A man . . . dark hair . . . She couldn’t see his face in the darkness of the hall, but his tone was desperate.
    Desperate? Why? she wondered vaguely. She was the one who was dying.
    “We’ll be there soon. Hold on.”
    Be where?
    She gagged again, but there was nothing to throw up.
    Oh, God, her ribs hurt.
    “Are you there? I’m coming, Bonnie.”
    “Don’t you dare. It’s not your time.” Bonnie was bending over her. “You fight, Mama.”
    “Too tired. Too sad.”
    “That doesn’t matter. Things will get better.”
    “I want to be with you.”
    “You are with me. Always. Why won’t you believe me?”
    “I’m too tired . . . I have to . . . give up.”
    “No, you don’t. I won’t let you. Do you hear me, Mama? I won’t let you. . . .”
    The house was dark, but he didn’t turn on the light. He moved quickly through the foyer and then down the hall.
    Quick. He had to be quick. He didn’t know how much time he had.
    The kitchen smelled of lemon and the clean scent of soap, and the white refrigerator gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window.
    Hurry.
    He opened the refrigerator and took out the only covered bowl on the shelf. He popped the lid and