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along Lake Merced and joined Skyline Boulevard. He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, arched his back, then his shoulders, to relieve the tension. It had been a long night. |
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Anna Neville said quietly, "Can I trust you, Morgan?" Her voice quavered a little. |
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Morgan was feeling the pressure himself. This woman attracted him and angered him and baffled him. He had always avoided allowing political ideology to be a factor in man-woman relationships. When he met an attractive womanand he'd met severalwho began haranguing him about his uniform and all it stood for, he tipped his hat and departed. Why bother? "Is there anyone else?" he asked, eyebrows raised. |
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"Who am I?" she demanded suddenly. |
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Morgan was nonplussed. "I don't understand you." |
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"My name. I have a name. Why don't you use it? Is it that you think I'll be dead before you get used to saying 'Mrs. Neville' or 'Anna'?" Hostility, fed by suppressed fear, overflowed in her. Suddenly she was crying, tears running down her cheeks as she shook with the effort to catch her breath. |
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Morgan checked the rearview mirror, then slowed, pulling the car off onto the verge. The headlights on the fog reflected ghostly patterns in the air around them. He fumbled with his seat belt, trying to free himself. Damned thing, it's so slowjust in the way, he thought in exasperation. Then he put his arms around her and held her. "It's all right. It really is all right." |
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She shook her head against his chest. "It isn't. I didn't want to start something like this. But they killed Jacob and Sean. Now Pierre. Somebody" |
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She stopped, sucking in air in shuddering breaths. |
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"Anna," Morgan said quietly. "Anna Mathis Neville." He brushed a damp strand of hair from her scarred cheek. "Named for Anna Akhmatova.'' |
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