Slow Burn by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

that stated Danny’s full name, his rank and “best friend, beloved husband, always cherished within our hearts.”
    Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that Danny was gone.
    â€œWhy couldn’t you have talked to me, buddy?” he said softly. “You didn’t tell me anything about the killer—you had to whisper her name! Well, I suppose I just might have done that, too. But it would have helped me a hell of a lot now if you’d just given me a clue.”
    There was a slight motion behind him. He wore a gun beneath his jacket, but instinct told him that he wasn’t in any real danger in this realm of the dead. He turned around slowly, expectantly.
    Sly was there. Sly Montgomery. David wasn’t sure just how old Sly was—but it was definitely very. He’d come south with some of the earliest pioneers, not too long after Julia Tuttle had sent Henry Flagler an orange blossom to convince Flagler to bring his railroad south. Sly was somewhere in his nineties—unless he’d hit a hundred—but age didn’t seem to affect the man much. He was slim as a reed and straight as an arrow. He’d never lost his hair. It was snow-white, but there was a lot of it. And he had the most intense blue eyes David had ever seen anywhere—unless he compared them to Spencer’s. Sly had made enough money to retire anywhere on earth, but this was his home, working with his hands was his craft. When David had been young, Sly had told him that he intended to die working. He’d meant those words.
    A smile curved old Sly’s lips. “David. How nice to see you.”
    David arched a brow. “We just happen to be out here at the same time?”
    â€œOf course not.”
    â€œThen…?”
    â€œReva told me where you were.”
    â€œWhy were you looking for me?” he asked, then sighed, staring at the grave again and speaking once more before Sly could answer the question he’d been asked. “Spencer was by, and I’ve got to tell you the same thing I told her. You can’t hire me to look for Danny’s killer. I’m already doing everything I can. You’ve both got to believe that. He was my best friend. I don’t need to be paid to put everything I’ve got into it.”
    â€œOh, I believe that,” Sly said. “And I didn’t come to ask if I could hire you.”
    David turned to Sly, arching a brow. “Surely this isn’t a social call, not in a cemetery, Sly.” Sly grinned. They couldn’t be his own teeth, David thought, but whether they were or not, they were perfect.
    â€œI didn’t come about Danny.”
    â€œThen…”
    â€œI came about Spencer.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI want to hire you to look after Spencer.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI think that someone is following her. No, that’s not right. I’m sure that someone is following her, stalking her. In fact, David, I think that someone is trying to kill her.”
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    Jerry Fried, Danny Huntington’s last partner in homicide, drummed his fingers on the table, staring unhappily at the headlines on the front page of the Miami Herald.
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    More Than A Year After His Death, Humanitarian Cop’s Killer Remains At Large
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    The reporter had done one hell of a slam job, throwing suspicion on everyone, including the untouchable Mrs. Huntington, David Delgado, half the crooks in the city—and half the police force.
    Jerry groaned and reached across his desk for the large bottle of cherry-flavored antacids he kept there. He took a huge handful as if they were candies.
    It was Spencer being back in town that was causing all this brouhaha again. Why couldn’t they just let Danny stay buried? Everyone knew that cops did everything they could when another cop went down. Just like everybody knew there were some crimes that were destined to go unsolved. Maybe everybody didn’t know quite how many