Read Online Death of an Immortal by Duncan McGeary - Free Book Online
Authors: Duncan McGeary
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tomorrow.”
“Yes,” he said. “We will. I can’t meet you until the evening, however. How about after your shift?”
“OK. Come by at five.”
He nodded.
She stuck her hand out. “Thank you, Mister…?”
“Terrill,” he said, amazed at the sound of his own name. He hadn’t used it in hundreds of years.
He shook her hand. It was warm and dry, and a charge seemed to go up his arm. She was looking at him with wide eyes.
“Until tomorrow evening,” he said, and walked away without another word, now certain he was doing the right thing.
Chapter 11
Carlan drove back to Bend, his mind churning. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything in Portland, not with Brosterhouse in the way. Despite Jamie’s restraining order, in his hometown he was still in pretty good standing with his colleagues, many of whom had their own problems with ex-wives and girlfriends.
He also had a trump card. The last time he’d been in trouble with his boss, Captain Anderson, he’d been relegated to deskwork. There, he’d come across a discrepancy in the inventory of guns. He’d known from the moment that he reported the missing rifles that his boss had sold them for cash, and his boss had known that he knew.
Carlan was careful not to overuse this useful piece of information. He was satisfied staying a patrolman, where the possibility of bribes for moving violations and other misdemeanors was available. Being a detective entailed more oversight, not to mention that the brass tended to be harsher about any hanky-panky involving felonies.
Still, he’d saved the information for a rainy day.
He pulled into the police station parking lot and checked the captain’s parking space. Empty. Damn. He’d forgotten that Anderson took Mondays off. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.
He pulled back out onto the highway and headed downtown, to Room 23 of the Badlands Motel. The Cadillac Escalade was there, despite it being midafternoon. He thought about knocking on the door, but decided his first plan was still the best plan. When he took this bastard down, he didn’t want there to be any questions.
When he pulled out again, the car seemed to make its way to the Hardaway house without any conscious thought on his part. He’d spent a lot of time parked out in front of that house, hoping to get a glimpse of Jamie, hoping she would talk to him, let him explain. The restraining order should have kept him away, but who was going to arrest him?
He’d been patiently waiting for hours every day. Then, one afternoon, Sylvie had come out of the house and marched directly over to his car.
“She isn’t here,” she said flatly.
“What?”
“Jamie isn’t here, so there’s no sense stalking her.”
“I’m not stalking anyone. I just want to talk to her. After that, I’ll leave her alone.”
Sylvie didn’t argue with him, just turned around and walked back into the house. It was only weeks later that the arrest in Portland of one Jamie Lee Howe on charges of prostitution had been picked up by his search engine. After weeks of seething resentment and anger, it turned out she hadn’t even been home. He didn’t mind her yelling at him; he didn’t even mind the restraining order. But leaving without telling him?
He’d headed for Portland the very same day.
She should have stayed in Bend, let him take care of her. It made no sense for her to go the Valley, and it especially boggled his mind that she had resorted to selling her body. Hell, it had taken him months to get a little, and even then he’d had to be insistent about it.
If she had stayed with him, she would never have had to worry about anything ever again. All because he’d slapped her, just that once. Hell, Dad had slapped his mom a hundred times, and they had been perfectly happy.
Carlan got out of the car and adjusted his belt, the gun, as usual, making him feel powerful and secure. He walked up to the door, trying to remember that first date with Jamie,
“Yes,” he said. “We will. I can’t meet you until the evening, however. How about after your shift?”
“OK. Come by at five.”
He nodded.
She stuck her hand out. “Thank you, Mister…?”
“Terrill,” he said, amazed at the sound of his own name. He hadn’t used it in hundreds of years.
He shook her hand. It was warm and dry, and a charge seemed to go up his arm. She was looking at him with wide eyes.
“Until tomorrow evening,” he said, and walked away without another word, now certain he was doing the right thing.
Chapter 11
Carlan drove back to Bend, his mind churning. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything in Portland, not with Brosterhouse in the way. Despite Jamie’s restraining order, in his hometown he was still in pretty good standing with his colleagues, many of whom had their own problems with ex-wives and girlfriends.
He also had a trump card. The last time he’d been in trouble with his boss, Captain Anderson, he’d been relegated to deskwork. There, he’d come across a discrepancy in the inventory of guns. He’d known from the moment that he reported the missing rifles that his boss had sold them for cash, and his boss had known that he knew.
Carlan was careful not to overuse this useful piece of information. He was satisfied staying a patrolman, where the possibility of bribes for moving violations and other misdemeanors was available. Being a detective entailed more oversight, not to mention that the brass tended to be harsher about any hanky-panky involving felonies.
Still, he’d saved the information for a rainy day.
He pulled into the police station parking lot and checked the captain’s parking space. Empty. Damn. He’d forgotten that Anderson took Mondays off. He’d have to wait until tomorrow.
He pulled back out onto the highway and headed downtown, to Room 23 of the Badlands Motel. The Cadillac Escalade was there, despite it being midafternoon. He thought about knocking on the door, but decided his first plan was still the best plan. When he took this bastard down, he didn’t want there to be any questions.
When he pulled out again, the car seemed to make its way to the Hardaway house without any conscious thought on his part. He’d spent a lot of time parked out in front of that house, hoping to get a glimpse of Jamie, hoping she would talk to him, let him explain. The restraining order should have kept him away, but who was going to arrest him?
He’d been patiently waiting for hours every day. Then, one afternoon, Sylvie had come out of the house and marched directly over to his car.
“She isn’t here,” she said flatly.
“What?”
“Jamie isn’t here, so there’s no sense stalking her.”
“I’m not stalking anyone. I just want to talk to her. After that, I’ll leave her alone.”
Sylvie didn’t argue with him, just turned around and walked back into the house. It was only weeks later that the arrest in Portland of one Jamie Lee Howe on charges of prostitution had been picked up by his search engine. After weeks of seething resentment and anger, it turned out she hadn’t even been home. He didn’t mind her yelling at him; he didn’t even mind the restraining order. But leaving without telling him?
He’d headed for Portland the very same day.
She should have stayed in Bend, let him take care of her. It made no sense for her to go the Valley, and it especially boggled his mind that she had resorted to selling her body. Hell, it had taken him months to get a little, and even then he’d had to be insistent about it.
If she had stayed with him, she would never have had to worry about anything ever again. All because he’d slapped her, just that once. Hell, Dad had slapped his mom a hundred times, and they had been perfectly happy.
Carlan got out of the car and adjusted his belt, the gun, as usual, making him feel powerful and secure. He walked up to the door, trying to remember that first date with Jamie,
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