Trace Their Shadows by Ann Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

Must’ve heard me and the dogs. She’s probably the ghost people think they see.”
    Brandy dropped her head back on the hard seat while John set a northwest course and shoved the throttle forward. My nice white pumps, she thought, and my camera——on the lawn somewhere. My car with my bag and driver’s licence and all my cards——in the lane. My keys at the bottom of the lake. Sylvania would have no trouble identifying her prowler. She winced at the thought of facing John’s great–aunt again.
    When the running lights of a motorboat flickered on west of the Able mansion and roared past, Brandy wondered if Blackthorne already kept a boat at his new property. “Sometimes we get a few night fishermen,” John said. His own boat bucked solidly on, the drone of its engine the only other sound on the moonlit surface.
    Brandy closed her eyes, strangely warmed in spite of her chill, and faded in and out of awareness.
    Once she was jolted by the other boat’s engines close behind them and turned her head to watch it swerve north toward the Wooten Park pier. The Dora Canal would be at least another mile and a half. She awoke at last when she felt herself lifted again, then heard John’s footsteps beneath her on the wooden dock. He was shaking with cold, too, and almost as wet. Halting under a porch light, he worked awkwardly on the lock, and then swung her, feet first, into his small, tidy living room.

SIX  
    Arandy had a rapid impression of colorful wall prints, a bookcase, a tiny kitchen area. Mack had said John lived like a monk. She glimpsed no feminine touches as he whirled her down a short hall.
    “Can you stand?”
    His voice so close to her ear rattled her. “I think so.” Tenderly he set her down in the tiny bathroom beside the stall shower, but as her bare feet touched the floor, her knees buckled. He caught her again, close, and held her with one arm while he reached into the shower and turned on the tap. “Soap’s on the shelf,” he said, his voice unsteady.
    Her head felt woozy. With fingers stiff as ice, she fumbled with the zipper in the back of her dress. “I can’t seem to…” Suddenly she felt the zipper pulled down, felt the sodden fabric tugged over her head, felt hooks unhooked, and knew that she was naked——and that she did not care. John’s own waterlogged jeans fell to the floor. Then they were both standing under the warm stream, John still holding her. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his. Unresisting, she felt herself being carefully lathered, rinsed, gently toweled dry, then picked up once more and carried into the darkened bedroom.
    ***
    Brandy woke from a light, refreshing sleep, rolled on her side, and reached out to touch John’s bare chest. Once she had thought him a tin soldier. Big mistake.
    Leaning on one elbow, he peered into her eyes. “Revived?”
    She nodded, smiling. Softly, with one hand he traced her body from hip to breast. “I’ve got to get home, you know,” she said, “or my mother will send out the gendarmes. She’s a worrier.”
    “I wish you’d stay.” When she shook her head, John swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up, and rubbed his forehead. “A long time ago I believe I promised you some hot tea.” He stepped to a closet, pulled on a pair of jeans, and handed her a man’s lounging robe. “A Christmas present. I never wear it. In a few minutes I’ll look for something you can wear home.” He gave her a long, warm look. “Of course, I prefer what you’re wearing now.” At the door he paused. “There’s a hair dryer in the upper dresser drawer.”
    Brandy stretched and lay for a few minutes, gazing around the small bedroom, listening to him move about in the kitchen. On one wall hung a Miro print cut from a magazine, wine colored drapes, a dresser clear of everything except a clothes brush, a manicure set, and a framed photograph she could not see well in the dim light. Finally she rose, slipped her