Primary Suspect by Susan Peterson

Author:Susan Peterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2006-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Kylie stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel off the rack next to the sink and dried off. Steam rose off her body in tiny wisps. The cabin had cooled overnight, the fire dying.

After Michael had left around 4:30 a.m. she’d stacked more logs on the fire, rolled up in the blanket and pretended she might actually sleep.

But she hadn’t.

Instead she’d laid there, her thoughts racing, running and colliding into each other until she was totally exhausted.

But no amount of analyzing and reanalyzing had given her a plausible reason for why she had allowed what happened to happen. Was she crazy? How could she have allowed him to kiss her? Worse yet, why had she allowed herself to respond?

Their timing was off, and Kylie was certain that the both of them weren’t prepared to deal with the complications of any type of romantic entanglement. She had school to finish and a residency to start. Michael’s life was even more complicated. He was in a virtual battle for freedom, if not his life.

Besides, she had no assurance that he wasn’t somehow mixed up in the murders. And something told her that even Michael wasn’t certain about the part he played in the deaths of the women in Manhattan. Not to mention the maid here at Cloudspin.

She wiped the condensation off the window and peered outside. The storm still raged and overnight the snow had piled up with frightening speed. Two feet at least since she’d last looked. At this rate, they’d be buried beneath another two feet before noon.

Her gaze shifted to the clearing and the trail leading to the gorge. Nothing. Swirling snow but no child. Not even a sign of footprints in the snow. She dropped the curtain back in place.

She hadn’t really expected to see anything. Michael had been right; her imagination, the shock of her father’s death and her unexpected homecoming, had all conspired to make her see things. Guilt congealed in the pit of her stomach. She felt like a fool.

Turning away, she stepped back to the sink and stared into the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes practically shouted her lack of sleep.

“You’re a damn fool,” she said. The man had got her good. Rammed right through her defenses like they hadn’t even existed. She couldn’t afford to let it happen again.

Sighing, she grabbed the hair dryer and flicked it on, doing a quick blow dry.

A few dabs of make-up later, she studied her reflection. Not perfect but definitely an improvement. A little color to her cheeks and a decent job of covering up the dark circles beneath her eyes. It would have to do.

She yanked her robe off a hook on the back of the door. On either side of the mirror, the lights flickered twice and then went out.

“Great,” she grumbled. “Hope I just blew a fuse.”

She pulled on the robe and padded barefoot out into the kitchen. A quick check of the fuse box told her that the problem was much bigger.

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