Read Online Quicksand by Carolyn Baugh - Free Book Online Page A

read and write it just fine.”
    â€œI heard you chased him down.”
    â€œWell, most Arab guys smoke. It wasn’t that hard.”
    â€œI heard he was on a motorcycle.”
    Nora looked away. “Well. That part was hard.”
    She ignored the look Ben gave her and glanced at her watch. “Look, I should go shoot some more before I head home…”
    Ben leaned in, “Come on, Nora. Talk to me a little. I want to know how you got here. John said you had a shot at the Olympics. He said your team at Temple University crushed the competition at the Penn Relays. What made you join the police force? How did you get tapped for the task force?”
    Nora leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Why is any of that important?”
    â€œCome on. We work together, right, so it helps to know each other better. You never know when you’ll be held hostage and I’ll need to know the deep dark details of your life in order to think like you think and help you outwit your captors.”
    She stared at him, then took a long sip of tea. “You watch too many movies.”
    â€œI’m single. We do that.”
    Nora hesitated, feeling like she couldn’t catch a deep enough breath. Then she leaned in. “Okay, but you can’t tell Burton. He’s such a snob.”
    â€œYes, yes he is,” Ben agreed. “I promise.”
    â€œWell, I really wanted to join the FBI, but there were two reasons why I couldn’t even try.”
    Ben cocked his head, listening closely.
    â€œOne, the stay at Quantico. My dad shot that down straight out. I had to commute to college, no dorm, so he was never gonna agree to going away on my own. Two, they assign you somewhere besides your hometown. And I needed to be here for now. For Ahmad—and for my dad too. He’s sort of a bear, but he needs me.”
    Ben opened his mouth to say something when John Wansbrough burst through the cafeteria doors. He crossed rapidly to their table.
    â€œBelieve me, I hate to break up this scene. But we’ve got another corpse.”
    *   *   *
    Even through the fog in her mind, she could see the body with perfect clarity. Cold, gray light poured across the alley, falling on exposed skin, on an untamed mass of hair, on big ugly gashes mottling face and body.
    Rahma stood, peering out through the dirty glass. The curving metal bars were meant to keep others out but that now kept her in. She stared down, knowing the body had been placed there so she and the other girls could see it. She felt a tidal wave of tears surging, pulsing, begging to explode out of her. She placed her hand against the glass, imagining that it touched the woman’s hand, remembering through the fog how warm and soft her hand had felt when it held hers, so briefly. Rahma imagined that her own hand could close the holes in the body, could warm the cooling flesh, could bring her
    back,
    back,
    back …
    A dog ambled into view and began to sniff at the corpse.
    She slammed her hand against the window, trying to find the words to shout, but forgetting what they might be. Don’t touch her! She tried to help me … please let her be, let her be …
    She looked desperately around the room and finally found a small, silent clock. She pounded it against the glass—it took an infinitely long time for a corner of the window to finally shatter, but before she could shout at the dog she heard heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. She scrambled backward, her heart racing, racing. She cringed as she heard his key in the lock, and the door swung open. He paused for a moment, surveying the broken window, as everything inside her writhed in fear. His face clouded, and he entered swiftly, moving so fast she could barely track his movements, and he swung at her, landing his blows on her back and her arms that now clutched her knees as she tucked herself into a ball,
    made herself small,
    made