Read Online Dead of Winter by P. J. Parrish - Free Book Online Page A

back in Ann Arbor, on the face of the widow. I give up. You win. I lost. He’s yours.
    He wondered sometimes what kind of women married cops, what kind of women could put up with the life. Sometimes, in locker rooms or in bars after shift, he would listen to the married men talk about their wives. The words were often wrapped in dark humor but he could sense in them the chasm the job created between a man and woman. He remembered one guy telling about the time he took his wife out for their twentieth anniversary dinner. He spotted a weirdo at the 7-Eleven and jumped out of the car, drawing his gun. She started to cry, yelling that she was tired of being married to John Wayne.
    And he had heard the divorced cops talk. It was always the same, about how no one could really understand what it was like. About wives who finally gave up trying to dance in a world of positives when their husbands walked in a world of negatives.
    He himself was only twenty-five and had never been with one woman longer than weeks. The women he had dated had no idea what his job was like and he felt no compulsion to share it with them.
    Cop’s wife. For the first time, he had a picture of what that meant. The picture was Stephanie Pryce’s sad face.
    Louis pulled the afghan tighter. He couldn’t delay any longer. Time to go out for logs.
    He rose and went to the door. He slipped his feet into a pair of old loafers and stepped outside. The air was cold and still, and when he pulled in a breath, it sent knives into his lungs. Quickly, he shuffled around the side of the cabin, retrieved the last three logs and started back to the porch.
    He was about to go in when he heard a muffled sound. It sounded like a cat, a soft mewing sound. His eyes searched the darkness. A second sound came to him.
    “Shit...shit...”
    Someone was out there, down by the shoreline. The moon emerged from the clouds and he saw her. She was down on one knee, her silhouette clear against the moonlit white lake. She was rubbing her left leg. It was the teenage girl he had seen jogging on other nights. And from the looks of it, something was wrong.
    Louis let the logs drop to the porch. Wrapping the afghan tighter around his shoulders, he gingerly waded out through the snow toward her. She heard him and looked up.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “Yes, fine. I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I fell. I’m fine.”
    “Here. Watch it.” He held out his hand.
    Her dark eyes glistened up at him from her round face. Her dark hair was wet, plastered to her head like a sleek helmet. Her long ponytail hung limply behind. She hesitated then took his hand. Louis gently pulled her to her feet and she winced.
    “You’re not fine,” Louis said.
    “Yes, I am.” She took a step away and winced again. “Shit.” Her eyes swept over the lake, off into the distant pines.
    Louis stood, shivering. His loafers were soaked. “Look, you’re hurt. Come on inside and we’ll take a look.”
    “No,” she said quickly. “I have to get home.”
    Louis studied her. She wasn’t a girl, as he had thought, but a young woman. She was small, only about five-foot-two, with a boyish body, plainly visible in the runner’s leggings and close-knit jacket. But her legs and ass were tightly muscled, like a marathon runner’s. “How far is home?” he asked.
    She frowned. “The other side of the lake.”
    “Right. You’re going to run five miles on one leg? Come on, I’ll drive you.”
    “I’ll walk,” she said crisply.
    Louis shrugged. “Suit yourself, lady. But I’m freezing my ass off here. I’m going in. You can stay out here or come inside.” He cocked a head toward the cabin and smiled. “Got a fire going. Or at least I did.”
    She stared at him for several seconds then wiped a wet strand of hair off her face. “Okay. Thanks.”
    He offered his hand but she ignored it, limping ahead of him toward the cabin. He gathered up the logs and followed her inside. She stood by the door