Cold Death by Mary Stone (best e reader for android TXT) 📕

thick at first, like she’d swallowed a bunch of marbles. “That does sound a lot like my daughter. She’s a police officer, so she fights bad guys too, and her family wasn’t thrilled with her job when she first told them about her plans, either. I hope she knows how proud we are, though.”

“What about the magic island?”

Helen’s hand began stroking again. “No magic island, although she did grow up in Charleston, which is almost the same thing.”

The woman’s voice was clear again now as she continued to tell Bethany about her brave daughter. Bethany relaxed into her arms and let her mind float, trying to picture the superhero policewoman.

As she drifted off, lulled by her new friend’s soft, calming stories, Bethany dreamed that Helen’s daughter showed up to rescue them, riding a giant goose and circling her golden lasso in the air.

32

Katarina stopped pacing when the front door to the Charleston Police Department opened but resumed again when an unfamiliar balding man in a blue beat cop uniform strode out.

She huffed the brisk evening air and stomped her boots a little harder. What the hell was taking Officer Carrot Top so long to cut through that bureaucratic red tape? Had she gotten distracted by a rogue box of donuts?

“I’m sure it won’t be too long now.”

Katarina growled low in her throat and speared the roommate with a murderous glare. Not too long? Please. This trip had already taken too long, with Ellie still nowhere in sight. If Jillian and her big, slobbery mutt weren’t here babysitting, Katarina would have snuck into the precinct by now. Once she’d stolen the phone, she would have slipped back out, with no one the wiser.

“But no, we had to do it the ‘right’ way.” Katarina curled her fingers to form air quotes as she muttered to herself and stomped.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Great, now she’d really snagged the tiny blonde’s attention. Katarina hunched her shoulders and presented the woman with her back. Although she doubted the technique would help. In the short time she’d spent in Jillian’s presence, Katarina had learned that the cop’s energetic roommate rarely took a hint. Subtle or otherwise.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise Ellie knows what’s she’s doing.”

See? The woman was like a walking, talking positivity meme.

Not only that, but in this case, Jillian was wrong. Katarina doubted very much that Ellie had the slightest inkling what she was doing. Not in this particular situation. The redhead clung to the romanticized versions of the justice system. Fairy tales about how following legal procedures and cooperating with law enforcement would result in a happily ever after, with the bad guys vanquished and behind bars and the good guys riding off into the sunset.

Bullshit.

Katarina’s boot crunched a dead twig on the pavement. She slammed her foot down, again and again, not stopping until the wood turned to splinters. Maybe that Pollyanna fantasy played out when dealing with small-time lawbreakers or minor felons, but not with criminals like Kingsley. The monster who’d raised and trained her would never be held by the law.

Her muscles twitched with the need to do something, anything, to help save her daughter, so she started pacing again. The police…Ellie…the FBI. They all suffered from the same delusion, that they could just arrest Kingsley like anyone else and lock him up for life.

She hugged her arms across her chest, digging her fingers into her triceps. They didn’t understand him like Katarina did. Didn’t realize that if they locked him up, he’d only find a way out. Either by impersonating a guard, or starting a prisoner riot, or injuring himself, or hell, even pretending to be dead. The how didn’t matter. The point was, no prison would hold Lawrence Kingsley for long.

He’d call on other criminals who benefitted from his tangled web of shady enterprises to help him break free and end up back on the streets, playing God with people’s lives in no time.

Katarina let loose an enraged snarl and kicked the pavement. The mutt barked and bounded over, lunging at her toe with her butt in the air.

“I’m not playing with you, stop!” She bared her teeth at the dog, who barked again and wagged her tail faster.

“Sam, get back here!”

Jillian yanked on the dog’s lead, and with a whine, she slunk back to her side. “Sorry about that. Sam gets a little silly sometimes.” She cleared her throat. “So, what’s one of your favorite memories with Bethany, or the best day you spent together? Sometimes focusing on happy times can help with the stress.”

Katarina stopped pacing long enough to fix the blonde with a death stare. Stress? Did this annoying little cheerleader really think she could teach Katarina about stress? She’d experienced more stress in a few months of her childhood than Jillian probably had in her entire perky-ass life.

Stress and bloodshed.

Off the top of her head, Katarina could conjure up at least seven ways to snuff the light from those blue eyes before Ellie even stuck her little toe out the door. If Jillian kept up with the intrusive questions, she might let her itchy fingers demonstrate one of them.

Play nice. You still need their help. “My memories are private.”

“Got it, sorry. I was just trying to help give your mind a break from worrying.”

“Maybe I want to worry.”

Jillian grunted but wisely kept her mouth shut and stooped down to pet her mutt. Too anxious to sit still, Katarina returned to marching up and down the pavement. Instead of fretting over the delay, though, her mind drifted to that night back in the government office when she’d fidgeted and paced and ripped off her cuticles while waiting to be reunited with her daughter.

Her stress levels had skyrocketed that evening too, but for entirely different reasons.

In the months leading up to that night, Katarina had devoted all her time and energy to reclaiming Bethany. Joy like no other had filled her soul when the little girl appeared across the room, then had taken a