Cold Comfort Read Online Free PDF Page A

why you're here, but I'm quite sure you didn't believe me on the phone. I prefer to deal with people I can trust. Please don't lie to me, Mr. Riley."
    He studied her for a moment without answering. Her expression, direct and unflinching, held none of the coy, nervous fluttering he expected. Perhaps he'd misjudged her—her delicate, old-fashioned air didn't necessarily cover a high-strung, fragile interior. She reminded him vaguely of Nanette, his ex-wife. They both had an ethereal look that made you think they should be protected. Only with Nanette, he was the one who needed protection. He blamed his edginess, his anticipation of an emotional outburst from Claire, on his past experience with Nanette.
    Okay, Ray knew and liked her, and so far, she'd done nothing to merit his suspicions — just the opposite, he admitted. He decided to chance it. "Okay, you're right. I'll be honest. Let me start over. Call me Riley."
    "All right." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'm Claire." A hint of color crept into her cheeks. A marble Madonna coming to life.
    "Claire." He liked the way she smiled with her eyes. The job, Riley, just the job. He needed to get this over with. "There's something strange here. Stalkers are usually more up close and personal. Running you down is much colder, especially since that was planned. My first thought is, someone knows something you don't—you either have or know something."
    Before she could answer, he went on. "Another possibility — who benefits if you die? Do you have any money? Property? Maybe in the path of some development?"
    "What?" She drew back from his abrupt questions. "No one would benefit, I guess. I don't have a will. I never thought about it. There's nothing except the shop and a small house."
    "Do you have any family? Cousins? Aunts? Uncles?"
    "No. At least, I don't think so. Just my mother and me, and she died last January. We..." Her fingers tightened visibly on the spoon. "We weren't close to my father's people. He had a brother, but I know very little about any of them."
    Uh-oh. Something there. He'd come back to it later. "So you could be in line to inherit something. Maybe have relatives who'd benefit from your death. Did your mother leave anything substantial?"
    "Only the house and some insurance money. She'd been sick for a long time. There wasn't much left." Claire remained quiet for a second, focusing on the soup bowl. "I know my father's family wasn't wealthy. There must be some mistake. I can't believe anyone would want to kill me."
    "Someone does." He finished his coffee and pushed the cup away. "They've tried at least once, maybe twice. They'll probably try again. I want to check your house."
    She jerked her head up, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.
    Maybe he'd been a little blunt. From robbery to murder in the roar of an engine. She needed time to adjust. Picturing the scene in the alley, he said, "One question—why did you go out the back door tonight? Do you do it often?"
    "No, never. I saw movement in a doorway nearby. It made me uncomfortable, and I thought a change in routine would be good." She lowered her gaze to the table and nibbled at an unpolished fingernail. "Wrong."
    He could see she felt dumb now. "Right idea, but turning the lights off and then failing to come out gave you away."
    She turned that smile on him. It lighted her eyes. He shifted on the seat and looked out at the passing traffic. Riley didn't want her grateful or appreciative or anything else. He'd nail the bastard and get the hell away before he could screw up again.
    "Before I waste any more of your time," she said, recalling his attention, "I think we should discuss the cost of — of your solving my problem."
    The fright of the alley must be wearing off. She studied him as if seeing him only now. Riley kept his expression neutral, giving her time. Her blue gaze wandered over his hands, his face. Her eyebrows drew together and she pursed her lips. Wondering how he got the broken