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

Sylvia whirled around. "You were wrong," she said. "By the time I hung up the phone I'd figured out I had another week's sabbatical." She lowered her dark glasses and gave her friend a hard look; her left eye was ringed with a glorious purple-and-yellow bruise. "But I went to the hospital anyway."
          Kove frowned. "Who gave you the shiner?"
          "The kid."
          Kove smiled. "Then you two hit it off?"
          "Very funny. I'm great with children." Sylvia pushed her glasses back up her nose, suddenly self-conscious. "But I should have fucking ducked."
          "You take your punches like a tough guy. You coulda been a contenda."
          She shook her head and grudgingly returned Kove's smile. "I coulda been the champ." Abruptly, she snapped her fingers. "Sit!" Nikki sat.
          Kove gave muffled applause. "I'm impressed. Four months ago you couldn't teach that dog to scratch a flea."
          "We've been in training." Sylvia closed her bruised eye and made a show of assessing her colleague. "I'll consider forgiving you—on one condition."
          "What?"
          Sylvia clipped the lead to Nikki's collar, then slapped the leash into Kove's palm. "Finish their walk. I've got to meet with the kid and her foster mom in three minutes."
          She was already striding back toward the offices of the Forensic Evaluation Unit when she heard Kove call out, "What do I do with them when we're done walking?"
          "Give them water and put them in the back of my truck."
          "What smells so bad?"
          Sylvia held out both hands palms up. "The night I went to the hospital to see the kid? Rocko sneaked out his dog door."
          Suddenly, the light dawned, and Albert inhaled sharply. Skunk .
    B EHIND TINTED WINDOWS Renzo Santos was playing dead. Body resting against the seat back. Arms and legs immobile. Breath evaporated through the mind. From his parked Suburban, he watched the tall brunette wave good-bye to her friend. She'd left the maricón holding two dogs. Renzo didn't like dogs—not the mangy curs who roamed the barrios of Juárez, not the purebred guard dogs with their studded collars and shark eyes. Once he'd watched a rottweiler tear apart an ocelot—all for the enjoyment of a bored diamond-draped bitch who had a taste for blood.
          Now the brunette turned into one of the old office complexes across from the courthouse. Renzo already knew that lawyers and psychologists worked in that building. The brunette was a psychologist. She was in her early thirties, well dressed, good body, dark eyes, dark hair—mixed descent . . . part Italian or part Indian? He'd noticed her for the first time when she walked into the courthouse with the C.P.S. social worker. Renzo didn't like psychologists any more than he liked dogs. He'd dated one once—she'd told him he had issues with his mother-the-
puta
.
          Where is the girl? When she didn't die, she'd changed his plans.
          Without moving his head, he glanced down at the notepad tucked under his thigh. Four license-plate numbers were written on the page; the numbers belonged to the psychologist and the other people who had gathered for the custody hearing.
          Renzo knew about the players—do-gooders, social workers, shrinks, court-appointed guardians, priests, nuns, doctors, nurses. He knew about the system—child protective services, welfare and food stamps, social services, shelters, Catholic charities. He analyzed the system out of professional necessity. He despised the system because he had survived it.
          These people had all gathered to decide the immediate fate of the girl—Renzo's gloved fingers tightened into a fist—but the girl had been absent from the hearing.
          Where would he find her?
          Only Renzo's eyeballs shifted as he changed focus. The C.P.S. social worker was taking too long inside the courthouse. Maybe she'd exited through the