But the hurt reflected in faded, watery eyes still haunted Jeb. No matter where he turned, their bewildered innocence followed him. Even in the dark, with the moon a glimmering golden globe, and night winds bearing the beguiling balm of the sea, they lay in wait to accuse. Lifting his hands before his face, he stared at them. In the broken light falling from Nicole’s bedroom door they were normal hands, of a normal man. Nothing about them appeared dangerous, certainly not lethal. But appearances deceived. As he deceived, and little more than an hour before, with only these damnable hands he had nearly throttled a child. God help him, in any interpretation, a child. The pad of Nicole’s bare feet whispered over the deck. Another incongruity to be added to her dirtied and disheveled dinner finery. Her subtle fragrance drifted about him as she came to stand by his side. The one constant in a bizarre evening. Jeb’s hands dropped to the deck rail, gripping. “How is he?” “Asleep, finally.”
What do You think about Heart Of The Hunter (1995)?
