Read Online Copycat by Erica Spindler - Free Book Online Page B

years mean nothing. I’m an old soul.”
    She hesitated; he pressed his point. “If our ages were reversed, you’d think nothing of it.”
    That was true. An age-old double standard.
    Maybe she should let go. Live a little.
    â€œI don’t want to lose your friendship,” she said. “It’s too important to me.”
    â€œYou won’t. I promise. Will you at least think about it?”
    â€œLet me get this case behind me,” she said, meaning it, “and I will.”
    Later, as she stood at the bathroom vanity in her panties and a T-shirt, she thought about that promise. Dating Danny. Dating leading to sex. Wasn’t that the natural progression of things?
    The thought flustered her. She’d never been with anyone but Joe. They’d been high school sweethearts. Married at twenty. Divorced at forty-five.
    This was the first time since the divorce she’d even thought about it. She’d had neither the time nor the energy; hell, for the past year, she’d been in a fight to save her own life.
    She had written in her journal faithfully since her therapist urged her to give it a try. It had taken a number of resentful, self-conscious attempts, but the entries had become a vehicle to pour out her anger, fear and grief. And eventually, hope.
    Would a future entry read: Went to dinner with Danny. Afterward, I invited him inside to spend the night.
    Good God.
    She worked to shake off how the thought made her feel. No doubt Joe and his fiancée were…intimate.
    Was Valerie younger than Joe? Probably. Ten years? It didn’t seem Joe’s style, but lots of guys did it. Why not?
    Why not? A couple of the divorcées from group were always joking about getting a “boy toy.” She supposed that Danny, at thirty-six, would qualify.
    Kitt gazed into the mirror, imagining taking off her clothes in front of him.
    The thought horrified her. She’d had a baby, for Pete’s sake. Not only had she cleared her fortieth birthday—she was facing her fiftieth. She lifted her tee and stared at her aging body. She wasn’t overweight, but she was out of shape. Falling in all the wrong places. Going soft where she was supposed to be firm. Dear God, what had happened to her knees? When had it happened?
    Kitt dropped the tee and turned away from the mirror. When was the last time she’d worked out? She couldn’t remember exactly. Before Sadie died, for sure. Ditto for going for a run.
    Pitiful. She was a police officer. How would she run down a suspect? Fend off an attacker?
    â€œCall me Peanut.”
    She narrowed her eyes. This son of a bitch meant business. He claimed to be a killer. And he had singled her out for fun and games, psychotic style.
    She marched to her closet, dug out her running shoes, then crossed to the dresser for socks and jogging pants.
    The time for being soft and vulnerable was yesterday. She meant business, too.
    After dressing, Kitt clipped a can of mace to her waistband and strapped on an ankle holster. She wasn’t about to take any chances, not with a maniac stalking her.
    There was a lighted track at the high school, three blocks away. The route there was fairly well lit and rarely deserted. She collected her keys and headed out.
    The run exhausted her. Toward the end, she felt as if her heart was going to burst from her chest. She never hit that place where the endorphins kicked in and you forgot the pain. Her legs and lower back ached, she was out of breath and sweating like a pig.
    She could imagine Mary Catherine Riggio’s expression if she saw her now. Or any of the guys. She’d be the watercooler joke-of-the-day.
    So unbelievably uncool.
    Kitt made her way home, grateful for the dark. For the opportunity to lick her wounded ego in private. Tomorrow, she would hit the gym. The shooting range wasn’t a bad idea, either.
    As she neared her house, she saw that something had been tacked to her front door. A