Two Graves by Douglas Preston EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
- Publish Date: December 11, 2012
- Language: English
- Genre: Police Procedurals
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Pages: 480
- Price: Free
- ISBN: 0446554995
6:00 PM
THE WOMAN WITH THE VIOLET EYES WALKED SLOWLY beneath the trees of Central Park,
hands deep in the pockets of her trench coat. Her older brother walked beside her, his restless eyes
taking in everything.
“What time is it?” she asked, yet again.
“Six o’clock precisely.”
It was a mild evening in mid-November, and the dying sun threw dappled shadows over the
sweeping lawn. They crossed East Drive, passed the statue of Hans Christian Andersen, and
ascended a slight rise. And then—as if possessed by the same thought—they stopped. Ahead, across
the placid surface of Conservatory Water, stood the Kerbs Memorial Boathouse, toy-like, framed
against the vast ramparts of the buildings lining Fifth Avenue. It was a scene from a picture
postcard: the small lake reflecting the blood-orange sky, the little model yachts cutting through the
still water to the appreciative cries of children. In the gap between two skyscrapers, a full moon was
just appearing.
Her throat felt tight and dry, and the necklace of freshwater pearls felt constricting around her
throat. “Judson,” she said, “I’m not sure I can do this.”
She felt his brotherly grip on her arm tighten reassuringly. “It’ll be okay.”
She glanced around at the tableau spread before her, heart beating fast. A violinist was sawing
away on the parapet before the lake. A young couple sat on one of the boathouse benches, oblivious
to everything but each other’s company. On the next bench, a short-haired man with a bodybuilder’s
physique read the Wall Street Journal. Commuters and joggers passed by in small streams. In the
shadow of the boathouse itself, a homeless man was settling down for the night.
And there he stood before the lake—a slender figure, motionless, dressed in a long pale coat of
exquisite cut, blond-white hair burnished platinum by the dying light.
The woman drew in a sharp breath.
“Go ahead,” Judson said in a low voice. “I’ll be close by.” He released her arm.
As the woman stepped forward, her surroundings vanished, her entire attention focused on the
man who watched her approach. Thousands of times she had imagined this moment, spun it out in
her mind in all its many variants, always ending with the bitter thought that it could never happen;
that it would remain only a dream. And yet here he was. He looked older, but not by much: his
alabaster skin, his fine patrician features, his glittering eyes that held her own so intently, awakened
a storm of feeling and memory and—even at this time of extreme danger—desire.
She stopped a few feet from him.
“Is it really you?” he asked, his courtly southern drawl freighted with emotion.
She tried to smile. “I’m sorry, Aloysius. So very sorry.”
He did not reply. Now, all these years later, she found herself unable to read the thoughts that
lay behind those silver eyes. What was he feeling: Betrayal? Resentment? Love?
A narrow scar, freshly made, ran down one of his cheeks. She raised a fingertip, touched it
lightly. Then, impulsively, she pointed over his shoulder.
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