The Uneven Score by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online

woman.
    But was he in danger?
    Whitney started down the scale slowly, still playing softly in whole notes, glad that Daniel Graham hadn’t done any permanent damage to her horn. The drawing had changed everything. That wasn’t Paddie’s imagination. But could Graham possibly be responsible? She recalled how he’d laughed and commented on her ballet slippers and sweat pants ... and her cuteness.
    And quite calmly, in the lovely night air, she admitted to herself that she didn’t want him to be responsible for any of the goings-on at the CFSO.
    Perhaps she should simply have told him the truth? She started down the scale, slowly, patiently. The acoustics in the grove were terrible. The sound was just lost into the night. Whitney didn’t mind. It felt good to practice.
    Something rustled behind the tent, on the other side of the road. Or was it off to her left? Whitney halted the stream of air into her horn and sat very still, the mouthpiece still pressed to her lips. Her embouchure relaxed while the rest of her tensed.
    Did crocodiles wander through citrus groves at night? Maybe there was a swamp nearby— A twig snapped.
    A snake?
    Lizards?
    Harry?
    Whitney reached into her canvas bag and rummaged around for the cold, hard feel of Daniel Graham’s gun.
    “I wouldn’t if I were you,” his voice said from the shadows.
    Her fingers curled around the butt of the revolver, but she froze.
    If nothing else, she was too shocked to move. How had he found her? Surely Paddie hadn’t told him!
    Daniel Graham stepped out from the shadows and stood two paces in front of her. He looked just as tall and intrepid outdoors as he had in, only this time he had a rifle pointed at her.
    “I might have known it was you,” he said. “Were you playing that thing?”
    “My horn? Yes, I—”
    “It sounded like a dying cow.”
    “How nice.”
    “Remove your hand from the bag, Ms. McCallie. Slowly. And it had better come out empty.”
    Her eyes widened. “My name—”
    “Your hand,” he said, and prompted her with his rifle. She let go of the gun and lifted her hand slowly from the bag. “I was just going after my spit rag.” she said lamely.
    Graham grunted, swooped down, grabbed the bag, and pulled out the gun. He gave her a cold look. She shrugged her shoulders and observed he had changed into jeans and a work shirt, the sleeves, again, rolled up to his elbows. His hair was wild and dark, windblown in the warm night.
    She found herself wishing he didn’t have the rifle, wishing he hadn’t taken things from Harry’s room, wishing she could stop the grind of suspicion and tell him everything.
    “All right,” she said. “So I thought you were a crocodile.”
    “There aren’t any crocodiles in Florida.”
    “Oh. Well. Whew. What a relief. I’ll get blown to pieces instead of eaten alive.”
    He scowled down at her. “How the hell can you be sarcastic when you have two guns pointed at you?”
    “Would you rather I weep and plead?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes.”
    He tucked the revolver in his waistband and cradled the rifle in his arms, studying her. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her sweat pants, and she’d torn the fishing line out of her hair during her wait for Paddie. Now it just tumbled over her shoulders however it pleased. She longed for a bath. Daniel Graham looked so fresh and clean and damnably in control. Probably he’d gone home and had a nice hot shower and a tall, cool drink. Several, undoubtedly. Whitney thought of her cozy home and Wolfgang and her fireplace. What she wouldn’t give for them now!
    She wasn’t at all sure what he meant to do—or how he knew her name and had found her. Or why she wasn’t particularly afraid. Because he hadn’t slaughtered her back in Orlando when he’d had the chance? That didn’t make any sense. But, then, not much had so far.
    Since he was armed and she wasn’t, she decided to let him call the shots. So to speak, she thought with a slight