Secret Light Read Online Free PDF

a second
    before putting it to his pipe and pursing his lips. He drew a number of puffs to ignite
    the tobacco, after which he blew out a thin stream of smoke with a deeply satisfied sigh.
    “I work from home sometimes, and it’s ideal to have an office here.”
    “It will be ideal for a family someday.” Ben watched him carefully when he said it,
    but it drew not a flicker of response. “I take it there’s no imminent Mrs. Rafe Colman?”
    “I’m afraid not,” came the easy reply. “For all my immense personal charm, I have
    no luck keeping a young lady happy for long. Perhaps it’s because I can’t keep my eyes
    in my head.”
    “That could make a girl unhappy.”
    “There are just so many lovely girls. Don’t you find?” Smoke billowed into the air.
    Ben felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, as though Rafe was able to see right through
    him. As if Rafe was filling the air with smoke to create a barrier between them. “Girls
    are always ready to throw themselves at a man. What can one do?”
    “Poor man,” Ben said, a little too sharply.
    Rafe blinked. “I’m sorry. I don’t ever seem to say the right thing with you, do I?”
    “Maybe it’s me.” Ben looked into his glass. Should he go?
    “I make a very fine living saying the right thing to everyone. For the most part, it’s
    like a running tap. It seems to shut off when you’re around.”
    Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
    26

    Ben sipped his beer to hide his pleasure at this. He liked keeping people off balance;
    it was in his nature to poke at things to see what the result might be. He’d been told his
    curiosity was discomfiting, but it didn’t stop him. He thought he was more a stickler for
    honesty than most. “That or I’m some idiotic, prickly bastard who shouldn’t be around
    people much.”
    “No. That’s not it.” Rafe’s face registered something like regret. “I think you may be
    like one of those polygraph machines. You should be a detective, not a policeman.”
    “As a matter of fact, I’m working on that.”
    “Does that mean you will wear horrible, shiny suits and gum shoes?”
    “Certainly. I’ve been reading detective stories all my life, and I’d be disappointed
    not to.”
    In the silence that fell between them, Ben found himself thinking about Dashiell
    Hammett and how Rafe reminded him of Nick Charles—elegant and effortlessly
    appealing—whereas he had more in common with Sam Spade. Sam Spade had seen
    things. He knew things—about life, about people—that made him an outsider and, at
    the same time, the ultimate chameleon. A neutral man in a black-and-white world. He
    wondered if Rafe would agree with the comparison.
    Colman drew him. He was urgently attracted to the dapper Austrian. He’d come
    there that evening to poke at Colman, to drop the tiniest hint that they might have
    something more in common than a crime scene. To convey in some perfectly harmless
    way that he’d admired Colman’s composure, and more, that he felt connected to him
    somehow, that he might have liked—might imagine—Colman felt that too.
    Nothing short of survival held him back.
    When he glanced back up at Rafe, he found him wary. Maybe Rafe was a bit of a
    detective as well. If even the tiniest fraction of what Ben had been thinking showed on
    his face and Rafe saw it there, he might need to leave, and fast.
    Rafe asked coolly. “Do you visit with all the people whose homes are vandalized,
    Ben?”
    Z. A. Maxfield | Secret Light
    27

    That yanked Ben back to earth with a thud. He clasped his beer in both hands and
    tried a bit of humor.
    “All part of the service.”
    “That must take a great deal of your free time.”
    Ben finished off his beer in three large swallows and rose from the couch. “I’m
    afraid I’ve taken up enough of yours. Thank you very much for the beer.”
    Rafe put his pipe down and stood. “You’re welcome.”
    Rafe had grown formal so quickly Ben wondered if he’d click his heels. They