Free Night Shift by Nora Roberts Page B

each other. Sometimes they had sat in the dark and talked for hours, making plans and promises. They were going to travel together, do great things together.
    Then the world had interfered. Life had interfered. The woman had interfered.
    Dripping, he stepped from the shower. The towel was exactly where he had placed it. No one came into this room, into any of his rooms, to disturb his carefully ordered space. Once he was dry, he pulled on faded pajamas. They reminded him of the childhood he’d been cheated out of.
    As the sun came up, he made two enormous sandwiches and ate them standing in the kitchen, leaning over the sink so that the crumbs wouldn’t fall to the floor.
    He felt strong again. Clean and fed. He was outwitting the police, making fools of them. And that delighted him. He was frightening the woman, bringing terror into every day of her life. That excited him. When the time was right, he would do everything he’d told her he would do.
    And still it wouldn’t be enough.
    He went into the bedroom, shut the door, pulled the shades and picked up the phone.
    ***
    Deborah strolled out of her room in a white teddy, a thin blue robe that reached to midthigh, flapping open. Her toenails were shocking pink. She’d painted them the night before to amuse herself as she’d crammed for an exam.
    She was muttering the questions she thought would be on the exam she had scheduled at 9. The questions came easily enough, but the answers continued to bog down at some crossroads between the conscious and the unconscious. She hoped to unblock the answers with a quick shot of coffee.
    Yawning, she stumbled over a boot, pitched toward the couch, then let out a muffled scream as her hand encountered warm flesh.
    Boyd sat up like a shot, his hand already reaching for his weapon. With their faces close, he stared at Deborah—the creamy skin, the big blue eyes, the tumble of dark hair—and relaxed.
    “Good morning.”
    “I— Detective Fletcher?”
    He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I think so.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She cleared her throat and belatedly remembered to close her robe. Still fumbling, she glanced up the stairs and automatically lowered her voice. Her sister wasn’t a sound sleeper under the best of circumstances. “Why are you here?”
    He flexed a shoulder that had stiffened during his cramped night on the couch. “I told you I was going to look after Cilla.”
    “Yes, you did.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You take your job seriously.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Good.” Satisfied, she smiled. In the upheaval and confusion of her nineteen years, she had learned to make character judgments quickly. “I was about to make some coffee. I have an early class. Can I get you some?”
    If she was anything like her sister, he wouldn’t get any more sleep until he’d answered whatever questions were rolling around in her head. “Sure. Thanks.”
    “I imagine you’d like a hot shower, as well. You’re about six inches too long to have spent a comfortable night on that couch.”
    “Eight,” he said, rubbing the back of his stiff neck. “I think it’s more like eight.”
    “You’re welcome to all the hot water you want. I’ll start on the coffee.” As she turned toward the kitchen, the phone rang. Though she knew Cilla would pick it up before the second ring, she stepped toward it automatically. Boyd shook his head. Reaching over, he lifted the receiver and listened.
    With her hands clutching the lapels of her robe, Deborah watched him. His face remained impassive, but she saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. Though brief, it was intense enough to make her certain who was on the other end of the line.
    Boyd disconnected mechanically, then punched in a series of numbers. “Anything?” He didn’t even bother to swear at the negative reply. “Right.” After hanging up, he looked at Deborah. She was standing beside the couch, her hands clenched, her face