The Face of Fear Read Online Free PDF Page B

That’s the only thing wrong with you, Paul—other than your socks.”
    Stevenson looked at his feet. “What’s wrong with my socks?”
    Prine went to the windows. He didn’t look at the bright city beyond but stared instead at his reflection in the glass. He grinned at himself. He felt marvelous. Better than he had felt in weeks, and all thanks to Harris. The clairvoyant had brought some excitement and danger into his life, new purpose and interest. Although Graham Harris didn’t know it as yet, he was the most important target of Prine’s career. We’ll destroy him, Prine thought happily ; wipe him out, finish him off for good. He turned to Stevenson. “Are you certain about the phone? I must have gotten a call.”
    “No. Nothing.”
    “Maybe you stepped out of here for a minute.”
    “Tony, I’m not a fool. Give me some credit. I was here all the time, and the private line never rang.”
    Prine finished his second bourbon. It burned his throat. A welcome and pleasant heat rose in him. “Why don’t you have a drink with me?”
    Stevenson stood and stretched. “No. I’ve really got to go.”
    Prine went to the bar.
    “You’re drinking those awfully fast, Tony.”
    “Celebrating,” Prine said as he added ice and bourbon to his glass.
    “Celebrating what?”
    “The downfall of another fool.”

4
    Connie Davis was waiting for Graham when he came home to the townhouse they shared in Greenwich Village. She took his coat and hung it in the closet.
    She was pretty. Thirty-four years old. Slender. Brunette. Gray eyes. Proud nose. Wide mouth. Sexy.
    She owned a prosperous hole-in-the-wall antique shop on Tenth Street. In business she was every bit as tough as she was pretty.
    For the past eighteen months she and Graham had lived together. Their relationship was the closest thing to genuine romance that either of them had ever known.
    However, it was more than a romance. She was his doctor and nurse as well as his lover. Since the accident five years ago, he had been losing faith in himself. His self-respect faded year by year. She was here to help him, to heal him. She was not certain that he understood this ; but she saw it as the most important task of her life.
    “Where have you been?” she asked. “It’s two-thirty.”
    “I had to think. I went walking. You saw the program?”
    “We’ll talk about it. But first you need to get warm.”
    “Do I ever. It must be twenty below out there.”
    “Go into the study and sit down. Relax,” she said. “I’ve got a fire going. I’ll bring you a drink.”
    “Brandy?”
    “What else on a night like this?”
    “You’re nearly perfect.”
    “Nearly?”
    “Mustn’t give you a swelled head.”
    “I’m too perfect to be immodest.”
    He laughed.
    She turned from him and went to the bar at the far end of the living room.
    With a sixth sense of her own, she knew that he stared after her for a moment before he left the room. Good. Just as planned. He was meant to watch. She was wearing a clinging white sweater and tight blue jeans that accentuated her waistline and her bottom. If he hadn’t stared after her, she would have been disappointed. After what he had been through tonight, he needed more than a seat in front of the fireplace and a snifter of brandy. He needed her. Touching. Kissing. Making love. And she was willing—more than willing, delighted—to provide it.
    She was not merely plunging into her Earth Mother role again. Unquestionably, she did have a tendency to overwhelm her men, to be so excessively affectionate and understanding and dependable that she smothered their self-reliance. However, this affair was different from all the others. She wanted to depend on Graham as much as he depended on her. This time she wanted to receive as much as she gave. He was the first man to whom she had ever responded in quite that fashion. She wanted to make love to him in order to soothe him, but she wanted to soothe herself as well. She had always had