"Yvonne Navarro - One Among Millions" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

"I will fill you with blood and fire," he whispered in her ear as his body
weighed her down and pierced her with exquisite ice. Her insides pulsed around
him in involuntary response and he moaned against her neck as he rocked, a
wolf's growl of pleasure as the sharp edges of his teeth rubbed along her throat, so
very close to the one thing he had yet to steal from her. Everything else was gone:
her pride, her self-esteem, her virginity. She was his harlot and his slave, and soon
she would carry the ultimate proof that he had used her. Surely he would allow
her to keep the final, fragile bit of her humanity that pumped within her arteries.
SurelyтАФ
The sugar jar jittered dangerously in her grasp and she slammed it on the counter
and decided to do without rather than risk spilling it. He had sent the cockroaches to
this place to torment her, to try and make her leave, and she'd be damned if she'd do
anything to feed them. Turning to the sink, Sondra rinsed her hands and face in cool
water, then used a paper towel to pat her skin dry. Easy does it, she told herself. Ten
more seconds and her hands were steady enough to fish a battered rectangular cake
pan from the drawer by the oven and use it as a makeshift serving tray to hold the
mugs. She nearly dropped it when she turned from the counter and found the
younger of the cops standing directly behind her. His eyes met hers and she felt
trapped for an instant, came perilously close to telling him everything, the whole
corrupt story burning at the edges of her lips. On the battered aluminium surface, the
mugs rattled against each other.
"I'll take that for you," Walters said. He reached for the pan and his fingers, cold
like hers, brushed her arm. His face was unreadable but his touch left her oddly
weak, disoriented. Standing before him in the small kitchen, Sondra saw that she'd
been wrong about his build; he wasn't overweight at all. In fact, his entire body
seemed to have elongated somehow and become lean, like a dog that looks soft and
warm and sleepy until it stands up and stretches. Fear bubbled into Sondra's throat,
but he only took her elbow with his free hand and guided her towards the
living-room and his waiting partner, his flesh burning against her own like dry ice.
McShaw looked up from scribbling on his form and dropped his pen on to the
coffee table, reaching eagerly for one of the mugs. Sondra sank on to the worn love
seat with a feeling of relief that shattered when Walters settled loosely next to her
instead of returning to his place on the old rocking-chair across the coffee table.
Everything about the apartment was small: the rooms, the windows and the meagre
amount of sunlight they permitted inside, the furniture; his thigh, bunched with
muscle beneath the fabric of his slacks, pressed coolly against hers, but there was
nowhere for her to move to get away. Was she suffocating here or was the pulse
hammering in her throat simply getting in the way of the air trying to flow into her
lungs?
"Okay," McShaw said after a moment. He made no move to pick up the
clipboard he'd set on the table next to his pen. "Tell us about the other two times."
"I thought I saw him when I took the babies to the paediatrician at the free clinic
last Tuesday," Sondra said hoarsely. She was proud of the way she kept her voice
from shaking, from giving away her petty deception. "Following us again. But it was
too crowded there and when we got out it was rush hour. He was gone."
"You thought?"
Sondra nodded but didn't elaborate. Let them discount this one if they wanted; it
was a lie anyway, mere icing on an already poisoned cake.
"And when was the other time?"
"LastтАж night. I took the babies up to the park for the fall festival. He w-was