The October List Read Online Free PDF Page B

bothering to wipe it clean. She turned up the heat and cooked the rings and shoots, stirring them absently in a figure-eight motion with a wooden spoon.
    The sweet scents rose and soon they’d mitigated the smells that had bothered her. The thoughts of past death faded.
    Daniel Reardon walked to the doorway of the kitchen. She sensed him watching her closely. She glanced at his handsome face, felt that ping of attraction. Thought of Friday night, two days ago. A year, forever.
    ‘Hungry?’
    ‘Probably. But I don’t want anything to eat. I’m just air freshening.’
    ‘With onions?’ A laugh. He had a wonderful laugh – just like the actor he so closely resembled.
    Her voice shivered as she said, ‘Every night when she’s with me, Sarah and I cook. Well, not every night. But most. She likes to stir things. She’s a great stirrer. We sometimes joke, we …’ And she abruptly fell silent, inhaled deeply, looking away from him.
    She touched her chest, wincing, and Daniel stepped close, taking a tissue and slowly wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. Then he embraced her. His hand trailed down her spine, bumping over the strap of her bra beneath the thick sweatshirt and settling into her lower back. He pulled her close. She tensed and groaned slightly. He tilted her head back and, despite the residue of blood, kissed her hard on the lips. She groaned, frowning, and he released her.
    ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.
    ‘Don’t be.’
    He pressed his face against hers once more, pulling her body into him. And then stepped back, as if forcing himself to. She shut off the stovetop gas and they returned to the living room.
    She looked around the apartment. It was sterile, worn in the way of faded elegance, like rich folks downsizing, retiring. The bland furniture had been top quality ten, fifteen years ago but was dinged and scuffed. The cushions had suffered from too many asses, the carpet from too many leather heels.
    Ugly, yes.
    But it was quiet. And secluded.
    Safe …
    The decorations were largely nautical. Prints of ships in turbulent waves, as well as seafaring memorabilia and lanterns and fishing gear.
    Gabriela regarded the wooden display rack of knots on the wall. ‘Yours?’
    ‘That’s right. I tied them. A hobby.’ He looked over the short pieces of rope bound into nautical knots, two dozen of them. ‘They have names, each one.’
    Another wall was devoted to photography. He spotted the direction of her eyes. ‘Not as good as yours.’
    ‘You’ve got an Edward Weston and an Imogen Cunningham, Stieglitz.’
    ‘They’re just reproductions, not originals.’
    ‘Well-done, though. Quality work. And picking those pieces in particular. Weston was a groundbreaker. Cunningham too, though I think she needed more of an edge.’
    ‘And there – something your daughter would appreciate.’ On one wall was an antique riding crop and a pair of spurs.
    An indelible image of Sarah came to mind.
    Sarah …
    She sensed Daniel was about to bring up a serious topic. She was right.
    ‘Mac, I’m going to have some people help us.’ He nodded toward his iPad, on which he’d presumably been sending and receiving emails.
    ‘Help us?’
    ‘They’re good folks. And we need them.’
    ‘I can’t ask that.’
    ‘You didn’t ask.’ Daniel smiled. ‘Besides, I owe you big time. You’re the one who came up with the Princeton Solution. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. It would’ve been a nightmare.’
    ‘I’ll bet you could’ve handled it.’
    ‘No. You saved my life,’ he told her.
    Gabriela offered a modest smile. ‘Who are they, these people?’
    ‘A couple of guys I’ve worked with for years. Smart. We need smart.’ Daniel regarded her ambling eyes. ‘She’ll be okay, Mac. I promise. Sarah will be okay.’
    And Gabriela thought: Promise . What an odd verb. A word you can’t trust. Or shouldn’t.
    Like the word trust itself.
    Don’t be so cynical, she