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

descended two flights to the basement. Moving past moldy cardboard boxes, broken lamps, an abandoned futon – the detritus of past occupants – Sky stopped at a makeshift tool bench piled with oily rags and crusted paint cans. She was breathing easier now. The pills were working.
    From underneath the tool bench, Sky wheeled out a white wicker baby bassinette overloaded with nursery items. Light filtered through a grimy basement window, casting a sickly hue over the swollen bassinette. She fished out a plush brown teddy bear wearing a plaid backpack and stuffed it in her coat pocket.
    A tiny sweater of rosebud pink hung from the edge of the bassinette. Sky picked up the sweater and held it in the palm of her hand. She stood very still and closed her eyes.
    Somewhere above, a door slammed. Footsteps pounded across the floor over Sky's head. Another door slammed. Rapid footsteps pelted down the basement stairs.
    Rushing toward her, arms outstretched, came Candace Carabotta, first-floor neighbor, landlady, confidant. Candace was a plump brunette and her sweatered chest bounced over a long flowered skirt as she came toward Sky.
    “Sky, I’ve been so worried.” Candace caught Sky up in her arms.
    Crying and laughing at once, Sky breathed in the comforting talc of Candace’s perfume and relaxed into the soft flesh of her embrace.
    “Let me look at you.” Candace was in her mid thirties, only a few years older than Sky, but she studied her with the critical eye of a maiden aunt.
    “You are too thin. And too pale.” Candace brushed back a lock of Sky’s hair. “And too beautiful.” She shrugged and put an arm around Sky’s shoulder. “Come upstairs, you can tell me everything.”

CHAPTER THREE
    “Have you visited the grave?” Candace set a steaming mug on the kitchen table in front of Sky.
    Sky shook her head and looked out the kitchen window. Chintz curtains framed a gray nothingness. The fog persisted.
    “Honey, you couldn’t go to your baby’s funeral. I understand that,” Candace leaned toward Sky. “But you need to visit her grave. You need closure.” She wiped an invisible spot off the table with a checkered towel. “Seen Jake?”
    “Yes, I’m sorry to say.”
    Candace patted Sky’s hand reassuringly. “Go on, I’m all ears.”
    “Chief Moriarty called …” Sky paused. Rule number one: never discuss a case with civilians. Sky mentally blew dust off an image of the commandments engraved into stone tablets, the commandments Magnus Moriarty drilled into her, commandments that protected everyone. Commandments she’d had no use for this past year.
    She started over. “This morning one of the techs hit on me, a real half assed come-on, asked me if I wanted to get a cup of coffee with him. Jake barged up and clipped him.”
    “We both know Jake’s a jealous man.” Candace’s voice was matter-of-fact.
    “He hip-checked a guy over a lousy cup of coffee, Candace. How can you defend him?” Sky was disappointed but not terribly surprised. Jake Farrell was the hometown hero, played quarterback for Boston College back in the day. Led the embattled BC Eagles from one victory to another. Locals forgave him anything. Sky thought of it as the power of the jockstrap.
    Candace leaned back in her chair, her deep-set brown eyes clouded with concern. “Jake’s been to see me two or three times since you left. He’s in a bad way, honey. Drinking hard, not sleeping. It was his baby, too. He lost her and he lost you.”
    “Jake didn’t want the baby. Not the way I did. She was my baby and I couldn’t protect her.” Sky pressed her fingers against closed eyes. Images of the ICU – searing pain, tubes twisting out of her body. Jake, standing by her hospital bed, appearing small and far away.
    “The accident wasn’t your fault, honey. I saw the car. You’re lucky to be alive.”
    “Lucky.” Sky tried the word on her tongue.
    The accident happened three weeks before the baby’s due