Paris Photocall 10.11.09

chapter 18. THE FUNERAL
I SPRINTED DOWN THE STAIRS AND THREW THE DOOR open.
It was Jacob, of course. Even blind, Alice wasn't slow.
He was standing about six feet back from the door, his nose wrinkled in distaste, but his face otherwise smooth—masklike. He didn't fool me; I could see the faint trembling of his hands.
Hostility rolled off of him in waves. It brought back that awful afternoon when he'd chosen Sam over me, and I felt my chin jerk up defensively in response.
Jacob's Rabbit idled por the curb with Jared behind the wheel and Embry in the passenger seat. I understood what this meant:...