Like a Knife Read Online Free Page B

her voice, as though he were sixteen again. Before he could stop himself, his mouth curved into a wide grin. He looked up.
    She stood over him, tense and unsmiling. "The police are looking for you," Behind her, two uniforms walked toward him.
    He went cold, the sight of the cops like frost in spring.
    Rachel asked, "Do you know a Shelley Spier?"
    Tongue stuck in his mouth, he couldn't answer. The police eyed him. "Nicholas Raine? Would you come with us, sir?"
    It took only a few minutes to cross the ground, but it seemed like hours. Kids froze, teachers stared. The whole world slowed. He passed Rachel, her face pale, heard the blur of Shelley's name from the cops. They took him right up to the police car, put a hand on his head to push him in, and closed the car door behind him.
    He was polite and cooperated fully. First lessons die hard, and he'd been Rennie Spier's best student.
    Never upset the authorities, but never tell them anything.
    So Nick told the police nothing about Shelley's visit Even after they showed him the pictures.
    "Couldn't find any identification on her. No prints on file. We had to use the ring to ID her." Detective Pat May pointed to the picture of Shelley's blood-smeared diamond ring. "Recognize it?"
    Nick nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
    "Any idea what she was doing in that part of Long Island City? She was a long way from Gramercy Park."
    Running from Rennie. "I don't know why she was there."
    The cop eyed him suspiciously, and Nick took the look without flinching.
    "Where were you last night, Raine?"
    "Home."
    "Anyone vouch for that?"
    "Only my empty coffee cups."
    When they finally let him go, he took the first bus he saw and rode for hours. He tried to block out the photographs, but he saw the pictures anyway, even with his eyes closed. The bloody street. The mangled body.
    The next morning his name was all over the television and radio. He was in the basement, already packing, when Rachel found him. His face felt stiff, his insides frozen. He focused on shoving things into a grocery bag. A cracked coffee cup, an old shirt. He didn't want to talk to her, he didn't even want to see her. He just wanted to go.
    She waved a newspaper in front of him, but he didn't look at it. He'd already seen the headline in the dispensers at the bus stop and in the hands of the bus riders:
    ARMS KING'S QUEEN IN HIT-AND-RUN HOMICIDE. Inset in
    the column was his own picture and a caption: "Spier associate Nicholas Raine leaves precinct after talking with police." The article even mentioned that he now worked for Rachel's preschool at St. Anthony's Church.
    "The mop and pail are upstairs." His voice sounded wooden, but it only matched the way he felt. "I bought the fluorescent bulbs for the office but haven't had a chance to replace them. The fence isn't finished yet either. You better get someone in to do it soon."
    Rachel looked at the paper; the answer to the puzzle that was Nick stared up at her from the page. She'd never seen him in anything but faded work clothes, but in the picture he was wearing a suit. An expensive suit. He was smiling; the photograph caught him in a cocky wave.
    "You should have told me, Nick."
    He laughed. 'Told you what? That I used to peddle guns and bombs and other assorted what-have-yous to any little tyrant with a buck? Yeah, I'm sure that would have been a real strong character reference."
    Too angry for words, she said nothing as he gathered his things. When she'd hired him, the church had run a routine background check on him, but all it had turned up were two arrests for public drunkenness, and that had been years ago. Nothing about his connection to Rennie Spier and his arms-dealing empire. Knowing Nick had earned money from the very violence that made her school necessary-that had robbed her of parents and childhood-outraged her. He'd hurt her, hurt the school. How could he matter anymore?
    But then he took down a finger painting he'd rescued from the trash, carefully