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.There is a hard glint in her stare that sparks a bewildering surge of sexual attraction in him.Maybe because it is so uncharacteristically aggressive of her, so uncharacteristically masculine.He shakes his head, but can’t quite dismiss the thought that Caitlin—this Caitlin—may not be the same person as his best friend from just six months ago.When she speaks again, her voice has the hollowed-out quality of someone struggling to speak evenly through the breathlessness caused by fear.“He was fucking her.In the guest bathroom.Upstairs.The door was open and I could see him fucking her, and I.well, I guess I realized I don’t have your courage, Blake.Or your mouth.I couldn’t confront them, is what I mean.I just turned away and ran.And then.” Her tongue moistens her lips suddenly and quickly, an action that suggests her glaze-eyed stare is as substantial as a paper mask.“Then we all heard that little slut screaming, and then.Well, then it looked like there was more justice in the world than I previously thought.”Justice? He manages to keep this astonished question to himself, but the struggle must be written on his face, because Caitlin is studying him with sudden, animated intensity, and Blake realizes he is on the verge of failing an important test.Whatever he says next will determine her next move and the access she will grant to him until this whole thing is sorted out, to say nothing of his role in her life, if he’s to have one at all, after this bloody affair has come to an end.She has assumed, without reservation, that her husband is dead, and he’s confident that if she expressed this to the cops that morning as plainly as she just expressed it to him, they would still have her in holding.He chooses his next words as carefully as he would insert an IV in an infant.“Nova said she saw something in the shed, right before you went in.” Blake scans the room for anything matching Nova’s description of a strange flower that just isn’t quite right, but he only sees the vanity bedecked with perfume bottles, and the nightstands stacked with paperbacks and copies of New Orleans Magazine.The sumptuous bedroom is still fresh from the housekeeper’s last visit after Caitlin left for Spring House.but no flower.“She wasn’t sure what it was,” he says.“But she said she saw it on the floor of the shed, and whatever it was.it was glowing.She thought it might be some kind of flower.” His delivery at this point is sloppy and abrupt, he knows.But it is the quickest way he can think of to mask his stunned reaction to Caitlin’s bloody definition of justice.“She was probably drinking along with the rest of the help.”“So.no idea what she’s talking about?”“None,” she says.“You’re here because of something Nova said?”“Of course not.I’m here because it’s.you.”She doesn’t turn to face him, but she is sitting upright, staring at him through the mirror, her hands clasped against her knees, her entire body braced as if she fears his next words might constitute a small, sharp strike to the center of her scalp.“Do you think I killed him?” she whispers.He wants to say, No.You couldn’t have.But that answer is too logical, and it will reveal how thoroughly he’s done his homework because of that very suspicion.Several witnesses placed her too far from the shed for her to have been involved in whatever took place inside.And he knows Jane Percival hasn’t said anything to implicate Caitlin, and that if she had, Caitlin would probably be in an interrogation room with her lawyer at this very moment.Indeed, Jane Percival has said nothing the detectives want anyone to hear; she remains in custody, and there’s no trace of her account in any of the increasing number of news reports about the bloody disappearance of a hero cop known for solving an infamous hate crime when he was just a Jefferson Parish sheriff’s deputy.“Of course not,” Blake says.It is not his most convincing delivery, the words weighted down by forethought.But it’s better than more hesitation, he figures [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.There is a hard glint in her stare that sparks a bewildering surge of sexual attraction in him.Maybe because it is so uncharacteristically aggressive of her, so uncharacteristically masculine.He shakes his head, but can’t quite dismiss the thought that Caitlin—this Caitlin—may not be the same person as his best friend from just six months ago.When she speaks again, her voice has the hollowed-out quality of someone struggling to speak evenly through the breathlessness caused by fear.“He was fucking her.In the guest bathroom.Upstairs.The door was open and I could see him fucking her, and I.well, I guess I realized I don’t have your courage, Blake.Or your mouth.I couldn’t confront them, is what I mean.I just turned away and ran.And then.” Her tongue moistens her lips suddenly and quickly, an action that suggests her glaze-eyed stare is as substantial as a paper mask.“Then we all heard that little slut screaming, and then.Well, then it looked like there was more justice in the world than I previously thought.”Justice? He manages to keep this astonished question to himself, but the struggle must be written on his face, because Caitlin is studying him with sudden, animated intensity, and Blake realizes he is on the verge of failing an important test.Whatever he says next will determine her next move and the access she will grant to him until this whole thing is sorted out, to say nothing of his role in her life, if he’s to have one at all, after this bloody affair has come to an end.She has assumed, without reservation, that her husband is dead, and he’s confident that if she expressed this to the cops that morning as plainly as she just expressed it to him, they would still have her in holding.He chooses his next words as carefully as he would insert an IV in an infant.“Nova said she saw something in the shed, right before you went in.” Blake scans the room for anything matching Nova’s description of a strange flower that just isn’t quite right, but he only sees the vanity bedecked with perfume bottles, and the nightstands stacked with paperbacks and copies of New Orleans Magazine.The sumptuous bedroom is still fresh from the housekeeper’s last visit after Caitlin left for Spring House.but no flower.“She wasn’t sure what it was,” he says.“But she said she saw it on the floor of the shed, and whatever it was.it was glowing.She thought it might be some kind of flower.” His delivery at this point is sloppy and abrupt, he knows.But it is the quickest way he can think of to mask his stunned reaction to Caitlin’s bloody definition of justice.“She was probably drinking along with the rest of the help.”“So.no idea what she’s talking about?”“None,” she says.“You’re here because of something Nova said?”“Of course not.I’m here because it’s.you.”She doesn’t turn to face him, but she is sitting upright, staring at him through the mirror, her hands clasped against her knees, her entire body braced as if she fears his next words might constitute a small, sharp strike to the center of her scalp.“Do you think I killed him?” she whispers.He wants to say, No.You couldn’t have.But that answer is too logical, and it will reveal how thoroughly he’s done his homework because of that very suspicion.Several witnesses placed her too far from the shed for her to have been involved in whatever took place inside.And he knows Jane Percival hasn’t said anything to implicate Caitlin, and that if she had, Caitlin would probably be in an interrogation room with her lawyer at this very moment.Indeed, Jane Percival has said nothing the detectives want anyone to hear; she remains in custody, and there’s no trace of her account in any of the increasing number of news reports about the bloody disappearance of a hero cop known for solving an infamous hate crime when he was just a Jefferson Parish sheriff’s deputy.“Of course not,” Blake says.It is not his most convincing delivery, the words weighted down by forethought.But it’s better than more hesitation, he figures [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]