Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel by REBECCA YORK Page B

get in.” Tory switched back to business. “How long have you been here?”
    “A week.”
    “And how long have I been here?”
    June tipped her head to the side. “A couple of days, I think.”
    “What would you tell me if you could?” Tory tried.
    “You’re in danger,” the woman answered, then blinked as though she couldn’t believe what she’d said.
    “It’s okay,” Tory soothed. “You said we were friends.”
    “How could we be friends?” June said in a vague voice. “I barely know you,”
    Tory repressed a smile as she listened to more confirmation of what she’d suspected. She was trying to think of something else to ask when the light from the hall dimmed. Looking up, she saw Ted, the balding man in his sixties who was supposed to be one of the patients. He gave her a sharp look.
    “What are you doing?”
    She turned one hand, palm up. “Taking care of June.”
    “She can take care of herself.”
    “She doesn’t feel well. Do you?” she asked the woman next to her.
    “I don’t feel well,” June repeated vaguely.
    “I’ll take care of her,” Ted said. “You go on. Get out of here.”
    “And go where?”
    “It’s time for lunch.”
    “Oh, uh, right.” Tory stood and walked back to the dining room, where one of the staff was putting plates of food on the table.
    “That’s yours,” he said to Tory, pointing to a bowl of soup.
    She stared at the chunky meat and vegetables in a thick broth. No way was she eating that.
    Robin and Arthur, the younger man, were already there. June plopped down in a seat and stared at the bowl of soup in front of her. It looked like Tory’s, but it would be easy to put in some drug after the soup was in the bowl.
    There was a basket of rolls on the table. Tory grabbed two of them.
    “Hey, what are you doing?” Robin complained.
    “I don’t eat soup,” Tory said.
    “What do you mean, you don’t eat soup?” Ted asked.
    “Too watery.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Robin answered.
    Tory made her voice sound like that of a stubborn child. “Maybe to you.”
    “Put a roll back,” Ted ordered.
    “No.” Defiantly, she licked both the rolls in her hand.
    Robin stared at her. “Ewww.”
    Tory dipped her knife into the butter, cut off a large chunk, and slathered it on the rolls, which she then began to eat.
    As everyone except June began to spoon up their soup, Tory munched on the buttered rolls.
    Ted gave her a dirty look as he took one from the basket. When nobody else touched them, Tory took another.
    Nobody spoke again. June was too out of it, and the others probably didn’t know what to say.
    Tory pushed back her chair. “Now what?”
    “The dayroom,” Ted said.
    “Which is where?”
    “Across the hall,” he answered, not bothering to ask why she didn’t remember.
    They all went into a large room with sofas, a television set and several board games.
    “Want to play checkers?” she asked Arthur.
    He shrugged. “Why not.”
    He grabbed the checkerboard and a box of red and black disks, and they sat down at a card table.
    June lolled against the sofa cushions. Robin and Ted both inspected the paperbacks on the bookshelves, made selections, and settled into comfortable chairs.
    She sat across from Arthur, moving checkers around, but her mind was spinning. Dr. Raymond thought she had some information about Denato—something she really didn’t know. It sounded like he thought she could identify the murderers. But the shooting had happened only a couple of days ago. And this place must have already been set up for her. The murder couldn’t be it. Or what if two of Denato’s men were planning to attack him—and she knew who they were? That might make sense. But she still didn’t have the answer. She didn’t know Denato’s men, and she hadn’t seen the murder.
    A sharp voice from the doorway made her head jerk up.
    “I understand you didn’t eat your lunch, Tory.”
    It was Dr. Son of a Bitch, and his expression told her that the