Free Broken by Janet Taylor-Perry

was true. I just thought it was the first in the Rusty Rose collection."
    "Every word of it. The names were changed to protect the innocent. It did give rise to the infamous Detective Rusty Rose. All the cases were based in some truth. Larkin did embellish a little in later books." He laughed lightly. "Latrice, aka Laramie in print, abducting and successfully sacrificing twelve women, trying for a thirteenth to summon a demon and using men with some form of mental illness to help her needed no embellishment." He exhaled long and loud. "I know." He tapped his temple, remembering how Latrice had used his supposed schizophrenia.
    "It ended with Lydda and Rusty getting married."
    "Yep. That was actually Larkin and Ray."
    "And you're Russ."
    He grinned. "Guilty, but not crazy."
    "So much has happened since then. Larkin should write a sequel, all true."
    "So, does that mean you'd like to know all about my life?"
    "Yes, I would." She placed the rest of the meal on the bar that divided the kitchen from the small dining area. She was very informal in the way she served her guest. The plates, glasses, and cutlery did not match, but the food was good.
    "Neely, how old are you?" Raif asked after swallowing a bite of pasta.
    "I turned thirty-one May 13 th ."
    "You know, the inverse of thirteen is thirty-one."
    "Does that mean I'm gonna get lucky again?" laughed Neely.
    Feeling the now familiar tingle in his face as before when he thought about the double entendre of what Neely had just said, the woman's guest became quiet. Finally, he said, "I was fifty-one on January 13 th , but lately I've felt like a hundred fifty-one."
    "You don't look a second older than the day you walked through that door out there to get your older brother and younger brother tattoos."
    "Are you trying to make me feel good?"
    "Is it working?" She smiled.
    "A bit." Raif took his plate to the sink.
    "What are you doing?" asked Neely.
    "Helping you clean up."
    "It's not necessary."
    "I don't mind."
    "All right, then. I'll wash. You dry." Neely slid off her stool and rounded the bar. Opening a drawer, she handed Raif a dishtowel.
    It took about ten minutes to wash the few dishes they had dirtied. Neely asked, "Would you like a glass of wine?"
    Raif replied, "I should probably be going."
    "Why? Do you have some place you need to be, or am I offensive company?"
    "Neither." He knitted his brow in a frown, and then smiled, causing his right dimple to crease deeper than his left. "Yes, I'd love a glass of wine."
    "It's zinfandel."
    "That's fine."
    Neely poured two glasses of wine and led the way to the sitting area. Raif sat in the chair, and Neely flipped on a stereo system that was wired to play throughout the apartment before she sat on the ivory Naugahyde couch, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her. A golden-oldies radio station played songs from the 1950s forward.
    After a sip of wine, she asked, "So, other than losing your wife, what else has been so tough this year?"
    "Wow!" He set his glass on the coffee table and looked at the scar in his palm where he had broken a wine glass on the day of his wife's memorial. A whole year. He put his hand to his head, looking as if he were having one of his brother's migraines.
    "That much?" Neely tilted her head to the side and lifted curious eyebrows.
    "There's been a bit." He ran his fingers through his still coal-black hair with a little more gray near the temples than when Neely had first met him. He repeated almost verbatim what he had said at Chris's grave. He retrieved his glass, collapsed against the back of the chair, and sipped the wine, feeling a great release from having said all the words aloud to a living, breathing person.
    "That has been one hellacious year."
    "You've had a rough year, too."
    "True."
    "Do you want to talk about it?"
    "It's hard for me." Neely pulled her knees into her chest.
    "You said you were attacked and left for dead. Were you just beaten, or was there more? Are you the woman