Detective On The Hunt. Marilyn Pappano

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Showing JJ to the conference room took about five seconds: out the door, turn right, go to the next door. Quint flipped on the overhead, then went to open the blinds on the tall windows. The light flooding the room illuminated the intricate crown molding, original to the building, along with the battered table, cast-off chairs and unwanted desks bunched against one wall.

      “Interesting room,” she remarked as she made her way to a chair. “The marble floor is gorgeous, and the moldings are incredible.”

      “But everything in between sucks.”

      “Except for the windows, pretty much.” She sat at the far end, where sunlight filtered through the blinds. The position would give her a good look at everyone else while she would be shadowy when they looked back. He bet she had all kinds of similar tricks up her detective’s sleeve.

      He should ask Sam if he could go now, but Sam hadn’t included that in his instructions. For whatever reason—probably because Maura lived in Quint’s patrol district—he wanted Quint to know all this, and because Quint was damn grateful to have his job, he was going to obey. But he’d still rather be outside, alone in his vehicle, with nothing for company but the radio broadcasts.

      JJ’s chair was pushed back from the table, leaving her room to cross her legs again. Her spine was straight, barely touching the back of the chair, and except for the heavy jacket, her clothing clung, shirt hugging her breasts just short of straining the buttons, denim stretching over her thighs. Most women he knew with that kind of posture had suffered through years of ballet or gymnastics. He tried to imagine her in leotards or tights, tumbling or pirouetting on her toes, but the image wouldn’t form. Swinging a baseball bat or breaking a board with her bare foot seemed far more likely.

      She brushed her hair back, and sunlight flashed on a stone on her left hand. It was on her ring finger, fiery orange set in gold. A nontraditional engagement or wedding ring, or just a piece of jewelry she liked? He wouldn’t find it hard to believe she was unconventional. Wouldn’t find it hard to believe she was married, either.

      Didn’t matter to him either way.

      “What is your impression of Maura?”

      Embarrassment heated Quint’s neck but luckily burned inward instead of out. From the moment the dispatcher had passed on the call to check the stranger on Maura’s street, he’d known in the back of his mind that this had to do with Maura. Who else on that street was interesting enough for surveillance? The young couple with four kids in the house fifty feet behind where she’d parked? The elderly sisters? The two college girls down the street or Jamey Moran, the deputy fire marshal who was so clean he squeaked?

      But the front part of his brain hadn’t wanted to give it any thought. Now he had no choice, so he gave the most superficial answer that came to mind. “She’s a bad driver with too much time and money on her hands.”

      JJ tilted her head to one side. “That’s it?”

      Acknowledging that he seemed to be getting further away from returning to his vehicle instead of closer, he swallowed a sigh and took a chair near her end of the table, leaving an empty space between them. “I don’t know her. My interaction with her has been less than thirty minutes, all calls combined.”

      That was true. But he was leaving out the fact that the last time he’d stopped her, Maura had offered to remedy the not-knowing-each-other thing if he wouldn’t write the ticket. He’d stood there in her driveway—she’d refused to stop until she reached the house—and smelled the sweet scent of her perfume, watched the breeze mold her already-tight dress even closer to her body, and sweet hell, he’d been tempted. He’d been alone so long. So damn alone. Sometimes he’d missed human contact so much that he’d physically hurt with it, and he’d thought…

      It had shamed him then, and it did now. He’d thought Maura was no one special. She would never mean anything to him. He could use her to ease his pain and never have to bother with her again. He’d never treated women as disposable, but it had held a strong appeal that day.

      Then she’d touched him, and it had had the effect of a gut punch, slamming home one important truth: he didn’t want human contact. He wanted Linny. No one could ever replace her, not for a night, for an hour or a minute, and certainly not some rich girl who thought avoiding a hundred-dollar ticket was worth trading sex for.

      Disgusted with himself, he’d removed her hand, a bit of a struggle when she’d already insinuated her fingers inside his belt and didn’t want to let go. She’d pouted, called him a few names, torn up the ticket and let the wind scatter the pieces. And after that, he’d turned a blind eye to her driving infractions, just like those South Carolina cops did. Don’t poke the bear, his father used to say. The next time he might not walk away with his dignity intact.

      “She was self-centered. Used to getting her way. She fluttered her lashes and smiled real pretty and expected problems to go away. I have no idea why she settled here. There aren’t a lot of restaurants, no clubs that would appeal to someone like that, no shopping besides Walmart, a couple of small clothing stores and the antique stores downtown, and name-dropping wouldn’t get her anywhere this far from home. Cedar Creek doesn’t have anything СКАЧАТЬ