"Spindler, Erica - See Jane Die" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)

"Let Ranger out of his kennel," she called after him, referring to her three-year-old retriever mix. "He's whining."

"Biggest baby in the great state of Texas."

"Jealous?" she teased.

"Hell, yes, I'm jealous." He said it seriously, though his eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. "You scratch him behind the ears way more than you do me."

A moment later Ranger bounded out of the kitchen. Outrageously ugly but uncommonly smart, she had adopted him from the SPCA as a puppy. Truthfully, she had chosen him because she'd known no one else would. With the size and shape of a retriever, coloring of a springer spaniel and a smattering of dalmatian spots, he was truly one of a kind.

The dog skidded to a halt beside her and laid his big head on her lap. She stroked his head and silky ears; his eyes rolled back with pleasure.

"So, what's your opinion, Ranger?" she murmured, thinking of the past, the way it had begun intruding on her sleep, eroding her feelings of safety and contentment. "Has the baby got my knickers in a twist? Or is something else going on?"

He whined in response and she bent and pressed her head to the dog's. "Maybe I should call Dave. What do you think?"

She caught a glimpse of herself, reflected in the mirrored box on the coffee table, her image slightly distorted by her angle and the glass's beveled edges.

Slightly distorted. Appropriate, she thought. For she would never see herself in any other way, though to most she appeared a normal, attractive, dark-haired woman. Some might wonder at the long, thin scar that curved along her jaw. They might think she was recovering from some sort of cosmetic surgery, a face-lift, perhaps. The most observant might notice that her pretty brown eyes didn't reflect the light in exactly the same way, but would think little of it.

How others saw her had little effect on how she saw herself. Truth was, every day was a challenge not to look into the mirror and see the teenage girl with a face ravaged by a network of scars, the girl whose eye patch hid a hideously empty socket.

A series of reconstructive surgeries had restored her face. The custom-made, pegged prosthesis, her eye. But no surgery had existed capable of restoring her place within her peer group, no technological wonder to restore the way she looked at the worldЧor it at her.

The carefree, confident girl she had been that bright but cold March day had been lost forever.

She hadn't been able to go back. But wouldn't, even if she could. For if she did, her vision would be changed. And Jane Killian, the artist who called herself Cameo, would cease to exist.

For she would have nothing meaningful to say.

"Tea for two," Ian said, returning with mugs. He set both on coasters, nudged Ranger out of the way, then settled beside her.

They sat in silence a moment, sipping their beverages. She caught him glancing at the clock and followed his gaze. She made a sound of dismay. "My God, it's after midnight."

"It can't be." He blinked as if clearing his vision. "Damn, tomorrow's going to be a bitch."

"It's tomorrow already." She snuggled into his side. "This is practice for those infamous 2:00 a.m. feedings."

She felt his smile. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

They fell silent again. Ian broke the quiet first. "When are you going to tell Stacy about the baby?"

At mention of her sister, uneasiness rippled over her, souring the moment.

Ian drew away, meeting her eyes. "She'll be happy for you, Jane. She will."

"I hope so. It's just that now I haveЧ"

Everything her sister wanted.