Before the Dawn Read Online Free PDF

oversized portrait in oil of Kafelnikov (not very good) took up most of the wall.
    Surprising there's room for all this stuff,
the young woman thought, and
the ego of that bastard Kafelnikov. . . .
    Moody's informant had said the safe that held the security plan was behind the painting. If the safe was as big as the portrait, Max thought, the dial ought to be about the size of a hubcap.
    As she made her way around the desk, she slipped a switchblade out of her pocket and flicked the button, the blade springing open with a
click.
She found a metal wastebasket, turned it over, spilling refuse, and climbed up on it, and looked the Russian gang leader in his smug, superior face. Then, wearing her own smug smile, Max stabbed Kafelnikov in his oil-painted heart and sliced upward, the canvas ripping, as if the subject himself were crying out in agony.
    The safe was where it was supposed to be, and the dial was normal sized. For as elaborate as Moody's plan had been, this seemed to the experienced young cat thief a routine heist. Putting the knife away, Max tuned up her hearing, placing her ear to the safe's metal door, and started turning the dial.
    In less than fifteen seconds Max had the thing open; in five more she had found the security plans to the nostalgia museum, and in another second she had them tucked into her fatigues. A large pile of cash to the left proved too tempting, as well, and that disappeared into other pockets.
    Moody needn't know about that; she would call it a bonus.
    Finally, satisfied with her haul, she turned to leave. That was when she sensed the first dog.
    She had heard the Brood kept dogs to deter intruders, though Moody had been dismissive about these “rumors.”
    But the big, black, beautiful beast, its shiny eyes and razor-sharp white teeth glowing in the moonlight, was no rumor. The dog, some kind of a Doberman mix, moved forward, in a low, suspicious approach, its muscles undulating like shadows beneath its taut skin. The animal growled low in its throat, a disquieting greeting.
    “Nice puppy,” Max soothed, her hand reaching out toward the dog in a slowly offered, underhand gesture of peace, showing the animal an empty, unthreatening palm.
    The dog snarled.
    And the canine sentry was not alone. . . .
    She could hear their paws padding down the hall, and four more appeared in the hallway, and entered the room—very trained, none scrambling on top of each other—fanning out in almost military fashion, growling, holding their positions. Each was at least as big as the leader, with saliva dripping, fangs showing, the quintet snarling in unholy harmony as their leader edged closer.
    Max rose to her full height. The soft approach had failed; so, making her voice loud and sharp, she said, “Sit.”
    The lead dog barked once, the canine equivalent of
Fuck you.
    Max let out a long breath. “Your choice. I didn't want to do this, but you're asking for it. . . .”
    And cat prepared herself to meet dog, lowering into a combat crouch.
    The first dog leapt and Max swiftly sidestepped it, the Doberman smacking into the wall with a yelp and a dull thud. As the second and third dogs came after her, separating to hit her from either side—a sophisticated outflanking maneuver coming from canines—Max jumped up on the desk, just as the two animals collided, and rolled away in a yelping ball of paws and claws and tails.
    One of the two remaining in the military line inside the doorway flung itself at Max, who vaulted up and over, the dog's head snapping back around to try to bite her as Max soared over it, hit the floor in a tuck, somersaulted to her feet, and sidestepped as the last dog lunged.
    Rushing out into the hall, Max pulled the splintered door shut behind her; with the lock snapped, the door wouldn't hold the animals back for long, and she knew the beasts would be hot on her heels. Their pissed-off barking said as much.
    She ran to the elevator, wishing those doors would magically open before she