Blind Rage Read Online Free PDF Page B

movies. “Help yourself to another beer.”
    “In a bit.” Garcia yanked off his tie and tossed it on the table. “That’s better. I hate those things.”
    She looked over and nodded to his chest. “You must hate your dress shirt, too. You’ve got sauce all over it.”
    He looked down. “This is my lucky shirt.”
    She went over to him with her hand out. “Give it to me, and I’ll run some water over it, so the stain doesn’t set.”
    He stood up and started unbuttoning. “Do you mind? My wife bought me…”
    His voice trailed off, and she knew why. Garcia’s wife was dead, her car run off the road by an unknown driver years ago. Bernadette preferred her own tragedy; at least she knew whom to blame for her spouse’s death. The uncertainty continued to haunt Garcia. “Give it here. It’ll just take a minute.”
    As he peeled off the shirt and passed it over to her, their eyes met. “Appreciate it.”
    “Not a problem,” she said. Garcia wore a tank T-shirt under his oxford, and she couldn’t help but notice the well-muscled arms and the six-pack rippling through the cotton. She went over to the sink, turned on the water, and held the fabric under the stream. “The stain’s coming out.”
    “Great.” Burying his hands in his pants pockets, he walked around her condo while she worked on his shirt. “So…any visitors recently?”
    “Visitors?”
    “You get what I mean.”
    Garcia knew she could see her dead neighbor, August Murrick, the former owner of the condo building. “Mr. Murrick hasn’t made an appearance in quite some time,” she said.
    “Really?”
    “Really.” She wasn’t lying.
    “What happened? Why’d he hit the road?”
    “I have no idea why he took off.” That she was lying about. She’d never confided to Garcia that she and Augie had been intimate once, before she realized he was a ghost. For weeks, she rebuffed his efforts to get her back into bed. He finally got the message and disappeared for good over the summer. She prayed Augie had gone to a truer heaven than a converted warehouse on the banks of the Mississippi.
    “He sounded like an interesting character,” said Garcia, stopping to examine the movie titles.
    “Oh, he wasn’t all that interesting.” She turned off the faucet, wrung out the wet shirt, and held it up over the sink. “Good as new. How lucky is that?”
    “Thanks a bunch,” said Garcia, coming up next to her.
    She pivoted around and found his body inches from hers. “Glad to…do it,” she stumbled, and felt her face heating up.
    “Maybe we should forget the movie,” he said evenly.
    She nodded and said with the same careful lack of emotion, “I’ll put this in a plastic sack for you.”
    While she dug under the sink for a bag and stuffed the wet shirt into it, he slipped his shoes back on and pulled on his blazer. “Thanks for the brew.”
    “Thanks for dinner.” She handed him the bagged shirt.
    He grabbed his trench coat and headed for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
    “Wait,” she said after him, retrieving his tie from the coffee table.
    He turned around. “What, Cat?”
    “You forgot your tie.”
    As he took it from her, his hand locked over hers. “I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said hoarsely.
    “You sure you can’t?”
    “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.” He released her hand, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.
    Bernadette watched his back as he headed for the elevators, putting his trench coat on as he went. She wished like hell he’d turn around and come back. At the same time, she knew that would be a huge mistake for both of them.
    He glanced back, staring at her while she stared at him. Raising his hand in a small wave goodbye, he stepped into the elevator and disappeared.
    She waved back to the empty corridor and closed the door. Resting her forehead against the wood, she cursed with frustration. “Shit, shit, shit.”
     
     
     
    THERE WAS a period after her husband’s