The Edge by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

everyone’s down once in a while. That’s it, Mac. There’s nothing more.”
    I took the last bite of my steak, sat back in my chair, rubbed my belly, and took another sip of my Pinot Noir. Paul looked pale, his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. He looked ill, frightened. Or maybe I was just seeing myself in Paul. Lord knew I looked sick enough. “Are you certain there’s nothing else, Paul? What was Jilly depressed about? Was she taking any medication for the depression? Was she seeing anyone professionally?”
    Paul laughed, a tight, constipated laugh. “Just listen to you. SuperCop with his load of questions. No, she wasn’t. I’m exhausted, Mac. I don’t want to talkanymore. There’s nothing more to say. I’m going to bed.” He shoved back his chair and stood up. “Good night. I hope you don’t mind the double bed in the guest room. It’ll be a bit on the short side for you.”
    “I’ll do just fine, Paul. I slept some this afternoon on that big front porch chair of yours. I think I’ll go to the hospital to see Jilly. Good night.”

    Ford was here again, holding my hand like he had before. The warmth of his hand was indescribable, just like before. Thank God I hadn’t just imagined it that first time. I didn’t want to lose my brain the way I’d lost my body.
    But when was before?
    It could have been this morning or last year for all I knew. It was odd, but I had no sense of time at all. I knew what it was, but it had no meaning to me.
    There were other shadowy creatures behind Ford, then finally they left, and we were alone.
    “Jilly,” he said, and I wanted to cry with the sheer relief of hearing his voice, but I didn’t know if this body I couldn’t feel was even capable of yielding up tears.
    I wanted to ask him if they’d gotten my Porsche out of the ocean.
    Ford said, “Sweetheart, I don’t know if you can hear me or not. I hope somehow that you can. I spoke to Kevin and Gwen and gave them an update. They send their love and their prayers.
    “Now, Jilly, tell me about why you were depressed.”
    Depressed? What was this about being depressed? I’ve never been depressed in my life.Who said anything about being fucking depressed? I yelled it at Ford, but naturally, he didn’t hear me because my words were only bouncing about inside my skull.
    “I’ve got to find out why you drove your Porsche off that cliff, Jilly. I find it hard to believe that you were depressed. I can’t remember when you were ever depressed, even when you were a teenager and Lester Harvey dumped you for Susan, that friend of yours who had the big breasts. I remember you just shook your head, said he was a worthless shit, and moved on.
    “But things change. We haven’t seen all that much of each other in the past five years or so. You’ve been with Paul. Dammit, Jilly, what happened to you?”
    Ford was leaning his forehead on my hand. I could feel the soft whistle of his breath against my skin. I wasn’t depressed, I wanted to tell him. He wanted to know what had happened to me so I said, “Listen, Ford, do you like sex? I didn’t used to like it all that much, but then something happened. A wonderful something.”
    I wondered if my mouth was curving at all into a smile. Probably not. I heard Ford’s quiet, steady breathing. He was asleep. Why had he fallen asleep? Then I remembered something about him being sick. Had he been injured somehow? I seemed to remember that.
    I wish I could have run my fingers through his hair. Ford had lovely hair, all dark and longer than the FBI would like it to be. But it was his eyes I’d always liked best. Dark blue eyes, just like Mom’s,at least I think they were like Mom’s, she’d been dead for so very long. Yes, his eyes were deep and mellow and too intense on occasion. I remember hearing he was dating a woman named Dolores from Washington, D.C. Every time I thought of her name I pictured a Spanish flamenco dancer in my mind. I wonder if she liked sex with