Free Night Eyes (The Detective Temeke Crime Series Book 2) by Claire Stibbe Page B

radio terminated abruptly. There was nothing they could do but sit and wait, watch the flames and the sparks as they curled into the night sky.
    Malin felt a surge of nausea, wanted to double over and puke right there and then. It was Temeke’s shaking head that kept her standing, trying to keep her from falling apart. At strange times such as these, she studied those long limbs, the broad-shoulders and the dark skin. The impressive aquiline features made her wonder if he had a dash of German blood in his veins. 
    “He might even dedicate a park bench to me now that I’m gone.” Temeke said, pressing a stick of gum on his tongue and chewing vigorously. “In memory of Detective David Temeke who hated the police department and everyone in it. You can already hear Taps being played and my final dispatch.”
    Malin knew he was trying to humor her, to keep her mind off the dead officers. But it wasn’t funny. The stench under her nose wouldn’t go away and her hands were black from the dirt on her face. It must have been the same for him.
    All of a sudden Temeke’s striking face and prominent cheekbones were only inches from hers. He pressed a bottle of water in her hand, told her to drink up.
    The barn was ablaze, flames licking the sky and leaning dangerously towards the house. The fuselage seemed no bigger than a school bus from where they stood, rotors and tail had broken away and there was nothing left but a blackened hull.
    Murphy began to bark, ears pricked, toenails clacking on the consol. Then he jumped off the passenger seat and barreled between them towards the trees. The leash snapped between her fingers and plowed through the undergrowth after him. She wasn’t fast enough to grab it.
    Temeke shouted at her to run. It was downhill all the way through the trees and soft springy earth. He was fast. Like a deer. It was hard to keep up, hard to take a breath. Harder still not to feel beaten before they’d even started.
    She felt abandoned on a narrow path that led through a tunnel of trees, shimmering orange from the fire up there. After a few more yards downhill, a crisp wind struck her full in the face, bringing tears to her eyes. There was a ridge on the far side scattered with pale boulders and sparse scrub, and a stunted row of pine saplings in between.
    Behind her, red sparks shuddered and died in the sky and in front were a cluster of spider thin shrubs with furry tops. She could hear things. An owl, a coyote, something burrowing under a pile of leaves. Adam was out there, lost, maybe injured in a fall. She sure hoped he was still alive. Hoped he was warm.
    There was a clearing about ten feet to her right and a path that cut a way through it. Beyond that was utter darkness until a crisscross of beams lit up the forest floor about twenty feet to the north. It was probably the follow team, a contingent of rangers and county personnel armed with shotguns and semi-automatics, announcing their presence to every living creature in the forest. It was nearly five forty-five.
    Leaning against a tree she doubled over to catch her breath, heard a flutter of wings and froze. There was something hovering over the tree tops. An eagle perhaps. And then it was gone. She had no idea what she was dealing with. A psycho run-away grimy like a street addict, or a smooth-talking con man in a freshly laundered shirt. She couldn’t decide which was worse.
    The rain stopped. Just a light pattering on the leaves and the howling of wind in her ears. She stood still and cocked her head this way and that. She could smell smoke and tree sap, and she heard the crackling of twigs behind her and the sound of a radio.  
    “Darker than the crypts of hell down here,” Temeke said, holding up a leash with a sagging collar. “And there’s not a pervert or a stiff in sight. Imagine what that’s going to do to this month’s crime figures.”
    “Where’s Murphy?”
    “Ran after a bleeding bird.” There was a moment of silence before