Breaker's Reef Read Online Free Page A

file cabinet. “That’s what I’m looking for. Someone with no experience.”
    She thought he was being sarcastic, and her hopes deflated. She waited for his dismissal, but instead he started digging through one of his stacks. He found the book he was looking for under a pile of handwritten pages and started to furiously flip through it.
    “What do you know about forensics?”
    She searched her mind for an answer. “Uh … well, just what I’ve seen on TV.”
    He looked at her as if she were stupid. “Do you seriously believe the tripe you see on a one-hour yawn written by Hollywood hacks?”
    She swallowed. “I didn’t say I believed it all—just that it’s all I know about it.”
    “So you learned nothing about crime investigations during your incarceration?”
    Then he knew. She closed her throat. “How did you know I was—?”
    “I Googled you.”
    She stared up at him, wondering if she’d heard him right. “I’m sorry?”
    “I Googled you. Checked you out on the Internet. I know all about your prison sentence.”
    “I see.” So this had been a foolish pipe dream. Of course he’d checked her out. What had she expected?
    “I’ve changed a lot in the last year.” She leaned forward, bent on helping him understand. “See, my kids, they were staying with some people here in Cape Refuge while I was doing time. I came here when I got out—to a place called Hanover House, to keep from uprooting them.”
    His eyes strayed to his computer screen, and he began to type. She didn’t know whether he was taking notes or checking his email. She swallowed and kept talking.
    “Hanover House—you may know it, it’s over there by the Sound, the big yellow house across the street from the beach on Ocean Boulevard?” He didn’t indicate whether he knew it or not. “Anyway, it’s kind of a halfway house, with a real strict Bible program, and it’s made me a better person.” She was rambling, she realized, and her voice trailed off. “I’ve come a real long way in my personal life, and my kids are doing real good, and I know I can do this if you just give me a chance.”
    There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard. Had the man forgotten she was here?
    “I may wish to interview you about prison life,” he said finally. “I find that fascinating. I usually try to put myself in the shoes of my characters—living what they live—but I haven’t managed to get thrown in jail just yet.”
    She frowned, not certain she’d heard him right. “Well, yes. Of course. Anything you want to know.”
    He kept typing. “It pays four hundred dollars a week. Forty hours, give or take. I’ll need to know within twenty-four hours.”
    She froze and gaped up at him. Did that mean he was offering her the job? Did her prison sentence not matter?
    As if he’d forgotten his last statement, he turned back to the credenza behind his desk. It looked like something he’d dragged out of a garbage dump. One of the legs was broken, and a cement block replaced it. He paged through another book. She wonderedif he was still interested in forensics, or if he’d moved on to some other subject.
    He came to whatever page he was looking for and ran his finger down the paragraphs. “I can’t work with you in the room. I usually won’t be here when you are. I like to write out in the world. Experience real life. I’m not like those wannabes who sit in four walls all day hammering out their drivel. And I know what you’re thinking, but having research books does not make me weaker as a writer.”
    She caught her breath. “Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking anything.”
    “I simply have to confirm things now and then, find words, details, history, explanations … Do you know what they call the clicker on a lamp? The little black thing that goes in and out, turning the blasted thing on and off?”
    “Switch?”
    Anger flashed across his face. “Do you honestly doubt that I could come up