Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

­worked … or was it the ease of a trial lawyer used to playing deep games? Brett was a different kind of lawyer altogether. He didn’t show up in court to represent clients. And he hadn’t shown up to make the apology.

No, it was his trial lawyer wife who’d done that.

Brett, who’d once had dark hair, and who’d been alone at home that night.

I was still considering Veda and Brett when I dropped Pari off at school on my way to my apartment. My head ached after a bad night’s sleep and plenty of nightmares, but the good news was that my leg was doing better. I’d been afraid the little tussle with Riki would set me back, but I’d managed to come through unscathed except for a scratchy throat.

“Bhaiya, are you still coming to my recital next Friday?” Pari asked as I stopped near the school gates.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I took out my phone. “To make extra sure, you want to program it into my calendar?”

A huge smile breaking out over her face, she tapped it in. “You said you’d wear a tuxedo.”

“You can help me slice open one side of my pants so I can get it on over the boot.” She’d gleefully helped do the same to my jeans and sweatpants.

“Yes!” She was still smiling when she turned at the gate to wave at me.

Waving back, I watched until she was safely inside. Then I headed to the apartment that had been my first splashy purchase after the royalties started rolling in. The Porsche had been number two, but that spot in the garage was as empty as the last time I’d seen it. The sedan was a hulking square block in comparison to the sleek lines of the Porsche, but it fit fine.

I bypassed the reception area today, going straight up to my apartment.

The last person I expected to see in the hallway outside my door, hand lifted as if to knock, was the ­long-­legged beauty with sharp cheekbones who’d made me fall hard enough that my heart still kicked at the sight of ­her—­despite her absence when I’d needed her most. “Paige.”

“Aarav, hi.” A tremulous smile. “You look much better than in the photos the paps took when you left the hospital.”

When I input my numerical key, she sucked in a breath. “You didn’t change the code after I left?”

“I didn’t think you were exactly eager to break in.” Using my back to push open the door, I angled my head. “You coming in?”

She did, in silence, only unwrapping herself from her big black coat after the door shut behind us. As always, the transformation was ­immediate—­she went from shapeless to a strikingly thin hourglass. It made her a favorite among designers who seemed to want the female form but with no flesh on the bone.

The look suited Paige.

Unlike most models, she didn’t pretend she ate like a horse and was naturally thin. No, she ate a controlled but healthy diet, and exercised in intense bursts each and every day. That meant she was thin, but very strong. But when she walked across the room, it was pure grace in motion. She’d wanted to be a ballerina once upon a time, and it showed in her movements.

“You want a Coke?” she asked with a smile. “I’m guessing you haven’t kicked the habit?”

“I’ll die with a Coke in hand.” I made my way to the sofa, while she smiled and went to grab the drinks.

Coke for me, and a kombucha for her. I must’ve still had a couple of her favorite brand stuck in the back of the fridge.

When she sat down, it wasn’t next to me, but across on the other sofa. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” Teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I heard about your mum. I’m sorry.”

She was so beautiful, Paige, one of those people others stared at in an attempt to figure out how an individual could be so perfect. Green eyes, brutally short blonde hair feathered to frame her extraordinary face with its ­cut-­glass cheekbones.

I’d often watched her as she slept, even more lovely in her peace.

“Thanks for saying that.” I left the Coke where it was; I probably didn’t need more caffeine in my system so soon after my morning hit. “How are you?”

“Good. Booking lots of shows.” A dazzling smile before it faded. “I feel so guilty about our last conversation. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“You were right. I am screwed up in the head and I did need help. I’m seeing a therapist.”

“Really?” The green turned to a glow, St. Elmo’s fire in human eyes. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

Suddenly, I knew I could have her again if I wanted. The way she looked at me, she’d forgotten she’d once been afraid of the rage that she said burned cold and deep inside me.

Paige thought she’d saved me, that I was a better man.

“Aarav.” Soft voice, soft lips. “I miss you. I miss us.”

I had to save her. She was the one living being aside from Pari who cared for me. She didn’t deserve my brokenness screwing up her life. “We were hollow, Paige. Nothing of substance there.”

Flinching, she hugged herself, her shoulders sharp angles. “Don’t say that. We ­talked—­about real things, emotions.”

“Yes. You probably got closer to me than anyone else, but that’s not very far. I just don’t have that capacity. I think it died when my mother disappeared.” Dr. Jitrnicka had been circling around that topic for the past couple of months.

“Your emotional responses are somewhat outside of the norm,” was how he’d put it, his pale brown eyes intent as he stared over the top of his bifocals.

I’d describe it far more bluntly: something irrevocable had happened to me the night my mother vanished, a kind of fracture that nothing would ever fix.

“Don’t say that.” Paige rose and came around to sit next to me, her hands tender on my face as she cupped my cheeks. “You couldn’t write with such