The Good Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

Leaning inches from her face, he pitched his voice low. “Stop pushing me, Doc. I don’t have time for this.”
    “You don’t have any choice, Detective.”
    He had to give it to her. Though he had a distinct size advantage over that delicate frame, she didn’t back down an inch, some of that passion he’d seen earlier sparking in eyes gone wide and dark.
    “It doesn’t have to be this difficult,” she said.
    “Tell that to Newcombe.” He stalked out the door.
     
    V INCE STORMED past Wanda, swearing under his breath.
    “Hey, cher, where you goin’ in such a temper?”
    Hearing her voice, he felt the anger drain right outof him. Wanda Dupree had been a records clerk back when he was a rookie, and had saved his hide when he’d messed up on an affidavit that could have invalidated a search. He respected the tiny Cajun who never seemed to find a good man. Wanda was on the downside of fifty, yet something sensual smoldered in the air around her. She never lacked for companionship, but she tended to pick the worst of the litter with unerring accuracy.
    He turned back with a grin, aware as he did it that there’d be a smart-aleck one on her face. “Me, Wanda? You know I’m even-tempered and mild.”
    Wanda snorted, then broke into a racking cough.
    “Sugar, you got to ditch those coffin nails.”
    Sassy as ever, she retorted, “ Cher, there’s three things that make life worth living, and not a one of ’em good for you.”
    “You just haven’t found the right man.”
    “That’s ’cause you never asked me.”
    Vince shook his head. “I know when I’m out of my league. I’m just a poor country boy, not ready to run with the big dogs always sniffin’ around after you.”
    She laughed, coughing slightly again. “Get out of here, you con man.” Her gaze sobered. “She’s a good person, Vince.” Her head tipped toward Chloe’s door. “Helps a lot of people.”
    His grin vanished. “I don’t need a shrink. I’m fine.”
    “Of course you are, cher, ” Wanda soothed. “But everybody needs a friend sometimes.”
    Vince knew that she truly cared. “I can get a dog if I need someone to talk to. They don’t talk back.”
    Wanda giggled. “Go on, you. I’m writing you down for tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.”
    “Write all you want, sugar. I won’t be here.” He saluted as he walked away.

CHAPTER THREE
    C HLOE CROSSED the grass blanketing the front yard of her little gray house, with its glossy black shutters. Something inside her, as always, eased at the mere sight of it. The smell of freshly mown grass wafted down the block.
    Her parents still didn’t understand why she lived in this eclectic Rosedale neighborhood filled with small, unremarkable houses. Trees lined the streets, sheltering an odd assortment of neighbors—families with small children, senior citizens who’d bought their homes new in the forties, single professionals like Chloe, gay couples. Its main virtue was proximity to the University of Texas and downtown; as a result, prices had risen but were still modest compared with old-money Tarrytown, where her parents lived. They might have understood if she’d bought a Northwest Hills condo, but a small two-bedroom whose oak floors she’d refinished herself? They still shook their heads over it.
    But it was hers, purchased with her own money, decorated with no thought to a spread in Southern Living. She loved every inch of it.
    Picking faded scarlet blossoms from the round white pots on her porch, Chloe inserted her key in the lock ofher Chinese-red front door. She drank in the rich scent of her roses, the sharp spice of the geraniums. Rustling trees outside soothed her, the sound fading with the closing of the door. After shedding her high heels, Chloe padded across the faded green-and-rose Aubusson rug she’d picked up for a song at a secondhand store.
    On the way to the refrigerator, Chloe cast a glance at the old rosewood clock on her mantel. She didn’t have a lot of time; Roger