The Gift of the Darkness Read Online Free Page B

at the fire for a while longer, then got up slowly so as not to wake the child. Tommy didn’t stir. After thank-yous and good-byes she walked home, had a quick look inside her fridge, and went into the bedroom. Before she even realized what she was doing, she put on her holster with her off-duty piece, closed the safe, and left the house.
    At the supermarket she picked up fruit and vegetables, cheese from the deli counter, and fresh bread. The store was already in full Christmas swing, and a tape of carols was playing around the clock.
    She was standing by the poultry case when she noticed the man, a skinny white guy in a denim jacket. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking over his shoulder at the security guard, who was talking with the young woman at the checkout.
    His clothes looked all right, and his hands were both in sight. He looked toward the exit again; the guard was still deep in conversation. At that moment the man was joined by a woman and a small child. Madison picked up some pieces of chicken and went to pay. The things we see in people . . . Madison didn’t know a cop who didn’t automatically keep an eye out for the guy wearing a coat on a summer day.
    Back at home she pulled on sweatshirt and pants and ran for forty-five minutes around the neighborhood. Her nose stung in the freezing cold. Detective Sergeant Kevin Brown was on her mind. Starched white shirts and raincoat. She would learn from him, whether he liked it or not. She’d be right there where the job was.
    She cooked her dinner with the news on and ate out of the pan, watching a Sports Night rerun. Just before going to bed, she took her gun out and cleaned it completely, dry-fired it a couple of times, reloaded it, and put it under the bed. She fell asleep at 9:30 p.m. and dreamed no dreams till morning.

Chapter 4
    The offices of Quinn, Locke & Associates occupied the ninth floor of Stern Tower between Pike and Sixth. Nathan Quinn had been in his office since 7:30 a.m., reading a brief for King County vs. Mallory and making notes. On his desk was the brief, his laptop, a lamp, and black coffee in a white china cup and saucer. The rain traced fine lines across Puget Sound and the harbor as they emerged slowly into sight from the corner window.
    The quiet, elegant office and the beautiful view suited him well, as well as his dark suit and expensive shoes did. But nothing suited Nathan Quinn better than the small pool of light over the mahogany desk and the brief before him as he prepared to go into battle. The view stayed largely unappreciated and the coffee untouched.
    Carl Doyle, who managed the day-to-day running of the firm, brought him his mail at 8:30 a.m., along with a list of the messages that had been left on the answering machine overnight and a reminder of the times he was due in court that day.
    Quinn briefly looked over the envelopes and opened a couple. One was a thank-you and the other a thinly veiled threat from a witness he had subpoenaed. The third envelope was heavy, cream-colored paper and looked like an invitation. Quinn opened it and took out the cardthat matched it. There were only two words on it, printed in black ink. He turned the card over, but there was nothing more. He read it again:
    Thirteen Days
    He put it aside and went back to the rest of the mail. It was not the first, nor would it be the last, anonymous letter he had received; this wasn’t even particularly original. Later, much later on, he would think of that moment as a small death.

Chapter 5
    Monday morning, 8:30 a.m., Maria Davis was running a little late. She walked quickly up Blue Ridge Drive, holding her umbrella tightly against the wind. Monday was always the worst for traffic, yet she didn’t mind coming to Three Oaks. She had worked for the Sinclairs for seven years, since their youngest was born. They were a nice young couple, and the housework was light. Mrs. Davis was forty-three, her own two kids in high