Clay by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

safe.”
    “And out of sight?”
    She sent him a cool glance.
    Lainey piped up then. “Mr. Arty took it to his house, I’ll bet. He has lots of junk there.”
    “Good guess, punkin,” Clay said with a wry smile. “First place I’ll look when I get away from here.”
    The girl’s eyes widened, then she threw down her brush and ran to climb back up on the bed. “You’re not going yet, are you?”
    “Don’t worry, honey,” Janna said in acid-tinged sweetness. “He’ll be with us a little longer.”
    The look he sent her held the heat of anger and some other dark, fathomless emotion that kicked her heart into a higher rhythm. She held it as long as she could, then she put down her brush with deliberation and went to retrieve his camera.
    “What about the bag?” Clay inquired when she handed it over from a safe distance.
    “You didn’t mention it.”
    “My extra film, lens, filters and so on, are in it.”
    She tipped her head. “And that’s all? No wire cutters or handy dandy file?”
    “Maybe a tool kit,” he said with the lift of one shoulder.
    “I noticed.”
    “You could take it out.”
    “Later,” she answered in dry tones, meaning much later, when she’d had a chance to see what other goodies he had stashed away for emergencies. She turned away without waiting for an answer. Her prisoner made no other protest, but she could feel his gaze burning into her back.
    Lainey abandoned all thought of art to sit enthralled while Clay took off the lens cap of his camera, checked and cleaned it, then fiddled with its settings. He shot a few frames of the girl with her drawings, making her laugh with his droll comments so she smiled gaily for the lens. It crossed Janna’s mind that Clay was doing his best to beguile her daughter, and was obviously succeeding. A moment later, she dismissed that idea; he had no one else to talk to, after all. Regardless, Janna kept a close watch on the pair. That was until she noticed that her watercolors were beginning to dry in their palette wells. She returned to work with ostentatious dedication then.
    Time slipped past. Janna was only marginallyaware of the two on the bed as Clay explained F-stops and exposures and lighting as if Lainey were eighteen instead of eight. After one whispered consultation, Lainey left the room, returning shortly with three or four unopened film canisters held tightly to her chest. Clay reloaded his camera while Lainey bombarded him with questions about what he did with the empty canisters. When they began to discuss their use as doll dishes, Janna tuned out the pair completely.
    The next time she looked, Lainey was giggling helplessly as she tried to keep possession of the two empty canisters she’d stolen away from their owner, while Clay tickled her ribs and tummy to make her release them.
    “Stop!” Janna cried. She threw down her brush and palette with a splattering clatter, and ran around the end of her worktable. “Don’t do that! She can’t—”
    Suddenly Lainey’s laughter became a high scream followed by gulping sobs. She dropped the canisters on the bed as she clapped her arms around her middle.
    Consternation sprang into Clay’s face. He caught the girl’s shoulders. “What is it?” he inquired in low urgency. “Where do you hurt?”
    Janna hit him like a whirlwind, shoving so hard that he was thrown backward away from her daughter. Reaching for Lainey, she pulled her into her arms and dropped onto the bed, holding her daughter close while searching her abdomen for signs of blood.
    “What’s wrong?” Clay demanded as he came upright again with the coiling of hard muscles. “What did I do wrong?”
    “Stomach catheter,” Janna snapped. “For dialysis. If you’ve pulled it out—”
    “She’ll have to go to a hospital,” he finished for her as he turned white around the mouth. “I should have realized.”
    “Exactly.”
    “No hospital,” Lainey sobbed. “No sticks. Please, please, no more sticks