The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) Read Free

replaced with a white t-shirt and a worn leather Red Sox jacket.
    Sky remembered the feel of that leather jacket.
    “Right. I’ll tell her.” Jake cut the call and searched her face.
    Sky pushed aside the sudden rush of memories evoked by the leather jacket, memories of her old life with Jake, and offered up her best approximation of a blank, neutral expression.
    “That was Magnus. The kids that found the body are at the station. The boy is eleven, his sister is six.” Jake slipped his cell into the pocket of the Red Sox jacket. “O'Toole will handle the boy. I want you to interview the girl.” He reached out and touched Sky’s chin. “We can talk later. Welcome home, babe.”
    Sky jerked away. The tape measure dropped to the ground and she scooped it up, nearly tripping over the crime scene tape in her eagerness to get away. She hurried up the incline but she couldn’t resist, she had to glance back as she reached the street.
    Jake just stood there, watching her, his hands in his pockets and the corpse at his feet.

CHAPTER TWO
    Sky topped the path gulping mouthfuls of air. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she breathe?
    “You okay?” Still manning his post, Pete Moody peered at Sky with concern. “You need a lift? I’ll call for a car. No problem.”
    “I’m good, Pete.”
    Sky nodded to the gaggle of uniforms that had gathered at the periphery of the scene, watching her. She concentrated on crossing the narrow road. Just get to the Jeep, she told herself.
    With her back to the policemen, Sky gulped air. She opened the car door, clutched the steering wheel and hauled herself into the driver’s seat. Fumbling through a zebra-print backpack, she pulled out an amber prescription bottle and pressed the lid open with a sweaty palm. She popped three blue pills – ten milligrams each – and chewed. Beta blockers. Sky always kept some on hand, in case Magnus dragged her in front of the television cameras, a stunt he had pulled on her during several investigations. Beta blockers always calmed her stage fright, surely they’d help her breathe. The bitter pills brought tears to her eyes.
    Sky popped the clutch and the Jeep lurched into the grayness; officers scattered like frightened birds. She slapped the headlights on, nosed the car onto Walnut and headed north into sparse traffic. The sprawling Victorian and Georgian homes that lined the winding avenue exuded a gothic pall in the early morning fog.
    A lone runner appeared in her headlights and Sky hit the brakes. The runner gave her the finger and darted off into the fog.
    Pulling to the curb, Sky fumbled for her cell and called the police station, leaving a message that she’d be there shortly. Then she headed to her old apartment to look for a toy. Something that might catch a little girl’s eye.
    Sky pulled up to a white clapboard two-family with brown gingerbread trim. Home. Well, home before she’d moved in with Jake nearly three years ago.
    The entrance to Sky’s old apartment was on the west side of the house, hidden from the street by a giant yellow forsythia bush. The mailbox still carried her name, S. Stone, in large block letters.
    Sky unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was cold and still, the air long undisturbed. She labored up the carpeted stairs, stopping halfway to catch her breath. Prisms from the crystal chandelier suspended at the top of the stairway tinkled from the draft as Sky stepped into her old apartment.
    She glanced around the living room. Except for a large painting that hung over the oak fireplace, the room was empty. She'd taken everything with her when she'd moved in with Jake, everything but the dust bunnies and that picture. Sky gazed at the portrait, an oil painting, commissioned of her when she was eight years old. She’d left it behind because Jake hadn’t liked it.
    Sky went to the kitchen and unbolted the lock to a rustic wooden door on the west wall. It opened to a gloomy narrow stairway. She