The Secret Friend by Chris Mooney Read Free Book Online Page A

convinced an intruder had somehow broken into the house. Her rational mind told her she was being ridiculous. All the downstairs doors and windows were locked. She was alone and she was safe. Then she saw a black-gloved hand grip the railing.
    Darby reminded herself she wasn’t fifteen; she was thirty-seven, an adult. The creak she had just heard was probably nothing more than the sound of a big empty home settling in a particularly cold winter.
    Still, she didn’t move. Something about the hallway was off. It took her a moment to recognize it.
    The rectangle of street light she had seen earlier on the floor and wall outside the room down the hall was different. The light was narrower now – not by much but there was a perceptible difference. The door had been wide open. Now it was three-quarters shut. Someone was in here, she was sure of it.
    Only one way to play it.
    Mouth dry and heart hammering against her ribcage, Darby removed the SIG from her shoulder holster. Her other hand was inside her jacket pocket. She took out her cell phone, and as she dialled 911, she kept her eyes focused on the bedroom door.
    ‘This is Darby McCormick from the Boston Crime Lab.’ She spoke loud and clear. ‘I’m calling to report an intruder at four-six-two Commonwealth Avenue. I need you to send multiple backup units. Have them cover all of the exits.’
    Shoving the phone back inside her pocket, she climbed the remaining steps. She stepped into the hallway, stopped. No movement, no sound. She spoke into the silence.
    ‘Put your hands behind your head and step into the hallway, nice and slow.’
    ‘I have no intention of harming you.’
    The deep, male voice had a slight accent – British or Australian, she wasn’t sure which. It came from inside the room down the hall.
    ‘Step into the hallway with your hands behind your head,’ Darby said.
    The door opened and the intruder moved into the square of light, his hands clasped behind his head. The man stepped back, his face covered in shadows. He was tall, well over six feet, and wore a long topcoat and black shoes.
    ‘You’re much taller than I expected, Miss McCormick.’
    ‘Do I know you?’
    ‘We haven’t officially met.’
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘I’m not ready to share just yet.’
    ‘How do you know me?’
    ‘You’re Boston’s Persephone, the queen of the dead. Or is it queen of the damned?’
    His topcoat was open. Underneath his suit jacket Darby caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster under his left arm.
    ‘This is what you’re going to do,’ Darby said. ‘With your left hand, I want you to take out your weapon. Make a sudden move and you’ll be on a feeding tube for the rest of your life.’
    The intruder wore black leather gloves. He slipped a finger inside the handgun’s trigger and slowly lifted it out of the holster – a nine-millimetre. He dropped it to the floor.
    ‘Now kick it over to me.’
    He did.
    ‘Keep your hands behind your head and kneel down on the floor. Then you’re going to lie on your stomach.’
    ‘I hope you’re not going to shoot me in the back of the head.’
    ‘Why would you think that?’
    ‘I understand Emma Hale was shot in the back of the head.’
    ‘Why are you interested in Emma Hale?’
    ‘I might be inclined to answer your question if you answer one of mine.’
    ‘You’re not in a position to trade.’
    ‘Then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.’
    ‘That’s not going to happen.’ Darby cocked the trigger and stepped forward. ‘Down on the floor. I’m not going to ask you again.’
    ‘I saw you this past weekend at your parents’ gravesite. Were you asking your father the beat cop for advice? Or were you seeking inspiration from your mother, the coupon-clipping housewife? I bet it was your mother. She kept a lot of secrets hidden underneath her apron, didn’t she?’
    Darby heard sirens. A moment later, flashing blue and white lights reflected off the windows and walls.
    His hands clasped behind