A Kiss to Kill Read Online Free PDF

picked to deal with computer stuff. Had he missed something? “Isn’t that Darcy’s area of expertise?”
    Quinn shifted in his seat. “Not the e-mail. The yacht.”
    “Ah. Right,” Alex said, hastening to cover his inattention. “Sure, no problem,” he agreed.
    Quinn blinked. Then he smiled. “Great. You leave first thing in the morning. Darcy’ll book you a seat on the—”
    Whoa. What? Alex’s stomach sank on pure, raw instinct. “Leave?” He had missed something. Something important. “Leave for where?”
    “The FBI’s field office on the Chesapeake Bay, of course. In Norfolk.”
    Norfolk? As in Norfolk, Virginia ?
    Then it hit him right between the eyes. The FBI. Norfolk . . .
    Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
    Quinn wanted him to—
    Alex lurched to his feet. “ Hell , no. I can’t pos sibly—”
    “ Some body on the team has got to go down there and check out the yacht,” Commander Quinn refuted in a tone that brooked no argument. “The Allah’s Paradise could be our best lead yet.”
    “Please don’t ask me to do th—”
    “You know her best, Zane.” Quinn didn’t need to use her name; everyone at that table knew exactly which “her” he was referring to. He threw up his hands. “Hell, Alex, she was going to be a damn bridesmaid at your—”
    Darcy’s elbow jabbed Quinn in the ribs and he halted mid-word. He glanced uncertainly at her, then rolled his eyes and turned back to Alex. “Look. I know she reminds you of a rough time in your life, but I trust you’re not some dewy-eyed virgin who needs to be tiptoed around. And if you are, you’ve got no place on my team. Or in STORM Corps, for that matter. Be in Norfolk by oh-nine-hundred, Zane, and that’s a goddamn order.” The commander’s eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with that?”
    Alex swallowed down the tirade of protest he wanted to let loose. Goddamn right he had a goddamn problem with it. Fuck ing hell.
    “No, sir,” he answered the team leader tightly, and dropped back onto his chair. “No problem at all.”
    But behind his forced smile of concession, his innards were in free fall.
    Rebel fucking Haywood .
    Please, God. Just fucking kill him now.

THREE
    Washington, D.C. Later that night
    METRO Police Detective Sarah McPhee peered over the edge of a stinking back-alley Dumpster in northeast Washington, D.C., careful not to touch the foul metal container. The Dumpster was lit up like the Lincoln Memorial, the surrounding brick walls of the alley painted with a grotesque mosaic of distorted shadows and light caused by people moving around in the circle of illumination. Beyond that circle, the brightness quickly faded to midnight blackness.
    Inside the Dumpster, sprawled on top of the rank contents, was the body of the vic, her long black hair spread around her head like a dark halo. Her once-olive complexion glowed pasty white in the harsh crime scene lights. The woman had once been really beautiful, Sarah noted. Nice clothes. Good body. Healthy skin. Definitely did not belong in this part of town.
    Dump job, she thought. “Damn shame,” she murmured aloud before she could stop herself.
    The conglomeration of uniforms, techs, and coroner staff working around the Dumpster studiously ignored her comment, continuing on with their respective pursuits. Clipped footsteps echoed through the alley, and newly promoted Lieutenant Gus Harding marched up, late as usual.
    “What have we got here?” he demanded importantly of no one in particular. The LT was fond of TV crime shows and imitated the brusque demeanor of the prime-time actors whenever possible. Like it made him seem more qualified for the job, or tougher. Or taller .
    Predictably, Jonesy—Detective Jonas Louden, whose nickname was Detective Loudmouth due to his annoying tendency to boom at the top of his lungs—jumped in to answer, flicking out his well-worn leather notepad before Sarah could even open her mouth to speak. “Female, twenty-five to thirty-five. With that