Fallen (Will Trent 5)

Sara had never pursued a man before. She had always been on the receiving end of the wooing. But she’d realized last night that nothing would ever happen if she didn’t make the first move. And she had wanted something to happen. She had wanted Will more than anything she’d wanted in a long while.

He’d been tentative at first. He was obviously self-conscious about his body, which was laughable considering how beautiful it was. His legs were strong and lean. His shoulders were roped with muscle. His abs would be perfectly at home on an underwear billboard in the middle of Times Square. It wasn’t just that, though. His hands knew exactly where to touch her. His mouth felt wonderful. His tongue felt wonderful. Everything about him was wonderful. Being with him felt like a key sliding into a lock. Sara had never dreamed that she would ever again be so open with another man.

If there was any comparison to be made, it was between Sara and her old self. Something was altered inside of her, and not just her moral compass. She felt different with Will. She didn’t have to immediately know everything about this man she’d shared her bed with. She didn’t feel the need to demand answers about the obvious abuse he had suffered. For the first time in her life, Sara felt patient. The girl who had gotten kicked out of Sunday school for arguing with the teacher and driven her parents, her sister, and eventually her husband crazy with her unyielding desire to understand every last detail about everything on earth was finally learning how to relax.

Maybe seeing the Polaroid of Will’s sutured mouth had taught her a lesson about prying. Or maybe it was just the nature of life that you learned from past mistakes. For now, Sara was content to just be with Will. The rest would come in time. Or it wouldn’t. Either way, she felt remarkably content.

There was an insistent knock at the door, probably Abel Conford from across the hall. The lawyer had anointed himself czar of the parking lot. Every board meeting Sara attended started with Abel complaining about visitors parking in the wrong spaces.

Sara pulled her robe tight as she opened the door. Instead of her neighbor, she found Faith Mitchell.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you.” Faith pushed her way into the apartment. She was wearing a bulky navy blue jacket with the hood pulled over her head. Dark sunglasses obscured half her face. Her jeans and Chuck Taylors completed the ensemble. She looked like a PTA mom’s idea of a cat burglar.

Sara could only ask, “How did you get in?”

“I told your neighbor I was a cop and he let me in.”

“Great,” Sara mumbled, wondering how long it would take for everyone in the building to think she was being arrested. “What’s going on?”

Faith took off the sunglasses. There were five tiny bruises circling her face. “I need you to call Will for me.” She went to the window and looked down at the parking lot. “I thought about this all night. I can’t do it alone. I don’t think I’m capable.” She shielded her eyes with her hand, though the sun had yet to come up. “They don’t know I’m here. Ginger fell asleep. Taylor left last night. I sneaked out. Through the back yard. I took Roz Levy’s car. I know they’ve tapped my phones. They’re watching me. They can’t know that I’m doing this. They can’t know that I talked to anybody.”

She was a poster child for hypoglycemia. Sara suggested, “Why don’t you sit down?”

Faith kept her perch over the parking lot. “I sent my children away. They’re with my brother. He’s never even changed a diaper. This is too much responsibility for Jeremy.”

“Okay. Let’s talk about it. Come over here and sit down with me.”

“I have to get her back, Sara. I don’t care what it takes. What I have to do.”

Her mother. Will had told Sara about his trip to Coastal State Prison, his conversation with Roger Ling. “Faith, sit down.”

“I can’t sit or I’ll never get up again. I need Will. Can you please just call him?”

“I’ll get him for you. I promise, but you have to sit down.” Sara guided her over to the stool by the kitchen counter. “Did you eat breakfast?”

She shook her head. “My stomach’s too upset.”

“How’s your blood sugar?”

She stopped shaking her head. Her guilty expression was answer enough.

Sara made her voice firm. “Faith, I’m not going to do anything until we get your numbers in order. Do you understand me?”

Faith didn’t argue, perhaps because part of her knew that she needed help. She felt around in her jacket pockets and pulled out a handful of hard candy that she dropped on the counter. Next came a large gun, then her wallet, a set of keys with a gold cursive L on the chain, and finally, her blood-testing kit.

Sara scrolled through the tester’s memory, checking the stats. Faith had obviously been playing candy roulette for the last two days. It was a common trick among diabetics, using candy to fight the lows, gritting out the highs. It was a good way to get through a difficult period, but it was an even better way to end up in a coma. “I should take you to the hospital right now.” Sara gripped the monitor in her hand. “Do you have your insulin?”

Faith dug into her pockets again and put four disposable insulin pens on the counter. She started babbling. “I got them from the pharmacy this morning. I didn’t know how much to take. They showed me, but I’ve never used them before and they’re so expensive I didn’t want to mess up. My ketones are okay. I used a strip last night and this morning. I should probably get a pump.”

“An insulin pump wouldn’t be a bad idea.” Sara slid a testing strip into the monitor. “Did you eat supper last night?”

“Sort of.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sara mumbled. “What about snacks? Anything?”

Faith leaned her head in her hand. “I can’t think straight with Jeremy and Emma gone. Zeke called this morning. He says they’re settled in but I can tell he’s annoyed. He’s never been good around kids.”

Sara took Faith’s finger and lined up the lancet. “We are going to have a long talk when this is over about your noncompliance. I know that saying right now is stressful for you is an incredible understatement, but your diabetes isn’t something you can magically put on hold. Your vision, your circulation, your motor skills …” Sara didn’t finish the sentence. She’d lectured so many diabetics about this same issue that she felt like she was reading from a script. “You have to take care of yourself or you’re going to end up blind or in a wheelchair or worse.”

Faith said, “You look different.”

Sara patted down her hair, which was sticking straight up in the back.

“You’re practically glowing. Are you pregnant?”

Sara laughed, surprised by the question. An ectopic pregnancy in her twenties had led to a partial hysterectomy. Will wasn’t that much of a miracle worker. “You’re one-thirty?”

“One thirty-five.”

Sara dialed out the correct dosage on the pen. “You’re going to inject this, then I’m going to cook breakfast for you, and you’re not doing anything else until you’ve eaten every bite.”

“That stove cost more than my house.” Faith leaned over the counter for a better look. Sara pushed her back down. “How much money do you make?”