Wealthy
She hugged herself, shivering against icy fear.
"Angela?'
His voice was soothing, but she took no comfort from it.
She broke. "We're wealthy, Hodgins. We can just take off for anywhere in the world. Why stay here? Why don't we. . . ?"
Her rant continued as her husband pulled her into his arms.
"Just tell me, Angie. It's okay. Just tell me what you know about this." His voice was low and gentle. "Just take a deep breath and calm down. It's going to be all right."
His voice, low and rhythmic, mirrored the same tone he used with Michael Vincent when their son fell and skinned his knee when he tried to ride his trike down four steps at the park. But this was far worse than a skinned knee.
"I can't," she sobbed into his lab coat. "I can't. I just can't."
But he held her and tried to calm her and within minutes she began to believe that maybe Hodgins could hold back the evil.
So, she began. She seemed to be telling the tale mostly to the blue of his lab coat, sometimes needed to retrace her words when they became hopelessly muffled in the cloth, but within minutes she had given up the story as best she could remember it.
"It should be easy to find someone like that." Her husband's voice had never strayed from the calm tone despite the horror of the tale she told. "We'll give Aubrey a description of this guy and his name and they'll find this guy."
"But what if. . . ?" The question was far too horrible to finish.
"I'll hire an army to protect us, Ange."
It took several more minutes, but she repeated his name for the first time in 20 years.