What the River Knows Read Free Page B

job six months, just a part-time job on Fridays and Saturdays to earn vacation money, the monetary value placed on her looks validated her. It usually boosted her esteem, made her feel sexy and feminine by the time she came home to Devlyn.
    Tonight, though, she wouldn’t want sex when she got home. Tonight she would need to simply be held, comforted. Somehow, she knew that would never again come from Devlyn. She had seen what Devlyn was capable of. She struggled again to hold back the tears. She finally lost the battle.

Chapter 5
    It was nearly midnight when he let himself into the apartment as quietly as he could. Rica had left no lights on for him, so he flipped open his cell phone to give him enough illumination to pick his way through the living room. They had too much furniture for this tiny apartment, he decided. Maybe soon he could convince Rica they had saved enough money to buy a house. He glanced toward the kitchen. No plate sitting on the table waiting for him. She must have expected him to be gone for dinner. Or just didn’t care.
    He stopped in the bathroom, shutting the door to hold the light in as he brushed his teeth. He stared at himself in the mirror, face red from his hours in the sun and wind this evening, and wondered if he could see Delia’s face in his eyes. As the District Attorney arrived on the scene to assure no evidence was compromised, he had been one of the officers forming a human grid to scour the path and its surroundings for evidence while the coroner and forensic officers snapped photo after photo. He had watched as the forensic officers bagged Delia’s hands to preserve possible DNA of her killer and heard the DA make a careful statement to the media kept at bay on the dead end road. He splashed water on his face. He had to stop using Delia’s name, and just think of her as “the victim.”
    Finally, shutting off the light before he opened the door, he crept into the bedroom, where the street light illuminated the room despite the closed blinds. He unclipped his holster, badge, and radio from his belt, and left them on the dresser where he could grab them at a moment’s notice. He pulled off his shoes while standing, then stripped off his clothes as quietly as he could before he slipped into bed, hoping not to wake Rica.
    “So you’re finally home.” Her voice, muffled by the pillow, sounded flat.
    “Yeah.” He rolled toward her, placing a tentative hand on her waist, where he felt cotton beneath his fingers. She was wearing a T-shirt, not sleeping nude as she normally did. She must be really angry. “We had a missing woman, that we finally found, dead, and had to work the crime scene and write reports.”
    She rolled toward him, her eyes searching his face. “Was she murdered?”
    He nodded, running one hand along her side to her shoulders. “I found her.”
    Her eyes widened. “You found her? Yourself?”
    He blinked, trying to hold back the memory. “Yeah.”
    “Oh, mijo .” She used the Spanish term of endearment she had learned from her Mexican mother and put her arms around him, bringing his head down to cradle it on her shoulder. He stretched out alongside her, holding her close, feeling her breathe, trying not to think how Delia must have breathed just like this not two nights ago. “That must have been terrible.”
    He nodded, his face buried in her neck, inhaling the sweet freesia scent of her shampoo, nuzzling her thick soft hair. He had always loved how she smelled, flowery and sweet, just a little bit spicy. So different from the smells he encountered in his work. Now she ran her hands across his shoulders and down his back, trying to comfort him with her touch. Any anger she carried for him had fled, replaced by her need to nurture him. He ran his hand from her waist to her breast, savoring the fullness of it. “I love you, Rica.” He kissed her chin, and she pulled him closer to her. He slipped his hand down to the hem of her shirt and worked his way