Time Enough To Die Read Online Free

straight, chin up, not arrogant, he thought, but irritatingly self-confident. If she was a charlatan, she was also a superb actress. But acting ability was not something Gareth respected. It involved too much illusion.
    He pushed open the doors of the incident room and sat down at his desk. The scene beyond the windows appeared unremittingly gray.

Chapter Three
    After three months in England, Ashley Walraven knew she'd better appreciate the clear afternoon while she had the chance. She stood in the town square and turned her face like a flower to the sun. Around her the citizens of Corcester slowed and dropped onto benches and steps as if they were melting in the unusual warmth.
    The brick pedestrians-only area was more accurately a town polygon. At one side two ancient black-and-white magpie houses leaned together, erect more out of habit than out of structural integrity. Even though the ground floors were filled by an appliance store and Corcester's Job Centre, Ashley was charmed.
    Opposite the houses stood St. Michael's church, its red stone buttresses mortared by lichen. A yew tree drooped over weathered headstones. Bells pealed from a crow-haunted tower. This was what a church should look like, Ashley told herself. The one her mother attended was disguised as a civic auditorium. The cross, tucked away in foliage at the rear of the stage, looked like an afterthought. When she'd commented about “MacChurch,” her mother had muttered darkly of disrespect verging on blasphemy.
    Her mother. Ashley turned toward the building next to the two half-timbered relics. Mr. Clapper at the hotel had said—yes, there was a red mailbox pillar. She thrust her letter through the slot. Another Sunday, another letter home. She never thought she'd be grateful she hardly ever got a chance to check her e-mail and had had to leave her cell phone at home, but being reduced to snail mail had turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
    It might take her mother's letters a few days to catch up to her, now that the students had moved from a dormitory in Manchester to the hotel in Corcester. Maybe for a few days she could get down off the co-dependency trip. Even though her mother did seem to be getting along all right without her—surprise, surprise. Still, her letters were full of the usual complaints, warnings, and commentary about Ashley's father's new wife—"almost as young as you are, Punkin, although you'd never know beneath all the make-up, calls herself a legal aide as though everyone didn't know she's a cheap little gold-digger...."
    Her mother's voice was so clear Ashley tensed and looked around. The only people nearby were two young men scanning the notices in the window of the Job Centre. They wore shapeless jackets and heavy boots, and jostled each other as though sharing a joke. The more supple and slender of the two turned toward Ashley and smiled.
    His black hair was too shaggy to be fashionable, and his jaw was darkened by more than a five-o'clock shadow, something like a ten-o'clock eclipse. But he wore an earring, and his smile was the devil-may-care grin of a romantic hero, alluring, challenging, dangerous. Ashley felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
    "Eh,” he called, and jerked his head in a summons.
    Oh yeah, right, Ashley thought.
    A policeman materialized from a side street. “Here,” he said to the men. “I suppose you're looking for employment, are you now?"
    "Oh yes, Constable, that we are,” replied the one with the smile, while his friend stood in a sullen lump.
    "And I'm the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said the bobby. “Push off, the both of you, get back to your caravans."
    The young men strolled away, just slowly enough to be insolent.
    The policeman turned, muttering something about travelers and caravans, and almost walked into Ashley. “Sorry, Miss,” he said. His round face was puckered around something sour, and she knew he didn't really see her. The dashing black-haired man had seen her.
    Making an