Daughter of Darkness by Ed Gorman Read Free Book Online Page B

the dead man.
        

CHAPTER SEVEN
        
        Coffey wasn't sure why he woke up. A dream, perhaps. Or a nightmare.
        He lay in his dark bed, listening to fat, noisy raindrops fall from the eaves to puddles below.
        He did all the usual things when he awakened at this time of night. Scratched his chest, his groin, used left leg to scratch right leg. Thought of getting up to take a pee. Thought maybe he could hold it till his official waking up a few hours later.
        He wondered how the woman was doing. He felt good about her being under the same roof. He realized that this was a testament to his general loneliness. Here was a woman who might well turn out to be a murderer, but he was so taken with her that he didn't care. He didn't ever want her to leave.
        His bladder got insistent. He swung his legs out from under the cover and then off the bed. The hardwood floor was cold on his bare feet. Dressed only in pajama bottoms, he padded out of the room.
        He remembered so many middle of the nights when his daughter was an infant. He and Janice had taken turns getting up in the middle of the night to answer her cries. He could still recall the warm feel of her baby flesh against him and the sweet smell of her bottle formula and all her assorted belches, farts, and hiccups as he'd walked her around the kitchen, trying to get her back to sleep. Memory made him smile. Sometimes, when he was at work, he'd suddenly be overwhelmed by his feelings for her-how much he loved her and how much he feared for her. Life, especially infant life, was vulnerable to so many things-accident, disease-and even crazed ex-convicts. He wanted to hold her again in the middle of the night, love her, and protect her-as he had failed to protect her the night of her death.
        He went down the hall to the john. On the way, he passed the guest bedroom.
        He went into the john and did his business. Washed his hands. Dried them. And then started walking back down the hall.
        When he got to the guest bedroom, he paused. Listened. What did he expect to hear? It was unlikely that she snored like a truck driver. She was probably enjoying a nice, quiet, and exhausted sleep. With the things that had apparently happened to her, of course she'd be exhausted.
        But he had this feeling. Maybe it was his cop instinct. She was gone. That's what the instinct told him. He imagined the blond man he'd spotted at the motel breaking in and kidnapping her. But, no, Coffey had a good alarm system. No matter how good the blond man might be, Coffey would have heard something.
        She was gone. He knew that now. Knew it absolutely.
        But what if he was wrong? What if he opened the door and she was lying there awake? It might look like he was trying to put the moves on her. He wanted to her trust him, respect him. He didn't want to look like a sexual opportunist.
        There was only one way to find out if his instinct was correct. Open the door and peek in.
        He opened the door. Peeked in.
        In the shadowy room, he could see that the bed was made and that she was gone. He walked in, flipping on the overhead light, blinking in the sudden brightness.
        No sign of turmoil. Or forced entry of any kind. The windows were solidly in place. None of the furnishings had been pushed around.
        She had clearly walked out of his house of her own volition.
        He hurried to the front window, to see if there was any sign of her on the street. And that was when he saw the van. He recognized it immediately-the same dark Ford van that had been in the motel parking lot. With the strange small box on the roof. Now, with him clearly visible through the window, it suddenly swept away from the curb and moved on down the block into the gloom.
        Why would a van be following him? It obviously had something to do with the woman he'd found tonight. But what?
        

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