Читать книгу Deadly Exposure - Cara Putman - Страница 12

Silence filled the police station. Caleb stood and stretched. He glanced at his wristwatch and grimaced at the time. It was after three in the morning. Time to move or fall asleep at his desk. While he stared at a wall, a killer roamed.

Yesterday Renee was a twenty-four-year-old graduate student at the university. This morning her corpse rested on a stainless-steel gurney in the city morgue. When the registrar’s office opened, he’d send Denimore or Westmont down to learn more. Maybe a student or professor had developed an unhealthy interest in her.

She’d lived off campus, apparently by herself. After leaving the theater, he’d driven to her home, and nothing appeared unusual. Technicians were on-site collecting evidence. When they’d finished, he and a couple of officers would examine the house. While there, he’d get a feel for the victim and potential suspects.

Rikki Wilson, the energetic and petite night dispatcher, caught up to him as he headed toward the kitchenette for more coffee. She clucked her tongue. “You look awful. The captain’ll arrive in a few hours. Go home and get some sleep.”

“I don’t have time.” It took twenty minutes to drive from the station, time he didn’t have. His cabin near Branched Oak was the ideal retreat from homicides on those rare occasions he got time off, and a decent place to live the rest of the time. Unfortunately, tonight was neither of those.

“Then go to your sister’s or sleep on the conference-room couch. You aren’t doing the victim any good tired as you are.”

Her motherly advice resonated. If he showed up at this early hour of the morning, he’d scare Tricia to death. So long, soft guest bed. Hello, lumpy conference couch. “Wake me before day shift arrives.”

“Sure, honey.” The scanner screeched, and Rikki raced to her station.

Caleb pulled a pillow and blanket out of the cluttered closet and studied their rumpled state. When was the last time the pillowcase had seen a washing machine? The aura of dirty gym socks told him not lately. He knew he should care, but his tired body demanded rest over clean sheets. With a sigh, he lowered himself to the couch and shifted until the lumps aligned with his body. He willed his mind to release its questions and welcome sleep.

Thoughts of Dani drifted in. She’d looked real good tonight, but harder around the edges than the girl he remembered. How much of that had he caused? She’d been back in town for months, but he hadn’t exactly sought her out. His memories of her were tinged with a shadow of guilt. The kind that came from taking what wasn’t his.

He pulled the pillow on top of his head and groaned. Guess he wasn’t as free of the past as he’d imagined.

Dani sat in her car in the dark alley behind her home. The small Arts and Crafts home dated to the 1920s. She’d loved visiting when she stayed with Aunt Jayne each summer as a child.

Now an irrational fear pushed her deeper into the seat, and she searched her mind for anyone she could call or stay with. Most of her friends from those long-ago summer visits had moved on, and she hadn’t bothered to reconnect. Her job took up too much of her schedule to make building friendships easy. Her mind rebelled at the thought of calling Caleb. She could imagine the kind of comfort he’d force on her. That left everyone at work. Just the image she wanted them to have—Dani Richards, reporter extraordinaire, cowering at shadows.

She pushed the car door open and grabbed her briefcase from the passenger seat. She hauled herself from the vehicle, opened the picket-fence gate and wobbled up the back-porch steps with keys in hand. Tired, she fumbled with the lock.

As she entered the kitchen, peace settled on her. The home retained Aunt Jayne’s sweet spirit even though she no longer lived there. Dani kicked off her horrid heels, ready to pitch them in the trash can, and then threw her briefcase onto the island. She crossed the kitchen to the counter for a glass and filled it with water.

The questions and images of the night refused to leave her alone. She leaned against the sink and crossed her arms.

“So much for relaxing at the theater.” Who talked to themselves like this? She felt crazy, even though the silence cried for sound. “I need a cat. At least then I’ll have someone to talk to.” Dani reached around the refrigerator and flipped on the under-counter radio. Strains of classical music filled the air, bringing with it memories of evenings spent dancing with Caleb under the stars. One encounter with him, and he occupied her mind. She shook her head at her foolish heart.

She sipped the water as if it could wash the images away. Aunt Jayne had asked her to stay in the house and pay the utilities and routine upkeep expenses. The house had more room than she could afford on her salary, so she’d gladly accepted. Since she’d arrived, there’d been no time to unpack. That had to change. It was time to admit she was staying. She took her glass of water and headed for her room.

Upstairs, Dani slipped out of her black cocktail dress and into flannel pajamas. She slowly rubbed her feet and the bed with its fluffy pillows and warm comforter beckoned. With a sigh, she returned downstairs. She’d write down everything she’d seen and heard before she allowed herself to sleep. She turned up the soothing music until it filtered from the kitchen into the living room.

Dani slid down the wood floors to the living room. She avoided the prim Victorian couch and opted for the over-stuffed chair. She eased into its soft leather, and then tucked her feet underneath her. She grabbed a notepad. Her pen flew as she wrote down every detail including her impressions and guesses. Her mind raced through the events. By the time she finished, Dani felt energized again.

Sleep would be impossible. Since the rest of her books sat in boxes, she wandered over to Aunt Jayne’s bookshelves. She slid her fingers along the book spines. Nothing jumped out at her until she saw a Bible tucked on top. Dani couldn’t remember the last time she’d voluntarily held a Bible, but Aunt Jayne always valued hers. Maybe the poetry would calm her and help her sleep.

Dani retraced her steps to the chair and opened the book. Its well-worn pages automatically opened to the Book of Psalms. Running her finger down the page, she started to read Psalm 62.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.

The words and the image they conveyed enthralled her. Could He be trusted to be a fortress? After the night she’d lived through, a fortress sounded wonderful.

My salvation and my honor depend on God; He is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in Him at all times, O People; pour out your heart to Him, for God is our refuge.

The passage sounded strange yet sweetly familiar. The image of a rock of refuge soothed her, pushing the slide show from the theater from her mind. She clutched the Bible as if it were a lifeline. No matter what she’d seen or the questions chasing her, He is my mighty rock, my refuge.