Silent Storm. Amanda Stevens

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      “Well, old lady Jessop hanged herself when Marly was just twelve. Marly was the one who found the body. I don’t think she ever got over it.”

      “Be hard to get over something like that,” Deacon muttered.

      Nona lit up another cigarette. “Kind of creepy when you think about it, though. Marly was the one who found her grandmother all those years ago, and now here she is a cop, having to investigate all these other suicides. That’s what I call a really weird-ass coincidence.”

      Weird maybe. But Deacon didn’t really believe in coincidences.

      Chapter Three

      Dr. Alvin Pliner, the Durango County medical examiner, snapped on a pair of latex gloves as he approached the corpse with what Marly perceived as an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. Here was a man who clearly enjoyed his job, she thought with a shudder.

      “You’ve protected the crime scene, I assume.” He made the prospect sound doubtful.

      “Don’t worry, it’s virgin,” Navarro assured him. He gave Marly a slight wink at the medical examiner’s pomposity, and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. Navarro had that kind of effect. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and the .357 Magnum he wore strapped to his hip gave him a certain bad-ass cachet that was downright irresistible.

      All the women in town were half in love with him, but no one really knew much about him. An ex-Navy SEAL, he’d come to Mission Creek a little over a year ago to meet with the mayor and the city council, and whatever had gone down in those closed-door sessions had convinced them to hire him on the spot as the new chief of police.

      From the very first, he’d been a different kind of cop than his predecessor. Boyd Hendrickson had been an aging lawman who had been all too content to coast along until his retirement. No one could accuse Navarro of complacency. He took an active role in every investigation, but he also remained somewhat of an outsider in the department, eschewing the standard uniform for jeans, boots, and on chilly days like today, a black leather jacket that made him seem cool, aloof and more than a little dangerous.

      Marly dropped her gaze and tried to focus on Dr. Pliner as he moved his gloved hands with quick efficiency over the body. “He’s dead all right. Did you notice the blowback on his right hand? GPR is going to turn up positive, I can almost guarantee.”

      “So you think it’s another suicide,” Navarro said quietly.

      “Lucky Number Four,” Pliner agreed. “Although not so lucky for this poor bastard. I’ll be able to tell you more about time of death after the autopsy.”

      He continued to poke and prod the corpse until Marly, still in danger of losing the contents of her stomach, had to leave the room. She walked down the hall into the living area and stood gazing around.

      The room was sparsely furnished with a battered old sofa and recliner arranged around a small TV. The walls were decorated with Houston Astros and Harley-Davidson memorabilia, and the dining room table was strewn with mechanical parts, probably from the vintage Harley she’d seen under the carport. Marly could picture Ricky sitting there at night, listening to a baseball game on TV while he painstakingly restored and rebuilt piece by piece what had undoubtedly been his pride and joy.

      Being in his house, examining his personal belongings was a little too much like having a glimpse into the man’s private dreams, Marly thought. She didn’t want to poke and prod into every aspect of his life, rip away the last vestiges of his dignity. All she really wanted was to go home, climb into a hot shower and wash that awful scent from her hair and from her skin. And from her memory, if possible.

      She wasn’t like Navarro. She wasn’t the kind of cop who could walk away from a gruesome scene and put it out of her mind. Ricky Morales’s death would eat at her. His sightless eyes would haunt her sleep for years to come.

      Handing out traffic citations was one thing, but all these deaths…

      Marly hadn’t signed on for anything like this, and she toyed with the idea of handing in her resignation. She could just walk out the door and not look back, and no one would really be all that surprised. If anything, the people who knew her best were shocked that she’d stuck it out for this long.

      Quitter, a voice inside her taunted. A voice that sounded very much like her father’s.

      Well, better a quitter who could sleep at night, Marly reasoned.

      Navarro had once told her that she had what it took to be a good cop. She had all the right instincts, he’d said. But did she have the guts?

      It was a good question, and one Marly still wasn’t sure she could answer. Especially now, when her instincts were telling her something she didn’t want to hear.

      Something bad was happening in Mission Creek. Something…evil.

      And Marly didn’t have a clue how to fight it.

      WHEN DEPUTY JESSOP FINALLY emerged from the house, she hurried down the porch steps without even a glance in Deacon’s direction. For a moment, it looked as if she were fleeing from the devil himself, and Deacon wondered if he should follow her. Find out what the hell was going on. But then one of the police officers who’d arrived on the scene just after the medical examiner called out to her and she paused. She turned and—reluctantly it seemed to Deacon—walked over to consult with her colleague.

      Deacon studied her carefully, noting the flicker of emotions across her face, the almost convulsive movement of her hands. He remembered what Nona had said about her earlier, that she wasn’t cut out to be a cop. She was too much of a goody-goody. She let people push her around.

      Maybe.

      But in the few moments they’d stood talking in the hallway, Deacon had glimpsed something that made him think there was more to Marly Jessop than met the eye. She possessed the kind of innate courage that had allowed her to stand her ground even in the face of what she had obviously perceived as grave danger. That courage was buried deep, he suspected, but it was there, nonetheless. And if he was right about the nature of these recent deaths, she would need every ounce she could muster in the coming days. They both would.

      As if sensing his scrutiny, Marly glanced up and their gazes met across the yard before she quickly looked away. But in that moment, something passed between them. Attraction—at least on Deacon’s part—but something else, too. A flash of understanding or perhaps even precognition that their paths had crossed for a reason.

      Lifting a hand to the back of her neck, Marly continued to speak with the other officer. After a moment, he returned to his squad car and drove off while she sloshed back over to the porch.

      Nona, who had been smoking quietly as she observed the exchange in the yard, tossed her cigarette over the rail. “You gonna finally tell us what happened to Ricky or what?”

      Marly climbed the steps slowly. “I’m sorry, Nona. Ricky’s dead.”

      “I already know that.” Nona’s tone was hard as nails, but her eyes glittered with emotion. “I want to know how it happened.”

      Marly’s gaze slid to Deacon’s. “Nona, would you mind waiting for me at your house? I need to have a word with Mr. Cage here.” When the woman started to protest, Marly СКАЧАТЬ