Read Dark Sky for Free Online Page B

pencil.”
    Juliet didn’t want to mention Brooker. One, she hadn’t told Rivera that she and Ethan had met on the steps of Federal Hall to discuss an ex-con who’d once threatened to kill her. Two, Rivera basically thought her new Special Forces friend was a shit magnet. The chief wasn’t one to mince words. And he didn’t believe Juliet when she protested that Ethan wasn’t, really, a friend. The man had thrown caution—his career, his life—to the damn wind since his wife’s death. Rivera and a few others who shared his opinion didn’t question that Ethan was a good guy, a combat officer whose commitment and sacrifice they respected. They just questioned the tendency for bad things to happen when he showed up.
    And they questioned his interest in Juliet, although they’d never admit as much. She was a federal agent who had a degree in plant science. It wasn’t until after college that she’d decided on a career in law enforcement. Her father and brothers had thought it’d be a passing fancy—that she’d flunk out of training. They didn’t want to see her fail so much as end up doing what they were convinced she was meant to do. In general, men tended to treat her like a sister, maybe because she had five older brothers and was good at acting like a sister.
    Rivera pointed a thick finger at her coffee mug. “How many cups of coffee is that so far today?”
    It was two o’clock in the afternoon. “I have no idea. I haven’t kept count.”
    â€œIt’s at least your fifth.”
    â€œChief, come on. You’re not spending your time keeping track of how much coffee I’m drinking, are you?”
    â€œIt’s too damn much. You’re going to be in the middle of a takedown one of these days and have to pee. That happened with my first partner—”
    â€œIt’s not going to happen to me.”
    He sniffed, making a face. “How old is that stuff?”
    â€œI don’t know. I finished off the pot.” She was notorious for drinking coffee any way she could get it, but she preferred it black, hot and fresh. “I’m not that fussy. The only kind of coffee I won’t drink is flavored. Hazelnut, vanilla.” She gave a mock shudder. “Raspberry.”
    â€œMy wife loves hazelnut. She says it’s like having a milkshake.”
    â€œWhen I want a milkshake, I’ll have a milkshake.”
    â€œYou ever get tested for ADHD?” he asked. “Attention deficit hyperactive disorder.”
    She creaked back in her chair. “No, Mike. I’ve never been tested.”
    â€œMy youngest is ADHD. Smart as a whip, funny as hell. She’s on the go all the time. I can’t keep up with her. I don’t know if it’s true, but I read somewhere that coffee doesn’t affect people with ADHD the same way it does other people. Supposedly it calms them instead of winds them up.”
    â€œDo I look calm?”
    He grinned at her. “Imagine if you didn’t have all that caffeine in you. You’d be shooting up the place.”
    Fortunately, he left it at that and retreated to his office without launching into a lecture on post-traumatic stress disorder. Better, Juliet thought, to have Rivera watching her for signs of ADHD than PTSD. After two high-stress and highly publicized events this past year—both, not coincidentally, involving a certain Special Forces officer—Rivera had earmarked her as a prime candidate for PTSD. All she had to do was mention a nightmare, and he was on her. PTSD was a serious concern, and a certain amount of vigilance was called for, given what she’d been through the past five months, starting in May with the Central Park sniper-style shooting of Rob Dunnemore, a fellow deputy with whom Juliet had had a brief, romantic relationship, and Nate Winter, a senior deputy and her mentor. Rob was seriously injured, Nate back on his