Lorrie's breath caught as her eyes locked onto the cross in Lylith's hand.
That was her mother, Carol Tate's keepsake—the protective charm she'd given Lorrie on her deathbed. Carol had carried it for decades, whispering prayers over it every day.
Last year, when Chuck was jumped by robbers and almost killed, Lorrie had handed it to him for protection. And he'd kept it safe ever since, treating it like something sacred.
But now, he'd given it to Lylith—the one thing Lorrie cherished more than anything.
Lorrie trembled with fury. Every instinct screamed at her to storm inside and snatch her protective charm back, but hushed voices behind her stopped her cold.
"This is the second time Ms. Fowler's gotten hurt for Mr. Bassett, isn't it? Ten years back, when the store he worked at went up in flames, she heard him shouting for help and ran straight in to save him without a second thought."
"She suffered terrible burns, but never once complained."
"No wonder Mr. Bassett's still hung up on her. Where else would he find someone willing to die for him?"
Lorrie went completely still.
Ten years ago, she'd also saved a man in a store. She'd been passing by when she saw thick smoke billowing from the storefront and heard a man inside, coughing violently, calling for help.
Without a second thought, she'd rushed in.
The man survived, pulled from the flames just in time. But she wasn't as lucky. The burns left her needing skin grafts.
Could that man have been Chuck?
Lorrie barely noticed the walk back to the hospital room. She only snapped out of her daze when Chuck's voice cut in behind her.
"Lorrie, the doctor said they're short on beds. Your injuries aren't too bad, so I'm taking you home to rest. We should free up the space for someone who needs it more."
Lorrie stayed quiet in the car, eyes closed.
"The doctor said you might feel a little weak since you gave blood. I've got the best nutritionist lined up to help you recover," Chuck said, his voice soft.
Lorrie was just about to say no when his phone rang. Chuck answered the call.
"Mr. Bassett, Ms. Fowler is convinced that Ms. Scarrow got hurt because of her. She's refusing the blood transfusion, and no matter what we say, she won't budge."
Chuck's expression darkened. "So she'd rather throw away Lorrie's kindness?"
He slammed on the brakes and turned to Lorrie. "Lylith won't accept help if it means being in your debt. I need to talk some sense into her. It's only a few miles. You can make it back on foot, right? I'm not letting your blood go to waste for nothing."
Lorrie climbed out of the car. At this point, disappointment was nothing new to her.
The car roared off, disappearing down the road before she could blink. She had barely taken two steps toward home when a brutal gust of wind nearly sent her sprawling.
A thunderclap split the sky, sharp as a whip crack. The rain came down in sheets, soaking Lorrie to the skin in seconds as she struggled forward with her cane.
Then her vision flashed white, and her legs gave way beneath her. But the icy sting of the rain kept her from fading completely into the dark.
Lorrie didn't know if the wetness on her cheeks was tears or rain.
The estate was deep in the suburbs, far beyond where cabs would go. With nothing left but sheer will, she inched her way home. Hours had passed since she'd left Chuck's car.
Soaked to the bone and utterly spent, she collapsed onto the couch and fell into a dead sleep. When she woke, the world outside was dark.
Still groggy, Lorrie groped for her phone and called Chuck repeatedly, but no one picked up. Then, on the last try, the line finally connected, and the voice on the other end sent a jolt through her.
"So you're not going home tonight? But Lorrie's still hurt. You—"
