Read Online The Restorer by Amanda Stevens - Free Book Online

inside for a minute? If you really want to learn about gravestone symbology, I have some books you might find helpful.”
    It probably wasn’t a good idea to invite him into my home, but he needed my help and at the moment his ghosts were safely tucked away behind the veil.
    I led him into the house by way of the side garden, then through the kitchen and back to my office. The sunlight streaming in through the higher windows was soft and yellow and shimmering with dust.
    Choosing a couple of volumes from my collection, I turned to hand them to Devlin. His gaze was riveted to a display of framed photographs on one wall.
    He walked over to take a closer look. “Did you take these?”
    “Yes.” His scrutiny made me oddly nervous. Other than the few I’d posted on Digging Graves, no one had ever seen my photographs.
    “You double-exposed the film. Interesting the way you superimposed all those old graveyards over cityscapes. There’s a definite theme and point of view. Also, a hidden message, I suspect.”
    I came to stand beside him. “Not really. Like gravestone art, the message is in the eye of the beholder.”
    He studied the images for a moment longer. “I find them…lonely. Beautiful, but intensely lonely. They make me uneasy.” He glanced at me then. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that as an insult.”
    “I didn’t take it as one. I’m glad they make you feel.”
    His gaze lingered, searching. “You like cemeteries, don’t you?”
    “They’re my livelihood,” I said with a shrug.
    “I’m guessing they’re more than that.” He turned back to the pictures, frowning. “There’s a sense of isolation, but not in the graveyards. In the cities. Within the people. These images are very revealing, I think.”
    I suppressed a shiver. His observation made me feel exposed and vulnerable. “I wouldn’t read too much into them. I like playing around with interesting compositions and different techniques. There’s no deep meaning here.”
    “I disagree,” he said. “But perhaps that’s a discussion best left for another day.”

SEVEN
    “H ere.” I handed him the books. “Why don’t you browse through these while I go wash my hands?”
    I left him perched on the edge of a corner chaise, thumbing through one of the volumes, while I hurried down the hallway.
    In the bathroom, I washed my face and hands, resuscitated my ponytail and pulled on a clean T-shirt. Beyond that, I didn’t bother with the mirror. I tend to be a little too hard on myself even though I’m aware of my attractiveness. I’m what people call a quiet pretty. Blond hair, blue eyes, a nice complexion and a generous mouth. I’m thin but my muscles are strong and taut from all those years of working in cemeteries. I enjoy my share of admiring glances, but in no way would I ever be considered exotic or sultry, like the woman who haunted Devlin. Why that mattered to me even a little bit was not something I cared to contemplate.
    I couldn’t have been gone for more than ten minutes, but when I returned to my office, I found Devlin stretched out on the chaise, sound asleep. One of the books rested on his chest, the other on the floor beside him.
    This was an unexpected turn of events.
    I walked over to his side and stared down at him. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and I resisted the urge to sweep it aside.
    Touching him was out of the question. So I said his name instead, but he didn’t rouse.
    He looked so deeply under, I was a little apprehensive about startling him awake. He was an armed police detective, after all.
    I stood in a quandary, wondering if I should just let him sleep. He was probably exhausted and he looked so peaceful. But this was odd. A first for me.
    Taking advantage of the situation, I gave him another thorough appraisal. He had a scar beneath his bottom lip that I hadn’t noticed before. It was small but indented, as if something very sharp had punctured the skin. A knife, perhaps. The thought of that drew