The Killing Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

this.”
    “It's no burden.”
    “Sure it is. It should be only my albatross.”
    “Not possible. When you're hurting, everyone around you feels it.” He picked up a handful of sand and let it slowly sift through his fingers. “Bonnie's still here. For all of us.”
    “You, Joe?”
    “Sure, could it be any different? You and I have been together for a long time.”
    Since that nightmare time after Bonnie had disappeared. He had been an agent with the FBI then, younger, less cynical, capable of being shocked and horrified. He had tried to comfort her, but there had been no comfort in the world during that hideous period. Yet he had somehow managed to pull her back single-handedly from a nearly fatal depression until she could function on her own. She grimaced. “I don't know why you stick around. I'm a lousy friend. I never think about anything but my work. I'm selfish as hell or I would have known you and Diane were having trouble. Why do you put up with me?”
    “I wonder sometimes.” He tilted his head, as if considering. “I suppose I'm used to you. It's too much trouble to make new friends, so I guess I'll have to keep you.”
    “Thank God.” She drew up her knees and linked her arms around them. “I hurt him, Joe.”
    “Logan's tough. He'll get over it. He knew you weren't going to be a sure thing when he lured you here.”
    “He didn't lure me here. He was trying to help.”
    Joe shrugged. “Maybe.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, I'll walk you back to the house. You've been out here long enough.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I saw you run out. I've been waiting on the terrace.”
    “All this time?”
    He smiled. “I didn't have any other pressing engagements. I figured you needed the time alone, but now you should go to bed.”
    He had stood there in the darkness, silent, strong, waiting patiently until he could help her. She suddenly felt stronger herself, more optimistic. “I'm not going back to the house but you can walk me back to the lab. I have some work to do and then I have to pack.”
    “Do you need help?”
    She shook her head. “I can manage.” She headed toward the small house a hundred yards away. “I've just been putting it off.”
    “Second thoughts?”
    “You know better.” She opened the door of the lab and turned on the light. “But sad thoughts. Regretful thoughts.” She moved toward the computer on the desk. “Go away. I have to finish this age progression. It's been a long time for Libby's mother. She's almost given up hope.”
    “Nice place.” Joe's gaze was wandering around the room, from the beige couch heaped with orange and gold pillows to the framed pictures on the bookcase. “You've made it yours. Where's the sculpture you've been working on?”
    She nodded at the pedestal beside the large picture window. “Your bust is a work in progress. But there's a finished one of Mom in the armoire beside the door.”
    “My bust?” He stared at it. “Good God, it
is
me.”
    “Don't be flattered. I didn't have any models, and I know your face almost as well as I do my own.”
    “Jesus, I can see you do.” He touched the bridge of the nose. “I never realized anyone noticed that little bump. I broke it playing football.”
    “You should have had it taken care of at the time.”
    He grinned. “But then I would have been too perfect.” He paused. “I'd have thought you'd do one of Bonnie.”
    “I tried. I couldn't do it. I just found myself staring at the clay.” She adjusted her glasses and brought up the picture of Libby on the monitor. “Maybe later.”
    “But you think you can reconstruct the little girl's skull?”
    He was being very careful not to refer to it as Bonnie's skull, she noticed. “I have to do it. I can do whatever I have to do. Go away, Joe. I have to work now.”
    He strolled toward the door. “Try to get some sleep.”
    “After I finish the progression.” She pulled up the photographs of Libby's mother and