High Noon Read Online Free PDF Page A

negotiation.
    Somewhere in there she needed to squeeze out time to balance her checkbook—long overdue—and see if there was any way she could afford a new car without robbing a bank.
    She opened the first file, and got down to managing her little corner of the Savannah-Chatham PD.
    â€œLT?”
    â€œMmm?” She acknowledged Sykes, one of the negotiators in her unit, without looking up.
    â€œGuy out here wants to see you. Duncan Swift.”
    â€œHmm?” This time she looked up with a frown. She looked through the window of her office, saw Duncan studying the squad room as if it were a foreign planet.
    She thought of her workload, of the time crunch, and nearly passed him off. Then his gaze shifted, met hers. And he smiled.
    â€œAh well.” She pushed up from her desk, stepped out to the doorway of her office. “Mr. Swift?”
    He had a damn effective smile, she decided. Something about it said it was easy and often used. And his eyes, soft and dusky blue, looked right at you. In her experience a lot of people weren’t comfortable making that solid eye contact. But this man let you know he wasn’t just looking at you, he was thinking about you while he did.
    â€œYou’re busy. You look busy,” he said when he reached her. “You want me to come back when you’re not?”
    â€œIf what you came by for can wait about a decade, that’s fine.”
    â€œI’d rather it didn’t.”
    â€œThen come on in.”
    â€œWow. It’s sort of like on TV, but not exactly. Do you get weirded out sitting here where everybody can see what you’re doing all day?”
    â€œIf I do, I can always pull the blinds.”
    He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of worn jeans. There were long legs in those jeans, she noted.
    â€œBet you hardly ever do.”
    â€œI spoke with the attorney you hired on Joe’s behalf. He seems very competent.”
    â€œAnd then some. So…I wanted to ask you if I should visit Suicide Joe—”
    â€œExcuse me? Suicide Joe?”
    â€œSorry, we got to calling him that last night. It stuck in my head. Should I visit him, or is it better for him if I step back?”
    â€œWhat do you want to do?”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s not like we were pals or anything. But yesterday’s loop keeps running through my head.”
    â€œIt’s more to the point what’s running through his.”
    â€œYeah. Yeah. I had this dream.”
    â€œDid you?”
    â€œI was the one sitting out on the ledge in my underwear.”
    â€œBoxers or briefs?”
    It made him laugh. “Boxers. Anyway, I was sitting on the ledge and you were sitting there with me.”
    â€œAre you feeling suicidal?”
    â€œNot a bit.”
    â€œIt’s called transference. You’re putting yourself in his place. It was a traumatic experience, for you as well as Joe, even though it ended well.”
    â€œHave you ever had one that didn’t?”
    â€œYes.”
    He nodded, and didn’t ask for details. “What do you call me having you stuck in my mind? Wishful thinking?”
    â€œThat would depend on what you’re wishing for.”
    â€œI started to Google you.”
    She sat back now, raised her eyebrows.
    â€œI thought, sure it’s a shortcut, a curiosity-satisfying one. But sometimes you want to go the long way around. You get to find out about somebody from the source, maybe over some type of food or drink. And if you’re wondering, yes, I’m hitting on you.”
    â€œI’m a trained observer. I don’t have to wonder when I know. I appreciate the honesty, and the interest, but—”
    â€œDon’t say ‘but,’ not right off the bat.” He bent down, picked up a hairpin that must have fallen out of her hair earlier, handed it to her. “You could consider it a public service. I’m the public. We could exchange life stories over