The Saint Read Online Free PDF

two years, Claire. Isn’t it time to let old—” But her face warned him to stop, so he did. “All right, then, how about if I promise we won’t talk about Steve?”
    Her fingers must have clenched a little. The brown paper bag made a brief crinkling noise. “What topics would be left, then? Politics? The weather?”
    â€œI could tell you about Heyday. It’s grown since you left. They’ve put in a new multiplex movie theater. Stadium seating. Four whole screens. The kids all want jobs there.” She wasn’t interested, but he kept going, determined to hit on something. “The bookstore expanded. And they put in a new traffic light.”
    â€œDid they really. Where?”
    Oh, hell. He hesitated just a second too long, as he recognized his mistake. She was smart. She knew what the hesitation meant.
    â€œWhere?”
    He took a deep breath. “On Poplar Hill.”
    â€œSo much for that topic.” She turned away firmly. “I don’t mean to be rude, Kieran. I appreciate the effort you made to come. But I really think it’s better if we just say good-night.”
    She fumbled with her key, trying to insert it into the lock.
    â€œClaire.” He touched her shoulder, and shetwitched away quickly. Too quickly. The oranges on the top of her grocery bag began to teeter. She shifted them, reaching out with her other hand to try to balance things, but at that very moment the door swung open, and she lurched forward.
    Fruit and fresh vegetables spilled everywhere, and a box of spinach spaghetti hit the landing with enough force to split open. Thin green straws hopped and tumbled crazily, covering the concrete and bouncing down the stairs.
    He caught the bag as it fell, just in time to save the sparkling water.
    She knelt immediately and began scooping up bits of broccoli. “I’ll get it,” she said. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
    He crouched beside her. “Let me help.”
    For a minute he thought she was going to refuse. For a minute, she thought so, too. He could read it in her eyes. But obviously even she could see how impossibly rude that would be. She blinked, brushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded.
    â€œThanks,” she said. She dumped a handful of little green florets into the bag and began scooping up some more.
    It took several minutes, but finally they had it all, down to the last strand of green spaghetti. She went in first. She left the door open behind her, so he assumed she wouldn’t call the police if he followed her in.
    It was a beautiful apartment. Had she just recently moved in? The living room had high ceilings and an elegant coffee-colored molding; a brand-new, thick, champagne-beige carpet; and almost no furniture. One chair with a throw blanket across its arm, onesmall coffee table and a bookcase with a stereo on top—that was it. No sofa, no lamp, no stack of unopened mail on the foyer table. No tail-wagging puppy, no roommate, no—
    No anything.
    â€œIt’s a nice place,” he said. “How long have you lived here?”
    â€œA couple of years. Since I left Heyday.” She had gone straight to the kitchen. He heard the growling sound of the garbage disposal churning up broccoli—and discouraging any further conversation.
    Two years? He stood in the doorway and looked around incredulously. She’d lived in this apartment for two years, and she had yet to hang a picture? She had never bought a television?
    He moved through the big, hollow room and entered the kitchen. It looked a little more lived-in. The small breakfast bay had two chairs, and the table was covered in books and papers. He had heard she was still teaching. This must be where she created her lesson plans and did her grading.
    He handed her his collection of ruined food and watched as she fed it to the disposal. “Thanks,” she said again. But she didn’t quite look at him. She didn’t