Page 22 of Just One Look

She was going to die,but she was still running.

One more block. Just one more, and she’d stop at the Thai place and order takeout, because once she had a shower, she was going to have zero energy to go anywhere or do anything else. She was going to take that shower, collapse onto the bed, and eat her food from the carton.

Naked.

That wasn’t for any kind of sexy reason. She was going to have to pull her T-shirt over her head to get into that shower, though, and she was pretty sure that would take her very last remaining shred of …

“Oy. Doctor.”

She stopped running. Or shuffling. Webster slewed around, then launched himself and started the frisking.

It was her patient. Mr. Hotness. Luka.

Oh, this was perfect. This was wonderful.

The guy had tackledWebster yesterday, but apparently, the dog didn’t bear grudges. She was holding the leash, still, being carried along with him, but he was nearly jerking it out of her hand.

She wasnotdropping this leash and having him escape again.

“SIT.”

It wasn’t exactly loud. It was just so commanding that she very nearly sat herself. It was Luka, of course. He grabbed Webster’s muzzle, wrapping his fingers around his damp jaws—Webster had a definite drooling issue—and shoved hard on the dog’s backside with the other hand.

Webster sat.

Luka held up a hand, palm out, stared into the dog’s eyes—he still hadn’t let go of the muzzle—and said, “Stay.”

“I don’t think he … knows that one,” Elizabeth said. “He doesn’t exactly … know much.”

“I noticed,” Luka said.

“Sorry,” she said. Stupidly, and with no surgical confidence at all. “We’ll just … go. We’ll go.”

That was because there was a woman sitting at the table opposite Luka. The kind of woman you didn’t realize actually existed until you met one. Until, for example, your father married somebody with a daughter, and she came to live in your house, apparently just to be a living, breathing example of everything you weren’t.

Except that this woman was even more polished and even more perfect than Elizabeth’s stepsister, Piper. She had perfect hair and perfect makeup, the kind that looked like you weren’t wearing any, and was wearing a perfectly casual little dress that had probably cost nothing at all and sandals with the kind of heel that made orthopedic surgeons anticipate the bill. Her legs were crossed, showing off her Certified Zero Cellulite, she was sipping a glass of white wine, and she was smiling coolly.

Elizabeth hated her.

“Hi,” the blonde said, and waggled her fingers. “I’m Francesca.”

“Sit down,” Luka said. He’d let go of Webster’s muzzle, but the dog was somehow still sitting. Back to panting and drooling, his specialties.

“You mean me?” Elizabeth said. Again, stupidly.

Jogging was terrible. Jogging stole yourbrain.

“Well, the dog’s already doing it,” Luka pointed out, with some humor in the crumpled lines of his face. “So I’d have to mean you.”

“Ha.” She leaned forward and rested her palms on her knees. “Oh, boy. I’m …”

“Whoa.” Luka had his arm around her and his hand gripping an elbow. “Come on. Sit down.”

“I’m not going to faint,” she said, resisting him, even though sitting sounded extremely appealing. “I’m taking arest.I was running.” A twitch at the corner of his mouth, and she said, “Don’t say it. Do not say it.”

“I’m not saying it,” he said. “Come on. Sit.” With the other hand, he pulled out a chair, and she sat. Just for a minute. Just until she got her breath again.

Hey, it was a restaurant. Well, obviously it was, but she could order her takeout food here, and then walk home and pull off her T-shirt and take her shower and do the naked-in-bed thing and the rest of it.