Whispers in the Mist Read Online Free Page B

stood silhouetted before Alan made out Merrit Chase. The fog must have been clammier than it appeared from the inside because Merrit made straight for the fireplace. She rotated in a shivery circle while scanning the room.
    “She’ll not make a matchmaker, that one,” Seamus said.
    Seamus muttered amongst his brethren as Alan stepped out from behind the bar toward Merrit. She’d cocked her head the way she did sometimes, no doubt aware that her presence always elicited speculation.
    “I won’t stay long,” she said. “I’m looking for someone. Plus Liam asked for tea.”
    She rubbed at the back of her neck and came away with fingers smudged with blood. A miniscule amount, but it startled Alan, who pulled her toward the peat fire for a closer look. He felt the locals observing them, ready to pass on the word later. On the return run, he might learn that he’d snogged Merrit in full view of his customers.
    She pulled her hair to one side and obliged him by leaning into the firelight. She continued to peruse the room, now on tiptoes. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a scratch.”
    A perfect line of abraded skin rounded the back of Merrit’s neck. “Who did this?”
    She pointed toward Bijou and Gemma.
    “Her?” Alan said.

FOUR
    D ANNY SETTLED HIS EXPRESSION into a neutral mask. Unflappable. Detached. Objective. Yet inside he felt a squirm clear into his bone marrow. He’d never get used to death. If Danny could, he’d escape into the fog that shrouded the thickets. He’d blend into the murkiness, his own version of Grey Man, he supposed.
    Instead, he settled his gaze onto the far edge of the pasture in which he stood, toward a few lingering shops and pubs marked the edge of the village proper. He’d sent one of his men to manage the gawkers who had already started to gather. Detective Officer Simon O’Neil and some of the others strung crime scene tape. Other than that, Danny had the scene to himself and a few minutes to look on his victim as more than a case number.
    The boy lay as if he were sunbathing. He looked to be asleep, with an angelic smile and his eyelashes resting on the tender skin below his eyes. His pale skin held memories of life, still waited for his first shave. His chapped lips hadn’t started to draw back.
    Danny’s forensic suit crinkled as he stooped to get a closer look at the boy’s head. Blood had dribbled out of his hairline toward his ear, and Danny thought he could make out a lump on the side of the boy’s head.
    This boy was too far from home, lost. This boy in his skinny black jeans laid out in front of grass bundles that stood almost as tall as Danny’s six-plus feet. What was a boy with three silver rings, a pierced eyebrow, and useless city boots doing in Blackie’s Pasture?
    With a surreptitious glance at his men, Danny peeled off one of his gloves and reached toward the boy’s cheek with the back of a finger. The warmth startled him and he jerked back when the boy’s eyelids twitched. Heart thumping, Danny placed his hand on the boy’s chest and pressed down. Air wheezed out of the boy’s mouth. When Danny let up, the boy’s chest heaved on an inhalation.
    “Jesus and Mary.” Danny scrambled for his mobile and dialed. “I need an ambulance.”
    While he spoke, blue eyes, dulled but aware all the same, blinked up at him. Danny rang off and grabbed one of the boy’s hands. He had articulate hands, like an artist with slender fingers, or simply the hands of a sensitive boy.
    Danny leaned over the boy, hoping that he found comfort in Danny’s presence. Please, let there be comfort.
    “You’re okay. I’m here. You’ll be okay. An ambulance is coming.”
    The boy continued blinking as if he’d already caught sight of his luminous afterlife. His mouth moved around words that slid past in an undecipherable mumble. His eyes closed but the half smile remained as his hand slipped to the ground.
    “No,” Danny said. “No, no, no.”
    He tilted the boy’s