Free The Collector by Nora Roberts Page A

sure.”
    â€œShe was tall. Five-ten. I looked it up.” He set the binoculars down. “Oliver was my height, six-one. That’s three inches taller, and he was holding her back against the window . . .”
    Ash stepped over. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to show you.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, carefully, eased her back, his hands warm through her shirt as if they were skin-to-skin. “If he held her this way, she’d be tipped back some, like you are.”
    Her heart kicked a little. He wasn’t going to shove her out the window—she wasn’t afraid of that, or him. But she wondered why such an awful thing—mimicking murder—seemed so strangely intimate.
    â€œWhy didn’t you see him?” Ash demanded. “If someone looked in here now, they’d see me over your head.”
    â€œI’m only five-five. She had five inches on me.”
    â€œEven with that, his head would have been above hers. You should’ve seen some of his face.”
    â€œI didn’t, but she could’ve been wearing heels. She had some great shoes, and . . . but she wasn’t,” Lila remembered. “She wasn’t. She didn’t have shoes on.”
    Her feet kicking as she fell. Bare feet.
    â€œShe wasn’t wearing heels. She wasn’t wearing shoes at all.”
    â€œThen you should’ve seen his face. At least some of his face.”
    â€œI didn’t.”
    â€œMaybe because whoever pushed her was shorter than Oliver. Shorter than she was.”
    He picked up the glasses again, looked out. “You said a fist, a black sleeve.”
    â€œYeah, I’m pretty sure. It’s what pops into my head when I try to see it again.”
    â€œSomeone closer to her height, wearing a black shirt. I need to ask the police what Oliver was wearing.”
    â€œOh. But it might’ve been navy or dark gray. The light wasn’t very good.”
    â€œA dark shirt, then.”
    â€œI’d talked myself out of thinking there’d been someone else. You talked me into it,” she said when he looked at her again. “Then I talked myself out of it. Now you’re talking me into it again. I don’t know which is worse.”
    â€œThere’s no worse.” He lowered the glasses again, his eyes sharp with an anger she could feel shimmering off his skin. “But there’s the truth.”
    â€œI hope you find it. You can see the building from another angle from the terrace, if you want. I could use the air.”
    She went out without waiting for a response. He hesitated a moment, then taking the binoculars, followed her.
    â€œI want some water. Do you want some water?”
    â€œThat’d be good.” And would give him a bit more time. He followed her through, past a dining area. “Workstation?”
    â€œLaptop goes anywhere. I try not to spread out too much. You can forget things, and that’s annoying for the client.”
    â€œSo you write here, about teenage werewolves.”
    â€œYeah—how did you know?” She held up a hand. “Google. You can’t escape it. And since I did the same with you, I can’t whine about it.”
    â€œYou’re a military brat.”
    â€œYou actually read the bio. Was. Seven different schools by the time I graduated from high school, so I sympathize with Kaylee—my central character—for wanting to stay put through high school.”
    â€œI know the feeling. Divorce can uproot the same as military orders.”
    â€œI guess it can. How old were you when your parents divorced?”
    â€œSix when they split—officially.” He stepped outside with her, into the heat and the appealing scent of sun-warmed tomatoes and some spicy flower.
    â€œSo young, but I guess any age is hard. Just you?”
    â€œA sister, Chloe, two years younger. Then we inherited Cora and Portia when our father