Read Online Racing Against Time by Marie Ferrarella - Free Book Online Page B

crammed full of cases. She’d discovered to her amusement that Brent preferred to deal with paper rather than computers, opting to make his notes in pen rather than type them on a keyboard, to be printed out. In a high-tech world, he was still, at bottom, an old-fashioned guy.
    The stack of viable contenders who might want to exact revenge on him had grown steadily over the past four hours.
    Leaning back in her chair and rubbing the bridge of her nose, Callie willed away the headache that threatened to overtake her. For the moment it appeared to listen. Or maybe it was just lying in wait for an opportune moment to strike, announcing its presence with a chorus of drums throbbing at her temples. She’d take what respite she could get.
    She glanced at the file opened on her lap. Brent’s handwriting was a challenge at times. “You know, this might have been a lot easier if all this was on your hard drive.” She indicated the dormant computer on his desk, which she was beginning to suspect was nothing more than a glorified, overly large paperweight on steroids.
    He looked in the direction of the machine with something less than respectful regard. Carmella had spent hours trying to get him to at least learn the basics. It wasn’t that he couldn’t; he wouldn’t. There had to be a place for the human touch in this high-tech world of theirs. In his opinion, people relied too much on computers. If there was ever a power shortage, the entire world outside the Australian outback would grind to a sudden, jarring halt.
    He shrugged. “My eyes get tired, looking at the screen. I’ve never been much of an electronics junkie,” he confessed in a moment of honesty. He knew most men thrived on the things that left him cold. Brent reached for the cup of coffee that had long since passed the point of lukewarm. “An embarrassment to my gender, I suppose. But the sight of a fifty-inch screen never turned me on.”
    Her energy level was ebbing away quickly. Since he had opened up this avenue of conversation, she decided to draw him out a little. Remind him that he was not just a judge and a justifiably concerned parent, but a human being with likes and dislikes, as well.
    Still leaning back in the chair, she studied him. He had the face of a leader and the soul to match. But even leaders had outside interests. “Just for the record, what does turn you on?”
    The answer came as if it were part of a word-association quiz. “Tulips.”
    The last thing she expected to do sitting here, looking through five years’ worth of files for a possible kidnapper, was grin. The headache circling her head hovered somewhere between oblivion and attack as she looked at Brent.
    “Excuse me? Did you just say ‘tulips’?”
    He’d never seen her grin before. It made her seem younger than her years, as if she was just playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes and was really still just a young girl instead of a police detective. Was he placing his faith in the wrong person? God, he hoped not.
    “You find that amusing?”
    She lifted a shoulder, letting it drop carelessly. “That depends on whether you like growing them or getting them.”
    A smattering of a smile, far smaller than anything gracing her lips, emerged on his. He hadn’t thought he was capable of smiling after this morning.
    “Growing them. It relaxes me.” Jennifer had thought he was crazy, telling him gardening was a hobby for boring housewives and old men. But Rachel had liked sitting beside him, digging in the earth with the small shovel he’d gotten her. “There’s something very basic about getting back to nature, about getting your hands dirty and nurturing seedlings along until they germinate into something beautiful.” He looked at her, half expecting a sarcastic comment. “Does that surprise you?”
    She debated a polite answer, but knew that he would respect honesty more. So she was honest. “Frankly, yes. I wouldn’t have thought of you as the kind of man who