Free The Sketcher's Mark (Lara McBride Thrillers Book 1) by Chris O'Neill

whereabouts were still unknown.  Lara McBride was not given to emotional reactions.  It wasn’t that she didn’t care or didn’t empathize.  A therapist had once told her she was borderline sociopathic in her detachment, in her objectivity.  Lara had to explain to the woman she was not unfeeling, she was simply logical and objective and felt that the act of displaying emotions to other people was little more than attention seeking. 
     
    Some things triggered an explosive rush of feelings in her over which she had no power at all.  Seeing the faces on the wall and thinking of the mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters and friends who were thinking about them right now, worried and concerned, melted Lara McBride’s heart and she suddenly felt tears come to her eyes.  Not because the people were missing and not out of pity.  Lara McBride had tears in her eyes because it made her realize there were people in the world who still cared.  It gave her hope that the world still had some good in it.
     
    Inspector Brouchard was a tall, burly man who had packed on a few extra pounds over the years, especially once he had hit his fifties. Beneath the extra bulk, he carried the litheness that had made him an effective soldier before he became a cop.  He was standing in the doorway to his office.  The Officer who had escorted her from the holding cell excused himself and Brouchard motioned for Lara to sit on the leather chair in front of his desk.  She walked in to the office, scanning it for information about the man before he started talking.  Most people gave away information about themselves in the way they decorated their work place.  Hobbies, interests, schooling, sexual preferences, family status, vacation spots, second homes- all of this could be gleaned in a sharp glance from a keen eye.  She saw the three books she had written were sat on his shelf in the corner.  This could be interesting.  She was also curious about why he was the only person in the Missing Persons Unit right now.
     
    There was a picture of a young girl in her late teens framed on the desk but the Inspector wore a wedding ring on the opposite hand and there was no picture of his wife.  Lara figured he was widowed and the sight of his wife’s face smiling back at him was too painful a reminder to experience every day, hence no pictures of her.  A sensitive man, then, who had exposed his weakness by trying to hide it.  Lara hated her intuition at times like this, feeling like she was intruding on a secret, a delicate pain she had no right to see. The anger that had built up since she had been thrown in the back of the Police van disappeared when Brouchard looked her in the eyes and smiled.  She liked him straight away.
     
    “Detective McBride, I assume resisting arrest and assaulting Police officers is as much a crime in your country as it is here,”  Brouchard’s voice was deep and commanding.
    “I didn’t assault-“ Lara began, but Brouchard raised his hand to stop her and shook his head.
    “It doesn’t matter. We will not be pressing charges.  I extend this to you as a courtesy.  Let’s call it a misunderstanding.  Actually, let’s say we’re even.”
    “Even for what?  Have we met before?”
    “Yes, sort of.  I saw you lecture in Boston a few years ago.  They sent me over to study the latest in American law enforcement methods.”
    “Did it help?”
    “I closed eight cold cases when I got back.”
    “Guess it did.”
    “You taught me to look at the evidence in a different way- with fresh eyes.  To think creatively.  Thank you for that.  So, how can we help you, Detective?”
    “My sister has been abducted.  She said she was on her way to the airport but she never made the plane.  I called her phone on the flight over and a man answered.  He said he had her.  He said, ‘she’s my Angel now’.  I don’t think this is his first time doing it.”
    “That’s not much to go