Gingerbread Man Read Online Free

ticked off his list on his
fingers. "Too young, too pretty, too mouthy, too unfriendly,
too—"
    "Do you have some kind of business with Chief
Mallory?"
    "Then you're not him?"
    She opened the door and walked inside. "No,"
she said. "I'm not him. He'll be in at eight. If you want to see
him, come back then." She released the door, letting it fall closed
on the irritating man, and turned to get herself back on track.
Damn, the clock read 7:50. She always got in by 7:45. Okay, okay,
just focus, she told herself. She stood there for a moment and drew
a deep breath. Then she moved through the small police department
with brisk efficiency, quickly resuming her established routine.
She snapped on the reception area lights, opened the blinds... then
paused again to look out at the lake in the distance. Something had
changed. Tiny whitecaps crisscrossed the surface now, as if the
glassy stillness of a short while ago had been shattered. "Must be
a storm coming," she muttered, glancing worriedly at traces of dark
clouds just beginning to gather in the sky.
    Turning, she unlocked the next door and went
through it to the larger part of the station. Her alcove to the
right had a sliding plastic bi-fold shutter over the window between
it and the reception area. To the left were files, weapons locked
in a big case, and Bill's and Ray's desks. Straight ahead was the
chief's office, and beside that a small restroom and the stair
door. The cells were farther along the hall, with a clear line of
sight all the way back to the reception area when the door was
opened. Holly continued turning on lights, opening blinds. She
unlocked the chief's office door and fired up his computer for him.
Back in her own area, she turned on the lights, the radio, then the
computer, in that order. A quick check of her desk told her
everything was exactly as she'd left it. She straightened her
pencil cup, moved a paperweight an inch to the left. Then she
opened the sliding plastic barrier between her desk and the
reception area.
    That man was standing on the other side,
looking right at her.
    She almost jumped out of her skin, jerking
backward. One hand pressed to her chest in reaction.
    "I decided I'd rather wait for the chief in
here. It's getting kind of nippy outside."
    She closed her eyes slowly, waited for her
heart to resume its normal beat, consciously controlled her
breathing, then opened her eyes. Focusing on the man again, she
said, "Do you have a crime to report or something Mr...?"
    "It's detective, ma'am. Detective Vince
O'Mally, S.P.D."
    She lifted her brows. He said "S.P.D." as if
it was supposed to mean something. He said it the way TV cops said
"N.Y.P.D." or "L.A.P.D." He was that full of himself. "S.P.D.?" she
asked. "Would that be ... Scranton? Saratoga? Sherburne?"
    "Syracuse."
    She nodded, averting her eyes. For some
reason it didn't surprise her he came from there... or that he'd
brought foul winds with him. She didn't like him. She wanted him to
leave. "Have a seat. Detective. The chief will be here in..."—she
looked at her watch—"five minutes. And thanks to you, his coffee
won't be ready."
    "Thanks to me? What did I do?"
    She just frowned at him and hurried back to
the rest-room, snatching the water pitcher from her shelf on the
way. She flicked on the restroom lights and then filled the pitcher
with tap water. Finished, she carried it back to the reception
area. His coffee pot stood on a cart against the west wall, between
two small leather sofas. She poured the water into it and rummaged
underneath for the coffee and filters, while the man observed her
every action. She could feel his eyes burning holes into her back,
and she was so rattled by his presence that her hand shook as she
measured the French roast into the basket, scattering bits of
coffee all over the cart's surface. "Damn." She slammed the basket
into place, hit the on button, and immediately looked at her watch. "Damn."
    "Are you okay, Red?"
    She pivoted to face him. He