Come the Night. Susan Krinard

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      Toby was smart enough to recognize the edge of hostility in the reporter’s tone. “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” he said belligerently. “And my—Mr. Kavanagh doesn’t want to talk to you, either.”

      Ross cursed under his breath. “Toby,” he said without breaking stride, “you tell the cabbie to take you and your mother to the place where we started. Go back exactly the way we came, okay?”

      In answer, Toby hurried to Gillian’s other side and took her hand. Gillian was moving like a sleepwalker, in spite of Toby’s urgent tugging. Ross came to a stop and grabbed O’Grady by the arm to keep him from following.

      O’Grady grinned. “Same old Kavanagh,” he said. “Better let me go, or I’ll see you arrested for assault.”

      Ross snorted with disgust and released the reporter. “You may think you have friends on the force,” he said, “but they don’t like you any better than they like me.”

      “Why not? We’re all on the same side. Trying to bring a killer to justice.” He watched Gillian and Toby as they climbed into the cab. “You know, I didn’t think this would be much of a story. Now…”

      “You stay away from them,” Ross snarled.

      “Why? I’d be doing her a favor by sticking around. She’s pretty, slender, blond…just like the other one, but with a lot more class. You grazing in richer pastures, Kavanagh?”

      Ross could have had the bastard on the ground in two seconds flat, but he knew what would happen if he so much as waved a fist in O’ Grady’s direction.

      “I was cleared,” he said. “And when I find the real killer, I’ll make you choke on your newspaper.”

      The reporter laughed, but he wasn’t quite as immune to Ross’s anger as he wanted to believe. “Cleared?” he repeated. “You were released for lack of evidence. Not quite the same thing, is it? But who knows? Maybe I can find something nice to say about you if you cooperate.” He slipped a thoroughly chewed pencil from behind his ear and held it poised over the notepad. “Who is she? She’s from England, right? What’s your relationship with her and the kid? Does she realize—”

      He grunted in surprise as Ross tore the notepad and pencil from his hands and threw them to the ground. “If you get anywhere near her, I may have to do something stupid,” Ross said.

      O’Grady stared at the notebook, its pages splayed and fluttering in the light breeze. “You already have, Kavanagh.”

      Ross leaned toward the reporter, his breath stirring O’Grady’s thin reddish hair. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’d have to have been pretty crazy to murder that girl. And if I’m crazy, why should I stop with her? Why not try something different this time?”

      As if compelled by forces beyond his control, O’Grady met Ross’s gaze. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. He took a step backward. He kept up his retreat until he was well out of Ross’s reach.

      “I know where you live, Kavanagh!” he said, all bluster again. “I’ll get my story.”

       “Leave us alone.”

      Gillian had returned. Her voice was clear, sharp and startling, ringing with such natural authority that everyone within hearing distance stopped and stared. She ignored her audience, her attention completely focused on O’Grady.

      “No more questions,” she said. “I must take my son home.”

      O’Grady made the mistake of thinking he’d found a new opening. “Sure, I understand. Just tell me where you can be reached, and I’ll…”

      He trailed off, his bravado crushed by Gillian’s withering stare. When she moved, he jumped like a rabbit. He stayed put as she stalked away, a muscle under his eye twitching frantically.

      “What the hell…?” he breathed.

      Ross couldn’t have put it better himself. What had he just seen? One minute Gillian was calm and confident, the next nervous and uncertain, then aggressive and strong. How many different women lived inside that sleek, graceful body?

      He fell into step beside her. “I don’t think you should go directly back to the hotel.”

      She glanced at him without breaking stride, her hand still clamped around Toby’s, conflicting emotions passing behind her eyes.

      “Why?” she asked. “Will that man follow us?”

      “I know the guy. He’s a persistent bas—He won’t give up easily. And he knows your name.”

      “I’m sorry,” Toby said, abashed. “I didn’t think there would be any harm…”

      “It’s okay,” Ross said. “O’Grady could get a clam to confess. But I think it would be a good idea to throw him off the scent.”

      “How do you propose to do that?” Gillian asked.

      Her tone held the same conflicting emotions as her eyes, anxious and angry at the same time, but Ross had seen how much she detested the kind of attention she’d attracted as a result of her good deed. She would probably do just about anything to avoid answering the reporter’s questions, no matter how benign they might seem.

      Ross certainly didn’t want to tell her that O’Grady held a grudge against him and was likely to be even more obnoxious than usual in trying to uncover the nature of their relationship.

      “I’ve got a friend who lives over on Long Island,” he said. “Grif and his wife have been out of the country for months, so the place is vacant. They won’t mind if we stay there until O’Grady finds a more interesting story. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

      “A few days? That is impossible.”

      “I think you’ll find Oak Hollow comfortable, even if Grif isn’t as big on the luxuries you’re used to.”

      Gillian opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again, clearly torn. Then she saw or smelled something that worried her, because she moved a little closer to Toby and drew herself into a defensive posture.

      “How will you make certain that the reporter doesn’t follow us to Long Island?” she asked.

      “I’m going to give you instructions on how to take the subway back to Penn Station, where you’ll catch the train to Long Island. While you’re doing that, I’m going to lure O’Grady in another direction. I’ll join you as soon as I can. Once we’re at Oak Hollow, you can call Hugh and arrange to have some of your things sent over.”

      Gillian nodded with obvious reluctance. He could sense that she wanted to say something else, but was finding it difficult to spit out the words.

      “Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you, Ross.”

      “It’s nothing,” he said curtly. “Listen carefully. This is what you do…”

      He gave her the promised instructions and accompanied her to the Coney Island station, keeping an eye out for O’Grady all the while. When the reporter СКАЧАТЬ