Dead Ringer by Mary Burton Read Free Book Online Page B

paused to talk to an older uniformed
officer. She couldn't hear what Warwick was saying but he was pointing at her
and frowning.
    "Now,
ma'am," the officer said.
    "I'm
going," she said, though she made no move to leave.
    " Now, "
the officer ordered.
    Kendall
knew when it was time to retreat. "Let's go, Mike." Round one goes to Warwick.
    Mike
lowered the camera, but she noted the red record light remained on as they
started back up the dirt road.
    Grinning,
Mike shook his head. "Warwick looked like he could spit nails at you."
    Kendall
grinned. "Nonsense. He really thinks the world of me."
    Warwick
had better get used to her because this story's coverage was far from over.

    Nicole's
belly felt heavy and her bones ached as she climbed the carpeted stairs to her
second-floor photography studio, located in a one-hundred-year-old building in
the heart of the historic Carytown shopping district.
    The
baby kicked her in the ribs. The girl was an active kid. She'd likely grow up
to be a soccer player.
    Grow up to be. Stupid to be thinking about what the girl would be when Nicole knew she
couldn't raise the child.
    The
baby thumped inside her, as if she knew what her mother was thinking. "Enough,
kid. Enough."
    Each
time the baby moved in her belly she thought about her late husband. He'd been
insane. He'd been a monster.
    And
she was having his child.
    What
if the baby was like her father? And could she really love a child who had been
created in anger and violence? What if she ended up hating the child and making
its life miserable?
    The
questions had weighed heavily on her mind for months now. They kept her up at night,
robbed her of joy and her appetite.
    She
continued up the stairs, her breath puffing with each step. Last summer, she'd
looked at the space on a lark when she'd been shopping and spotted the FOR RENT sign. At the time, the
seven-hundred-dollar-a-month rent had seemed so far beyond her means. In those
days, she'd been hiding from Richard and had barely any money to her name.
    It
had been a humbling moment to realize she couldn't afford the rent. When she'd
lived in San Francisco, she'd owned a successful business. All the Bay Area
gallery owners knew her name and quirky landscapes and she'd quickly developed
a following. The money had come in so easily in the early days. It was amazing
how much she didn't think about money when she had it.
    Then
her marriage had started to deteriorate and, in an effort to save it, she'd let
the business go. The money had dried up. When her husband had turned violent
she'd fled, penniless, to a Richmond friend.
    That
had been seven months ago. Her husband was dead. No more looking over her
shoulder. No more waking up in the middle of the night searching the shadows
for Richard.
    She'd
been given a second chance. And she was trying to move on. But reclaiming the
vibrant, original photography style that had been her trademark now eluded her.
She couldn't seem to produce anything that was gallery worthy.
    The
baby kicked inside her.
    The
tables had so flip-flopped in the last three years. She'd started her career as
an artist and she'd lived an impulsive, selfish, and reckless life. There'd
been no worries about consequences or money.
    Now,
she was all about consequences and money. Her desire to create art had vanished
and she took portraits to make ends meet. Jobs she'd have scoffed at three
years ago now paid the rent. Bridezillas, screaming kids, eccentric families,
and even business portraits were all welcome.
    Though
she'd discovered she had a real knack for working with people, she longed for
the days when life had been so easy. She wanted to be able to grab her camera
and drive into the mountains and camp so that she could rise at dawn and
capture the rising sun, as she once had. She wanted to stay up late drinking
wine with friends and critiquing the latest art show. She wanted to be able to
button her old jeans, sleep on her stomach, and not have to pee every five
minutes. She