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The son of a bitch had raped Grace& !
He got up from the chair in one powerful movement, almost shaking with rage and self-loathing.
Cash got in front of him before he could start for the door.  Sit down.
 Like hell I will!
 I said, sit down!
Cash pushed him back into the chair and stood over him, powerful and immovable.  Remember who
and what you are, he said forcefully, his dark eyes even and steady on his brother s.  You can t go
raging out of here like a mad dog, chasing shadows. You don t even have a suspect. What are you going
to do, run cheek swabs on every male in Jacobs andTarrantCounties ?
Said like that, it sounded absurd. But Garon wasn t thinking straight. He was furious. He wanted to hurt
someone. He wanted to find the sexual predator and strangle him slowly with his own hands. He couldn t
remember feeling such mindless rage. At least not since he d lost his own love, so long ago&
But he d lived in the past too long already. He d used it to ward off any emotional ties, to keep himself
safe from another relationship. He was alone, by choice. But Grace had paid the price for his escape.
He d savaged her to save himself. She would never forgive him&
He stared up at Cash with dawning realization. Grace had come out of the dark nightmare that was her
life to reach out toward Garon with hope and breathless anticipation. He d knocked her back, savaged
her verbally and emotionally. He d frightened her so badly in the café that she d backed away from him,
shaking like a leaf. He d done that to her, when her only crime was that she wanted to love him.
His eyes closed on a wave of pain. Grace had sent Marquez toEl Paso to dig up the most horrible
chapter in her life. She d done it not for herself, but to try to save some other child from what she d
endured. She was willing to take the risk that reopening the case might bring the killer back to finish the
job he d started.
In a flash he saw what he d missed from the minute Cash gave him the file folder. Grace was the only
person alive who could identify the child killer. And sharing the case with police might get her killed, as
well.
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12
IT WAS A LONG DRIVE toVictoria . Saturdays in early spring brought all the weekend adventurers
out on the highway. Usually Garon didn t mind bottlenecks, but he was anxious to get to his destination.
He wasn t sure how he was going to manage it, but he had to coax Grace into coming home.
He d phoned Marquez s cell phone, but he hadn t gotten an answer. Probably the younger man was still
furious and unwilling to talk to him. He couldn t blame him. The detective loved Grace. It wouldn t sit
well with him that Garon had caused her so much pain.
He was wearing a lightweight jacket, which he probably wasn t going to need. It was a warm, sunny
day. The SUV ahead of him had a canoe lashed to its rack and fishing poles sticking out of the back
window. Fishing. He grimaced, recalling how he d overreacted when he found Grace at the local fishing
pond.
Her cousin lived back off the road in a grove of pecan trees. There was a dirt driveway that led up to the
house. It was an old house, simple white clapboard, one story, with two chimneys and a long front porch
that contained rocking chairs, a settee and a swing, all painted green. Off to the side was a large pond
with a pier. He glanced toward it and blinked. Grace was out there, dressed in knee-high cutoffs and a
red T-shirt, bending over what looked like a minnow bucket.
He got out of the SUV and walked down to the pond, sunglasses hiding the apprehension in his dark
eyes. The sunglasses were an individual thing now. But when he was in the elite Hostage Rescue Team,
everyone copied the team leader s sunglasses. Those had been good days, working tight with an expert
group of men. His job now, even heading a crime unit squad, was less exciting. It was less stressful as
well. Maybe that would seem like a benefit, one day.
Grace saw him coming and straightened. Her chin came up. She was barefoot and wore no makeup at
all. Her long hair was in a braid that reached between her shoulder blades. She wasn t wearing
sunglasses and she wasn t smiling. In one hand, she held a long cane pole with a cork, sinkers and a
hook on the fishing line.
The memory of their last meeting, when he d humiliated her in Barbara s crowded café, was still fresh in
her mind.  Well, well, if it isn t the Prince of Darkness, she said coldly, and her gray eyes reflected the
pain, indignation and outrage of the past few weeks.  I can t think of a way you could cause me any
more embarrassment on this planet. So, have you come for my soul?
He stopped just in front of her. If he d hoped for a truce, he was disappointed. He stuck his hands in his
pockets, eyeing the plain, old-fashioned fishing pole.  If you plan to catch anything, you d have better
luck with a spinning reel, he advised.
She moved to the side of the pier, bent and pulled up a string of bass. They were five to six pounds,
each, and she had four of them. His surprise was visible.
She held the string of fish at her side, and she was glaring.  I won the Jacobsville Bass Rodeo two
summers in a row, she informed him.  Which is why I spend every free minute at Jake s Fish Pond in
Jacobsville in early spring. Practicing. Sadly I ve had to forego practice since you decided that I was
chasing after you!
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He felt the hot color flow into the skin over his high cheekbones. He d accused her of following him to
the fishing pond. She hadn t been chasing him at all. At least, not that time.
 Why are you here? she asked, not moving.
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks and searched for inspiration. He hoped he didn t look as
uncomfortable as he felt.
But he did. She cocked her head and studied him for a minute.  Oh. I see. Someone told you the truth
about my past, is that it? she asked with icy poise.
The muscles in his jaw tautened.  Something like that. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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