When Night Falls Read Online Free

paper, not one memento of her life ,” Uma had said, meaning it. It was the first threat in her life, and she meant to keep it. Lauren’s things wouldn’t be thrown away in the trash.
    Uma shifted the lace curtains aside to watch a late model pickup prowl out of the night, the streetlights dancing on the metal. The driver used only the parking lights, yellow in the night, like wolf’s eyes, and Uma shivered slightly. Ever since Lauren’s death, she’d noted every unfamiliar car in town, watched for the murderer’s narrow, hard face.
    Why hadn’t they found the car or the man?
    The pickup pulled into Lauren’s driveway, just one house away. A door slammed in the night and a man slowly walked out into the pool of light from the street just past the house next door. He was tall and broadly built, and then Uma knew that Mitchell had arrived. There was no mistaking his height or build, the way he locked his wide spread feet, his hands on his waist.
    And she wondered if Mitchell had come back as her father had said, “to settle the score.”
    She wouldn’t like it if he did, not one bit. Madrid needed to remain just as it always was—safe.
     
    The next evening, Uma stood on the sidewalk, looking at the house Lauren had loved. It was small and neat, a one-level white frame and red brick ranch. Just an everyday house that Lauren had made into a home circled by herbs and roses. The huge ferns on the front porch were dead from last winter, a rubble of tree leaves cluttered the meandering porch that Lauren had treasured. One of the upstairs windows had been crudely nailed shut, and a rusted rain gutter hung askew.
    The wary old tomcat her father tried to seduce with canned salmon watched her from beneath an untended shrub. Only Lauren had managed to pet and hold the cat. “You miss her, too, don’t you?” Uma asked.
    While the cat seemed to wait, a small breeze swept through the hot, still night and Uma shivered, her fingers chilled despite the warmth of the casserole in her hands, seeping through the tea towel. Lauren .
    She could almost hear Lauren’s whisper curl around her. I’ll always be with you…
    Uma braced herself to meet Mitchell Warren again; he’d called her office to tell her that Billy had left Lauren’s things with a note to call Uma. The beef stroganoff casserole she held was only neighborly, despite her father’s bad mood—“You what? You’re taking food to a Warren? No daughter of mine—” he’d begun as she had walked out of the house.
    She had no time for bitterness or hatred, except for the man who’d killed her friend Lauren. Who was he? Where was he?
    One press of Uma’s finger to the bell and the door swung open; a tall, powerful man filled the space. There was that same shock of dark brown hair, neatly trimmed now but his body had changed from a boy’s lankiness to a man’s more muscular throat and broad shoulders, all packaged in a dirty white T-shirt and worn jeans.
    In his stocking feet, Mitchell was just as she remembered, and the eighteen years since she had seen him had stamped Fred Warren’s features on his face—blunt nose, high cheekbones, and hard, almost cruel mouth. There was the same six-foot-three height and the unique amber, almost golden brown eyes, the same dark brown wavy hair, neatly trimmed.
    His gaze traveled down her light green summer dress, the linen shift long and cool against the evening heat, her summer sandals practical in worn leather.
    “Uma,” he said quietly and quickly folded Madrid’s small shopping paper, tossing it aside.
    “Hi, Mitchell.” She handed the casserole to him. “Be careful. It’s a next-door neighbor welcome. It’s hot. I thought you might like something filling and homecooked, rather than a summer salad.”
    “Thanks. You’re right. I’m not much on salads.” He held the dish awkwardly, big hands gripping the delicate tea towel she’d embroidered.
    She pushed away the last time she’d seen him—hurting, striking