Read Refuge Book 1 - Night of the Blood Sky for Free Online

hands and attempted to smooth out her hair. When it didn’t cooperate, she frowned and said, “Damnit.”
    Then she squinted at herself. What was she doing? She wasn’t the type of woman to wear makeup or push-up bras or jewelry. For one thing, she ran every day, and her body was pretty much everywhere it was supposed to be for a thirty-three year old woman. And unlike the sheriff’s hip-hugging uniform, hers was loose-fitting and did nothing to accentuate her femininity. So why was she worried about a few errant hairs?
    Because Griff likes smooth hair , she thought, always has. Like Julie Barnes’s. Real-estate slut . But Griffin was off limits. She’d been close friends with Jess, his wife, before she’d died. Didn’t seem right to show an interest in her husband, now that she was gone. Of course, if Frost was honest, she’d been interested in Griffin when Jess was alive, too. “Get a fucking grip,” she growled at herself and headed for the door.
    She exited the bathroom to find Griffin staring at her quizzically.
    “What?”
    “No bucket?”
    “Shit,” she whispered, reentered the bathroom, found the bucket and returned to the office without meeting his eyes. When she entered the back room, Avalon was passed out on the cot, a puddle of vomit already on the floor. “Double shit.”
    With a shake of her head, she unlocked and entered the cell, propping Avalon’s head up on a second pillow, covering her with a blanket and placing the pail next to her head. The puke could wait, Frost decided, and she turned toward the door. Griffin stood there, watching.
    “Thanks,” he said.
    “Just doing my job,” she replied, but his grin revealed he knew she was lying. Jail cells weren’t meant to be comfortable.
    Back in the front office, she could hear the church bell running non-stop now, and she really wanted to be out there. She hated office duty. But she also understood why she needed to be here. Punching a seventeen year old kid was never a good idea. Still, the little douchebag deserved it.
    Despite the ringing bell being the perfect segue out of the uncomfortable silence between them, she instead went with, “Any new paintings?”
    Griffin was a surrealist painter who created huge images—oil on canvas—that Pastor Dodge had once called ‘monstrosities’ from the pulpit. As one of the few non-church goers in town, Griffin found himself on the receiving end of more than a few accusations of occult interests and devil worship, if not by Dodge himself, then by some of the older folks in town, a few of whom might personally remember the days when witches were burned at the stake.
    “Finished one yesterday,” he replied. “Good thing, too. I don’t think I’ll be getting much done for a while.” He glanced toward the back room.
    “She okay?”
    Griffin leaned back, hands atop Deputy Sweeney’s desk. “Showed up last night. Asked me to help her detox. Apparently she’s...” He paused, eyes on the floor. “She’s addicted to Oxycontin. And I got a little more than I bargained for. I think she was probably still a little high when she asked for help, but once the craving set in...” He shook his head and sighed. “I’ve seen some pretty unstoppable people in my time, but she...she was feral. Lucky Becky found her when she did.”
    Frost knew that Griffin was one of the few people in town who could get away with calling the sheriff by name while the woman was on duty, so she didn’t mention it. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all, which made her feel like an idiot, but she really just wanted to hug the man. It was probably the right thing for a friend to do, but her feelings got in the way.
    Luckily, the ringing bell became so feverish and loud it was no longer possible to ignore.
    “What the hell could ring that bell so fast?” Griffin said, standing from the desk.
    They headed toward the front door together. Frost could feel the hot and humid air working hard to curl her hair again, but