The Black Echo - The Black Ice - The Concrete Blonde by Michael Connelly

Author:Michael Connelly [Connelly, Michael]
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Crime & mystery, Mystery
ISBN: 9780752825533
Publisher: Orion Books Limited
Published: 2001-07-15T22:09:14.014000+00:00

He got there at 11:30 and used his own key to get in. There was a light on in the kitchen but the rest of the place was dark. Sylvia was asleep. It was too late for the news and the late-night talk shows never held his interest. He took his shoes off in the living room so as to not make any noise and went down the hall to her bedroom. He stood still in the complete darkness, letting his eyes adjust. 'Hi,' she said from the bed, though he could not yet see her. "Lo.' 'Where have you been, Harry?' She said it sweetly and with sleep still in her voice. It was not a challenge or a demand. 'I had to do a few things, then I had a few drinks.' 'Hear any good music?' 'Yeah, they had a quartet. Not bad. Played a lot of Billy Strayhorn.' 'Do you want me to fix you something?' 'Nah, go to sleep. You have school tomorrow. I'm not that hungry anyway and I can get something if I want it.' 'C'mere.' He made his way to the bed and crawled across the down quilt. Her hand came up and around his neck and she pulled him down into a kiss. 'Yes, you did have a few drinks.' He laughed and then so did she. 'Let me go brush my teeth.' 'Wait a minute.' She pulled him down again and he kissed her mouth and neck. She had a milky sweet smell of sleep and perfume about her that he liked. He noticed that she was not wearing a nightgown, though she usually did. He put his hand under the covers and traced the flatness of her stomach. He brought it up and caressed her breasts and then her neck. He kissed her again and then pushed his face into her hair and neck. 'Sylvia, thank you,' he whispered. 'For what?' 'For coming today and being there. I know what I said before but it meant something to see you when I looked out there. It meant a lot.'

661 That was all he could say about it. He got up then and went into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and carefully hung them on hooks on the back of the door. He would have to wear them again in the morning. He took a quick shower, then shaved and brushed his teeth with the seeond set of toiletries he kept in her bathroom. He looked in the mirror as he brushed his damp hair back with his hands. And he smiled. It might have been the residue of the whiskey and beer, he knew. But he doubted it. It was because he felt lucky. He felt that he was neither on the ferry with the mad crowd nor left behind on the dock with the angry crowd. He was in his own boat. With just Sylvia.

They made love the way lonely people do, silently, with each trying too hard in the dark to please the other until they were almost clumsy about it.

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