McIver's Mission Read Online Free

a small newspaper clipping that had been taped to the outside. It was the
obituary of Denise Hemingway, age twenty-nine, and her four year-old son,
Brian. He remembered reading about them in the paper, how they'd both been
killed by Eric Hemingway—Denise's husband, Brian's father—before he'd turned
the gun on himself.
    It was hard to miss the story. Things like that might
be commonplace in bigger cities, but in small-town
Fairweather
,
Pennsylvania
,
domestic slayings were a rare occurrence and, consequently, front-page news.
The victim, he realized, must have been
Arden
's client.
    He scanned further, noted that the funeral was …
today.
    Finally the pieces clicked into place and confirmed
his earlier suspicions about
Arden
.
She wasn't cool or detached. She was a woman who cared about her clients, and
cared deeply. Not only had she taken the time to go to the funeral, she'd shed
deep, grief-filled tears for the mother and son who had lost their lives so
tragically.
    "How do you take your coffee?"
Arden
asked.
    "Black."
    She filled the two mugs and handed one to him, then
added a splash of milk to the other.
    "Denise Hemingway," he said, and saw her
back stiffen.
    She set the milk carton down before turning to face
him. "What about her?" Her eyes were stark, almost empty, her voice
the same. But he knew now that it was a mask, that her emotions ran deep.
    "She was your client?" he prompted.
    Arden
nodded.
    "That's where you were earlier today," he
guessed.
    She nodded again. "Yes."
    She didn't ask for his compassion, but he felt
compelled to offer it. He set his mug on the counter and moved toward her,
breaching the few-foot gap that separated them to take her in his arms. She
resisted at first, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. But he continued to hold
her, running his hand down her back, his fingers roaming over the silky fabric
of her blouse.
    Would her skin be as soft? He chastised himself for
the wayward thought. He was supposed to be offering her comfort, not
speculating about the feel of her naked skin beneath his hands.
    She didn't cry again, but she finally let out a long,
shuddering breath and relaxed against him.
    "She came to me for help,"
Arden
said, sounding completely
dejected. "She was counting on me, and I let her down."
    "You did everything you could for her," he
said, knowing it was true, and knowing she would find no comfort in that fact.
    * * *
    Arden
pulled out of Shaun's
arms. She didn't want to talk about Denise and Brian, she didn't even want to
think about them right now. When Shaun went home, when she went to bed, she'd
think about them then. She wouldn't be able to stop. Nor would she be able to
stop the nightmares that plagued her sleep.
    "Why don't we take our coffee into the living
room?" she suggested.
    "Okay," Shaun agreed.
    She was grateful that he didn't ask any more questions
or try to appease her with useless words or platitudes. Nothing anyone could
say or do could make up for what had happened.
    She moved over to the sofa and curled up in her usual
spot at one end, then wished she'd chosen a chair when he sat down beside her.
She wasn't sure why she was so unnerved by his presence today. She'd spent a
fair amount of time in his company over the past few years. When
Arden
had been living with her
cousin, Nikki, and Nikki's daughter, Carly , Shaun had
visited often to spend tune with his former sister-in-law and his niece. Maybe
that was the difference. It was just the two of them tonight, and being alone
with him felt strange to
Arden
.
    "This is great coffee," Shaun said.
    Arden
was grateful for the change of topic. "It's Jamaican. I don't share it
with everyone, but I figure you earned it. Putting up with me this afternoon,
buying me dinner."
    "It was my pleasure."
    She managed a smile. "I doubt it, but
thanks."
    "That's what friends are for," he said
easily.
    She propped her feet up on the coffee table, crossing
them at the ankles as she settled back against the