A Desperate Silence (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

in a linen pantsuit and leather pumps from a very recent appearance at children's court, and the narrow two-inch heels of her shoes caught in the sidewalk's seams.
          Kove jogged a few paces to keep up with his associate. " ¿Yo? " They were outside the Santa Fe Judicial Complex, and this was the first time he'd talked to Sylvia since their late-night phone conversation more than thirty hours earlier.
          "Heel," Sylvia snapped, and the Malinois reluctantly abandoned the narrow metal post of a NO PARKING sign. At the same time, Rocko, the terrier, veered after a windblown scrap of paper.
          Kove took Rocko's leash thinking that it might help him get back in Sylvia's good graces, but she was already walking ahead with the Malinois.
          Her words drifted back to Kove. "I was half asleep, and you told me my sabbatical was up when I actually had another week. My book is overdue, I've still got a hundred pages to revise, and my editors are threatening to come after me with a cattle prod."
          "I had to get your attention." Kove's nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of something that was very ripe, very dead, or both. "The child needed help."
          "She still needs help, but that's no excuse. I'm not fond of cattle prods."
          Eyebrows aslant, Kove said, "If you don't want to work with her, you don't have to."
          "You are so obvious." As Sylvia waited for Nikki to finish peeing on the edge of a plastered wall, a sudden gust of air lifted her dark hair away from her shoulders. Overhead, a massive thunderhead threatened an abrupt change in the October weather. Gray light filtered through the branches of an elm tree and dappled the sidewalk.
          Sylvia continued, "I just spent thirty minutes at the custody hearing—the state retains custody, the kid's been placed in a foster home, she's not talking, and I'm evaluating this afternoon."
          "It's not autism?"
          Sylvia shook her head. "It's not withdrawal. You and I have both seen enough autistic children to recognize the face they wear. This is different." She thought back, visualized the child. "I almost get the feeling her silence is a responsibility."
          "To whom?"
          "That's the question." Sylvia shivered as the thundercloud cut off sunlight and draped her shoulders in shadow. "The child wasn't in the courtroom today; she was too freaked out by the whole process."
          "What's your read?"
          Sylvia nudged her black sunglasses higher on her nose. "She's been through an ordeal, she's bright, and she's got plenty of chutzpah." She shrugged. "By the way, the foster mom's bilingual; she confirmed my feeling—the kid responds to English and Spanish."
          Sylvia didn't say so, but she felt a kinship with a child she hardly knew; the feeling nagged at her insistently like a tiny yet formidable insect. She gave her head a small shake. "You know what interests me the most, Albert? Silence is not the normal response to trauma."
          "Nobody says this kid is normal." Kove tweaked his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx.
          Sylvia pressed her palms together, thumbs touching her chin. "The foster mom says the child prays a lot."
          "She'll be a good influence on you." Kove frowned. "You think she was alone in that car?"
          "I'd bet there was a driver—I'm guessing an illegal—who took off running after the crash. Maybe he or she figured the kid would be in good hands." Sylvia shrugged and glanced at her watch.
          Albert Kove was in his midforties, with cropped hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an almost completely unflappable demeanor. But not now. At the moment he seemed upset. Kove's sigh was a soft hiss of air. "You're right, I lied to you."
          "Thanks for the confession."
          Into the tiny opening of silence Kove wedged words. "I was afraid I'd never get you back to work at the unit if I didn't push."