Alone in the Dark. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
the side of the road one night. She’d taken her to the clinic and ministered to the dog, keeping vigil until she finally pulled through. Tacoma had rewarded her the only way she knew how, by permanently giving Patience her heart.
She heard the bell over the door ring. That wasn’t her nine o’clock appointment and, most likely, it wasn’t her receptionist yet. Shirley never came in early. Maybe Coltrane finally wanted to say something.
“Forget something?”
She turned around to see Brady in the doorway. He was holding a single perfect pink rose in his hand.
Chapter 2
“Brady?”
Patience cocked her head, as if that would somehow help her take in the image of Brady holding on to a large German shepherd with one hand and a delicate rose in the other. She’d never seen anything quite so incongruous in her life. He’d be the last man in the world she’d think would offer flowers of any kind, much less a single rose.
Just goes to show that one never really knows a person.
Her smile widened as she held out her hand.
Brady realized by the look on her face what she had to be thinking. That the flower was from him. But why would that even cross her mind? There was nothing between them other than a loose, nodding acquaintance that spanned the last two years. Maybe something could have happened between them were he someone else, were he not hollow inside with no hope of ever changing that condition.
But he wasn’t someone else and he’d never given the gregarious veterinarian any reason to think that he was. Or that he thought of her as anything other than the police vet.
Even if, once in a while, he did.
There was no way for her to know that. No reason for her to entertain the thought that he would be the one to give her a flower.
But someone had given her this gift.
A feel of loss echoed inside him, although for the life of him he didn’t know why.
Bemused, Patience crossed to him. A smile curved her lips as she looked up into his light blue eyes and took the rose out of his hand. For some people, words worked best, for others, it was actions.
Coltrane, she already knew, definitely fell into the latter category. He was nothing if not a man of action. The phrase “strong, silent type” had been created with him in mind. For a fleeting second, she forgot all about her rules.
“I’m touched.”
“Then you know who left this?” he asked.
Something cold and clammy began to rear its head within her when he asked the simple question. She struggled to hold back her fear. To blot out the grim photograph she’d glimpsed in the file her father had brought home with him. A photograph of a girl, about her own age now, who’d been stabbed by her stalker.
Damn it, Walter knew better this time. She took a deep breath, running her tongue along her dried lips. “You mean, it’s not from you?”
For a second he found himself engaged by the flicker of her tongue moving along the outline of her mouth. It took him a moment to respond to her question. Brady shook his head. “No, I found it on your doorstep.”
Patience’s fingers loosened their grasp, and the rose fell to the floor.
Brady bent to pick it up. When he straightened again and looked at her face, he saw that all the color had drained out of it. Her complexion had turned a shade lighter.
Was she going to do that female thing and faint on him? “You all right?”
No, she thought, doing her best to rally behind anger rather than fear. She wasn’t all right. Damn it, this was supposed to have all been behind her by now. Walter’s eyes had all but bugged out when she’d told him that the nine police officers in dress blue were all related to her. She’d thought that was the end of it. And it had been.
Until now.
Patience had to remoisten her desert-dry lips. “You found this?” She nodded at the flower that was once more in his hand. This time she made no move to take it from him.
“Yes. On your doorstep.” He’d already told her that. Brady watched her closely.
“Just like the last time,” she murmured the words to herself. Why couldn’t she stop the chill that slid up and down her spine.
“What last time?” The question came at her sharply, like fighter pilots on the attack.
She stared at him. For a second she hadn’t realized that she’d said anything out loud. And then she shook her head, dismissing her words. Not wanting to open the door any further into the past than she’d already opened it. “Nothing.”
Brady scowled. The hell it was nothing. People didn’t turn white over nothing.
“What last time?” he repeated. The question bordered on a demand.
She tried to smile and only partially succeeded. The knots in her stomach were stealing all her available air. “Is that your interrogation voice?” she asked him, trying to divert his attention. “Because if it is, it’s pretty scary.”
“Damn it, Doc, what last time?” And then he drew his own conclusion. “Someone been harassing you?”
Bingo. From her reaction, he’d say he’d hit the nail right on the head. It was there, in her eyes.
He could see it happening. Patience Cavanaugh was more than passingly pretty. She was vibrant and outgoing on top of that. But in this upside-down world, someone could mistake her friendly manner for something else, feel perhaps that she was being friendly beyond the call and go on to misinterpret her behavior as a sign of interest.
She blew out a breath and looked away. “Not lately,” she told him evasively.
Get a grip, Patience. It’s just a flower, not a scorpion. She laughed to herself. Right now, she would have preferred the scorpion. She knew how to deal with that.
Obsession—if that’s what this was boiling down to—was something beyond her range. No, no, it wasn’t obsession, it was just a man who was too obtuse to understand that she just wasn’t interested. There was no reason to believe she’d wind up like Katie. Katie Alder, that had been her name. The dead girl. This would go away just like the last time, she promised herself.
Brady had no intention of letting this slide. “But previously?”
Best defense was a strong offense, wasn’t that what Uncle Andrew always told them? With a toss of her head, she fixed her best, most confident smile to her lips.
“Really, Coltrane, there’s no reason to get all official on me.” She thought of their interaction over these past twenty-five months. “Although, I guess when you get down to it, that’s all you ever are, isn’t it? Official.”
“This isn’t about me, Doc, it’s about you.”
She squared her shoulders, deliberately avoiding looking at the flower he still held. “Right. And since it’s about me, I’ll handle it.”
He raised a brow, pinning her with a look. “You weren’t handling it a minute ago.”
No, that had been an aberration. One she wasn’t about to allow to happen again. She was stronger than that. “I’m better now.”
He made a leap, bridging the gap from here to there and filling in the missing pieces. It wasn’t hard. He’d handled more than one stalker case before he’d found a place for himself in narcotics. “You ever report it?”
She looked at Brady warily. She’d always sensed he was sharp, maybe even intuitive, but she didn’t want to learn she was right at her own expense. “Report what?” she asked vaguely.
“The stalker.”
Patience