(Brennan 06) Bare Bones by Kathy Reichs

Author:Kathy Reichs
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-07-18T22:00:00+00:00

20

AT THE SOUND OF THE DOOR, I FLEW TO THE KITCHEN.

Boyd was guzzling from his bowl.

Ryan was digging water from the refrigerator. I watched him straighten, uncap the bottle, throw back his head, and drink. His skin glistened. Strong, ropy muscles rippled in his arm, neck, and back.

Seeing him calmed me.

Needing a male presence to calm me annoyed me.

I shoved both feelings aside.

“Good run?” I asked, attempting a conversational tone.

Ryan turned.

One look told him all was not well.

“What’s up?”

“When you’ve showered I’d like you to look at something.” Though I tried for steady, my voice shook.

“What’s happened, babe?”

“I’d rather show you.”

Ryan set down the water, crossed to me, and took both my hands in his.

“You OK?”

“I’m OK.”

Long, probing look.

“Hold on to that thought.”

While Ryan was upstairs I viewed the rest of the e-mails. The settings varied. The theme did not. Every one was a threat.

Ryan was back in ten minutes, smelling of Irish Spring and Mennen Speed Stick. Kissing the top of my head, he took the chair beside mine.

I described the phone call, took him through the e-mails.

Ryan’s face hardened as he viewed the images. Now and then a jaw muscle bulged, relaxed.

After we’d finished, he held me close. When he spoke, his voice sounded strange, harder, somehow.

“As long as I’m drawing breath no one will ever hurt you or your daughter, Tempe. I promise you that.” His tone grew softer, his words more clipped. “I swear. For you. And for me.” He stroked my hair. “I want you in my life, Tempe Brennan.”

I did not trust myself to answer. Confusion, delight, and surprise were now tangoing with the anger and fear.

Ryan squeezed, then released me, and asked to see the images again.

Having no desire for a third run-through, I yielded my place and went to replenish Boyd’s bowl. When I returned, Ryan fixed me with fierce blue eyes.

“There was a multicar wreck here recently?”

“Last Friday night.”

“One of the injured just died?”

“No idea.” I hadn’t expected a current events quiz.

“Do you have this week’s papers?”

“In the pantry.”

“Get them.”

“Are you going to let me in on your Black Dahlia moment, or am I going to have to guess?”

I was feeling anxious. Anxious makes me churlish.

“Please get the papers.” Ryan’s voice held no trace of humor.

I dug the week’s Observer s from the recycle box and returned to the study.

The wreck victim died Tuesday night at Mercy Hospital. She was headmistress at a private high school, so her death made Wednesday’s headline.

Ryan opened the 2.jpg e-mail. An Observer box sat to the right of the Starbucks door. Placing the curser on it, he zoomed in. Though fuzzy, the words were legible.

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