Cat Burglar in Training Read Online Free PDF

door slammed and silence fell. No more laughter. Not a single bloody sound. I hovered indecisively. Dithered, really. Finally everything remained silent, and I cautiously tiptoed from the guest room toward Perdita’s bedroom.
    When I was a few feet from the doorway, a cuckoo burst from its clock, nearly giving me a coronary. I leapt in fright but managed to hold back an accompanying squeak. Once I was sure my legs would work properly, I slinked closer to the bedroom.
    I didn’t need illumination to tell something was badly wrong. I could smell it. An indescribable scent, layered with expensive perfume and sex.
    “H-hello?” It was no surprise to me I sounded shit-scared. When no one answered, I hesitated then stepped into the room, not because I wanted to but because I had to know.
    Blood.
    Everywhere.
    It stood out on the white satin sheets, stark red splotches highlighting the dead woman sprawled on the very corner of the king-size bed. I gulped, my stomach threatening to revolt. It was Perdita Moning, all right, her ruby necklace dangling from one hand as if her second visitor had interrupted her while taking it off.
    Strangled laughter filled the room. Slightly hysterical. A little crazed. But hell, not every day a girl witnesses a murder.
    I stepped closer and stopped abruptly. If I was wise, I’d be out of here in case a neighbor had heard the gunshot and called the police. And although I’d heard the murderer leave, they might return and realize I’d been in the house. I had a daughter who was in enough danger as it was—a hell of a lot to live for. Amber was only five, and I wanted to see her reach adulthood.
    Indecisive, I stared. The light caught the ruby necklace. Mesmerized by the lustrous sparkle, I shook myself. More red. But I scooped it up, plucking it from her hand. When I swung around I saw a pair of matching ruby earrings and a rather nice diamond-and-sapphire choker the woman had left sitting on her dresser. They should have been in the safe, but who was I to protest security? I hardened my heart. Perdita Moning was dead. She wouldn’t need them anymore.
    About to leave, one more thing caught my attention.
    It was a photo of three children. Innocent fun preserved from a happy, carefree day at the beach. Another shot, a formal portrait of one child, claimed my attention. I started to wheeze. I tore at my jumper, trying to loosen it around my neck, but the gloves were useless. I ripped one off and yanked at my buttons. Concentrate. Breathe .
    When I gained a semblance of control, I glanced back at the photo. My trembling hand reached out to brush a finger across her face. The child wasn’t my daughter, but she was a dead ringer. I swallowed my shock.
    A clue—at last.
    You see, I don’t know the identity of my daughter’s father.
    But, now that I’d seen this photo, I intended to discover the truth.

Chapter Three
    I don’t remember much of my journey back to the flat in Kensington. I drove on automatic pilot while my mind refused to move past the photo I’d seen.
    And the memories the snapshot brought back…
    The implications.
    December 8, a Christmas ball six years ago. Eighteen, and fresh from boarding school in Switzerland, I was ready to party with my friends and celebrate Christmas and my nineteenth birthday, which fell on the following weekend. I remember the London ballroom with the Christmas decorations, the mistletoe, the bouquets of balloons, the huge Douglas fir tree covered with silver balls, shimmering tinsel and twinkling lights. I remember giggling with my girlfriends, flirting with the men. Snatching a kiss under the mistletoe. I even remember sipping glasses of champagne and sitting on Santa’s knee.
    But that’s where my memories faded.
    I woke up the next morning at a Mayfair hotel. Naked. Alone in a bed with no idea of how I’d come to be there or what had happened to me.
    I crawled from the bed. My body ached, my head pounded and my mouth felt like an arid desert. The