Free The Body Reader by Anne Frasier Page A

turned. “Do you ever think about that?”
    His expression went through several transformations until his shoulders sagged. “Damn it, Jude.” He spoke quietly and calmly. “I can’t begin to grasp what you’ve been through, but you aren’t ready for this. You might never be ready for this. You should go home. The department offered you a severance package. Take it. Why do this when you don’t need to?”
    “Why are you doing it?”
    The wind kicked up, bringing with it the scent of charred wood. He stared at her for a long moment. “It’s all I know how to do.”
    “Me too.”
    A moment passed as they sized each other up.
    “It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” she finally explained, deciding she would share a little bit with him, but only a little. “I didn’t read her dead mind. It’s not anything psychic. I spent three years in solitary confinement. I had no books, no music, no movies, no color. The only thing I had was one evil man’s face and body, and reading him became my entire existence. I lived for his visits, for the stimulation. Every line, every nuance, every muscle contraction, every flicker of thought—I read him. And I can read this girl even though she’s dead. I know that sounds weird, but echoes of her experience are frozen in her face and in her muscles.”
    The explanation placated him, and she could see she was making more sense. “Can you read living people?” he asked, searching for confirmation of thoughts formed and unformed. “Can you read me?”
    She didn’t think it wise to mention that she’d read him moments earlier when the first responder had spoken the word suicide . Jude had seen the quake that Uriah quickly hid. She didn’t tell him she’d read him every time she’d met with him at the police station. She didn’t tell him she knew he was feeling sorry for her all over again right this minute because the full impact of what she’d been through was slowly and continuously sinking in. And maybe that was part of his reluctance to have her around. She was a constant reminder of unspeakable acts and unspeakable pain, all wrapped up in his failure to find her or close the case. “Kindness,” she said. “That’s what I see.”
    “Really? Kindness?” The annoyance was back. “That’s a pretty worthless trait.”
    “Would you say it’s inaccurate? I’d like to know. While I was in that basement, my brain was rewired, and what I see as one thing might be something else entirely.”
    “Kindness is a weakness, especially today, especially for a cop,” he said, not answering her question.
    He was right. If she’d only been tougher, stronger . . . “But kindness is a trait we can’t lose.” She frowned, concentrating. “It might be one of the most important parts of being human. Maybe even more important than love.”
    He was staring at her again, long and hard, harsh lines between his eyes, almost as if he were trying to read her right back. “I can’t believe we’re standing here having this conversation. You really are certifiable, aren’t you?”

CHAPTER 11
    T hat evening, like so many evenings, Jude rode her motorcycle over streets she’d been up and down a hundred times in her search for the house where she’d been held captive. Not that she wanted to visit the place she’d rather forget, but because she needed to walk through that door and see the man’s rotting corpse on the basement floor.
    Confirmation of death.
    Five male bodies wound up in the morgue the night of the blackout. None was her guy. So she kept trying to find the house, constantly broadening her search zone. Nothing. Which led her to believe the body was still at the bottom of the stairs, or it had been disposed of in secret.
    Or the man was still alive.
    She wanted a name. She wanted a rap sheet. Only then would she begin to piece together why he’d abducted her in the first place, because deep down she’d felt that it hadn’t been some obsession or some random act.
    In