Цитата #1834 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

“OK,” she said, slowly. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

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“You up to speed?” I asked her. “Finlay give you the spread?”

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We lay there clasped and caressing. Then she got off me and pulled me up. We kissed again as we staggered through to her bedroom. She pulled back the covers on the bed and we collapsed in. Held each other and fell into a deep afterglow stupor. I was wrecked. I felt like all my bones and sinews were rubber. I lay in the unfamiliar bed and drifted away to a place far beyond relaxation. I was floating. Roscoe’s warm heft was snuggled beside me. I was breathing through her hair. Our hands were lazily caressing unfamiliar contours.

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“I don’t have a telephone,” I said again. “I wasn’t here last night. The more you hassle me, the more time you’re wasting, Finlay.”

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She drove on, looking edgy. Kept glancing around, startled. Like she felt under threat. Like someone was going to jump out in front of the car and gun us down. Her quiet life in the Georgia countryside was over. Four men in the night up at her house had shattered that.

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