Moving out into the light, she could see the scarlet color, the sticky consistency. No doubt about it. This was blood. Alarm surging through her, she heard a chorus of echoes in her head. Tell someone! Wait—don’t tell! Get help! No, hide, hide! Swallowing against the fear that lodged like a bone in her throat, she focused on the office in the distance. Sam Hawke had wandered out now and was patting Duke. His large hand covered the dog’s head, and his fingers stroked around and behind the large furry ears. Should Ana tell Sam? No, he would sneer at her the way he had laughed at her desire to win a Pulitzer. How shallow can you get? How dumb can you be? That’s not blood. That’s nothing. Strawberry jelly, maybe, from lunch. You’re blowing things out of proportion. What are you doing here, anyway? I told you to leave. No, Ana would not leave, not without finding Flora first.
