The Seventh Night by Amanda Stevens Read Free Book Online Page A

I snapped the lid closed on my suitcase. Reid had walked Captain Baptiste out and had just returned a few minutes earlier. He reached around me now and lifted the suitcase with ease from the chair.
    “I’ll give you a ride,” he offered. “I hadn’t planned on going back to the office, anyway.”
    “Thanks. I don’t think I’m up for another cab ride just yet. Though I would like to talk to Jean Marc.”
    Reid’s gaze brushed mine briefly as he headed for the door. “I can arrange that. But why not leave it till morning? You’ve had a rough day. I’ll drive you home andget you settled in. Tomorrow we can try to sort through everything.”
    Home. There it was again. Did he mean
his
home? I’d assumed he’d booked me a room at the St. Pierre. To be frank, I wasn’t even clear as to what my father’s plans had been for me. He’d been sort of vague on the phone about the arrangements. He’d been sort of vague about a lot of things. His main concern had been my getting here as quickly as possible. I couldn’t shake the notion now that he’d known he was in some kind of trouble. That was why his calls had sounded so desperate. Perhaps that was even why I’d been having the dreams.
    “Are you ready to go?” Reid asked.
    “Yes, but I don’t see why I can’t stay at the hotel. I don’t want to put anybody out.”
    “You won’t be. Besides, you’ve had a bad shock. I’d rather you stay where we can keep an eye on you.”
    Was it my imagination or had there been the slightest inflection of suspicion in his tone? It was foolish of me, of course, and I had no reason to feel ashamed, but for some reason I hated Reid knowing about Dr. Layton, hated him thinking that I might have a weakness, might somehow be inferior.
    It was a feeling that made me defensive, especially when I felt his gaze raking over me, taking in the oversize, lightweight cotton sweater I wore, the modest hemline of the matching chiffon skirt that all but obscured my legs and the sensible little ballet slippers, donned for their comfort more than their grace.
    His eyes lifted and once again met mine. The barest knowing smile curved his lips as he turned back toward the door. I felt myself blushing furiously. My heart bumped once, twice, against my chest before settling into its regular rhythm.
    Then I picked up my purse and hurried after Reid St. Pierre.

CHAPTER THREE
    “S top!
Pull over. Hurry!”
    Reid swung off the road and braked the car so suddenly my head snapped back, then forward. “What’s the matter, are you sick?”
    He reached across me to open my door and I scrambled out. I heard his own door open, then slam, but I didn’t turn around, even when I sensed his presence behind me.
    “Are you all right?”
    “This is the place,” I said. I gave a vague, sweeping gesture with my hand toward the cemetery. In the daylight, it seemed less formidable, less frightening. The tombstones were just that—stones. A cloud of birds flew over, and a mild breeze drifted through the trees and loosened my hair. With the sea at my back, I could almost believe last night
had
been another dream.
    “This is where it happened last night,” I said. Then, I added excitedly, “Look!” I bent over and retrieved several bits of broken glass that flashed and sparkled like diamonds in the light. I held them out in triumph. “See? The window
was
broken, just like I said.”
    “A few pieces of broken glass hardly proves anything, Christine. We could stop anywhere on the side of the road and find glass, a lot more of it than this.”
    The skepticism in his voice angered me. A lot of things about him made me angry. His arrogance was maddening. “You just don’t want to believe me,” I accused him. “It’s easier, more convenient, to pretend itnever happened.” I threw the glass down, but one of the pieces nicked the palm of my hand. “Ouch!”
    “Now see what you’ve done?” His voice was admonishing but oddly gentle. “Let me see the