Shadowfires Read Online Free PDF Page B

with thousands of red blossoms, grew up one wall of the bungalow and over part of the roof. With the help of a latticework frame, it formed a living green-and-scarlet canopy above the front stoop.
    Ben stood in cool bougainvillea shadows, with the warm sun at his back, and rang the bell half a dozen times, growing concerned when Rachael took so long to respond.
    Inside, music was playing. Suddenly, it was cut off.
    When at last Rachael opened the door, she had the security chain in place, and she looked warily through the narrow gap. She smiled when she saw him, though it seemed as much a smile of nervous relief as of pleasure. “Oh, Benny, I’m so glad it’s you.”
    She slipped the brass chain and let him in. She was barefoot, wearing a tightly belted silky blue robe—and carrying a gun.
    Disconcerted, he said, “What’re you doing with that?”
    “I didn’t know who it might be,” she said, switching on the two safeties and putting the pistol on the small foyer table. Then, seeing his frown and realizing that her explanation was inadequate, she said, “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just . . . shaky.”
    “I heard about Eric on the radio. Just minutes ago.”
    She came into his arms. Her hair was partially damp. Her skin was sweet with the fragrance of jasmine, and her breath smelled of chocolate. He knew she must have been taking one of her long lazy soaks in the tub.
    Holding her close, he felt her trembling. He said, “According to the radio, you were there.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It was horrible, Benny.” She clung to him. “I’ll never forget the sound of the truck hitting him. Or the way he bounced and rolled along the pavement.” She shuddered.
    “Easy,” he said, pressing his cheek against her damp hair. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
    “Yes, I do,” she said. “I’ve got to talk it out if I’m ever going to get it off my mind.”
    He put a hand under her chin and tilted her lovely face up to him. He kissed her once, gently. Her mouth tasted of chocolate.
    “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go sit down, and you can tell me what happened.”
    “Lock the door,” she said.
    “It’s okay,” he said, leading her out of the foyer.
    She stopped and refused to move. “Lock the door,” she insisted.
    Puzzled, he went back and locked it.
    She took the pistol from the foyer and carried it with her.
    Something was wrong, something more than Eric’s death, but Ben did not understand what it was.
    The living room was shrouded in deep shadows, for she had drawn all the drapes. That was distinctly odd. Ordinarily she loved the sun and reveled in its warm caress with the languid pleasure of a cat sunning on a windowsill. He had never seen the drapes drawn in this house until now.
    “Leave them closed,” Rachael said when Ben started to unveil the windows.
    She switched on a single lamp and sat in its amber glow, in the corner of a peach-colored sofa. The room was very modern, all in shades of peach and white with dark blue accents, polished bronze lamps, and a bronze-and-glass coffee table. In her blue robe she was in harmony with the decor.
    She put the pistol on the table beside the lamp. Near to hand.
    Ben retrieved her champagne and chocolate from the bathroom and brought them to her. In the kitchen, he got another cold split of champagne and a glass for himself.
    When he joined her on the living-room sofa, she said, “It doesn’t seem right. The champagne and chocolate, I mean. It looks as if I’m celebrating his death.”
    “Considering what a bastard he was to you, perhaps a celebration would be justified.”
    She shook her head adamantly. “No. Death is never a cause for celebration, Benny. No matter what the circumstances. Never.”
    But she unconsciously ran her fingertips back and forth along the pale, pencil-thin, barely visible three-inch scar that followed the edge of her delicate jawline on the right side of her face. A year ago, in one of his nastier