Finger Prints by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page A

top of this? You’re supposed to be the one keeping an eye on me. It’s your job. Isn’t that what you said earlier?”
    Realizing he’d come on too strongly, Sam softened. “Of course it’s my job, Carly. But I need your help. I can’t possibly have people snooping around all the time. It’s up to you to alert me to changes like this. Then I can take over and have things checked out.”
    Feeling duly chastised, she turned away and wandered to the living room to sink into the sofa. Eyes closed, she laid her head back. “You seemed to trust him.”
    “I know who he is.”
    Her head came forward, eyes open and wide once more. “You know him? It didn’t look like he recognized you.”
    “I said that I know who he is.” He came around to stand before her. “His name really is Ryan Cornell. He’s a lawyer.”
    A moan slipped from Carly’s lips. “Another one of those? I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t an epidemic. A new kind of plague. You know—” she illustrated the point with two walking fingers of one hand “—an onslaught of little men in their natty three-piece suits, all bent on finding the lowest common denominator of humanity.”
    Sam chuckled. “That’s got to be the editorialist in you seeking release. Either that, or you’ve truly had your fill of the legal profession in the last year.”
    “A little of both, I’m afraid.”
    “Well—” he sighed, scratching the back of his head “—it seems that Ryan Cornell doesn’t fit the mold. He’s not a little man by any measure, and I find it hard to picture him in a natty three-piece suit after—” he tossed his head toward the door “—that.”
    If Carly didn’t know better, she might suspect Sam Loomis to be jealous of the other’s rugged good looks. But she did know better. Sam would simply be doing his job, sizing Ryan up in advance of the phone call he’d be certain to make shortly. Sure enough, before she could begin to ask him what else he knew about her new neighbor, he headed for the kitchen to put through the call.
    Fishing a dog-eared piece of paper from his wallet, he ran his eye down the list to one of the newest of the numbers. Then he punched it out. The phone was picked up after a single ring.
    “Reilly.”
    “Greg. Bad time?” Much as he was unsure about his assistant, Sam respected his privacy. It was, after all, Friday night, and it had been a busy week.
    Greg Reilly let his feet fall to the floor of the sofa and sat up. “Don’t I wish it,” he murmured, casting a melancholy eye around his slightly messy, thoroughly lonely living room. “Just catching up on some reading.” He set the magazine aside. “What’s up?” He knew that Sam wouldn’t be calling to shoot the breeze, though at times he wished he would. Sam was a brilliant detective, able to find solutions to problems he wouldn’t know where to begin on. But then, having served as a detective with the state police before coming to the marshal’s service, Sam had ten years on him. As chief deputy, Sam had responsibilities that reflected his talent. It’d be nice to be in his inner circle.
    As for himself, he seemed to be forever blowing it. Like today. He’d really hit a raw nerve when it came to Carly Quinn.
    “Listen, can you do me a favor?” Sam asked.
    “Sure.”
    “I need information on Ryan Cornell.”
    “The lawyer?”
    “Yeah. You know something?”
    Greg took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss between his teeth. “He’s one bright man. And a damned good counselor.”
    “Who says?”
    “Fitzgerald says. Dray says. I say.”
    Fitzgerald was the state’s attorney general, Dray a justice of the Superior Court. Greg Reilly had come to the U.S. marshal’s service with a load of clout in his back pocket. “You’ve seen him in action?” Sam asked.
    Greg nodded. “Very smooth. Very sharp. Brilliant defense.”
    “And his character?” Sam’s voice spoke of his concern. Greg picked up the ball.
    “I know who to call.