Chapter 147

They were the kind of eyes, Beau thought, that had inspired that careworn cliché for the eyes: the window to the soul.

Just this connection with the man’s eyes calmed Beau somewhat. Even though the man had spoken not a word, there was something in those eyes of his that told Beau he was safe and that the man standing above him meant no harm.

Beau cocked his head and repeated his original question, “Who are you?”

But the man said nothing. He reached down and gently patted Beau’s leg beneath the sheet. He straightened back up and pointed to the tray, nodding. Then, just as silently as he had entered the room, he turned and left it, closing the door with a barely audible click.