Challenging Andie Read Online Free PDF Page B

business was played out in Technicolor.
    Just as he feared, they pulled no punches, even showing footage of the charred body briefly. Fragments of scorched white shirt and blue jeans smeared with blood could have belonged to anybody, but he recognized the colorful woven belt as Emily’s. His friend lay dead on the street, and he felt no pain, just a deadened numbness.
    Andie started to cry.
    Scores of times he’d been in the midst of horror, reported dispassionately on tragedy while all around families howled and wept for the loss of their loved ones. This time, detachment was impossible as Andie’s soft sobs pierced his veneer, jumpstarting the urge to comfort. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and held on tight.
    The footage switched to a picture of him and Andie together, the newsreader intoning Andie had disappeared with ‘war correspondent Ryan Armstrong.’
    He held her while she cried. Eventually, when her sobs subsided, Ryan fetched a tissue which she dabbed her eyes with, automatically, as if tears were an everyday reality for her these days. “What do we do now?” Her voice wavered. “I suppose I’ll have to contact the foreign office, identify the remains…”
    “They’ll do that with DNA, the bureau has a DNA profile of all their correspondents. If the agency needs to reach you and can’t, they’ll contact me. I think we should lay low here for a couple of days. Give the story time to be pushed off the front page.”
    Deep inside, Ryan knew there was no way this story would burn out so quickly. The press would be desperate to interview Andie. The only hope was that in a few days once the news had sunk in Andie would find the resources deep inside to deal with it, leaving him free to return to Bekostan.
    *****
    Andie’s eyes flew open in the darkness. Panic squeezed around her ribcage like a vice, and her heart hammered so fast a heart attack felt dangerously possible. She clenched the covers, fighting the urge to scream. Where am I?
    Concentrating on each labored breath, memories slowly returned, lessening the all-consuming terror. The cottage, Ryan…
    Scooting up in bed, she scrabbled for the bedside light.
    In the dim light she pushed back the hair plastered against her forehead and neck. The nightdress was damp with sweat from the fevered dream, and she plucked it away from her clammy skin with disgust.
    It had taken hours to fall asleep. Despite her best efforts, it had been impossible to banish the show reel of news bulletin highlights that played behind her eyelids. In the dream’s aftermath she despaired of being able to sink into sleep again, even though her exhausted body and wearied mind longed to.
    She climbed out of bed. Maybe a shower and change of clothes would help.
    In the sitting room, the television was still on, a lissome female extolling the virtues of a thigh-buster. She crept to the sofa. Ryan had put her in the cluttered spare room, and she’d expected that at some stage during the night he would have climbed the stairs to bed.
    The sound of deep, even breathing rent the silence. In the dimness long legs could just be seen poking over the couch’s end. He was really much too long for it.
    A warm feeling bloomed inside at his remembered kindness. If he hadn’t been there at the house… She shuddered at the thought of being set upon alone. They would have chewed her up for breakfast, and spat out her bones.
    Andie pushed the bathroom door open, wincing at the loud creak. Moments later she was under the shower’s refreshing spray, offering up silent blessings for the hot water and efficient pressure that massaged her body with pounding needles of water. By the time she’d dressed in the clean nightie from the airing cupboard— didn’t Brianne own anything that was longer than the top of her thighs? —Andie felt human again. And thirsty.
    In the kitchen, she poured a tall glass of water and drank. On her return to the sitting-room light pooled on the rug from a lighted