Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Edge Of Fear
rakish charm to get that intel ASAP.” For an extremely Goth-looking young woman, Lark Orela’s no-nonsense tone always came as a surprise. This afternoon it brooked no argument.
Made no sense, but Caleb figured he was there, might as well save someone the trip. Fifteen minutes and he’d be done. He’d report in, results in hand, then pursue Lark in person for a mission. A real one.
“Yeah. Sure,” he told her easily. “I’ll give you a shout when I get the father’s location.”
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“Good luck.” Lark sounded…odd?
Caleb’s frown deepened at the strange inflection in her usually well-modulated voice. “What am I missing?”
“Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness?” On that cryptic note the phone went dead.
Caleb stared at it as he snapped it closed. Trust Lark to be enigmatic. She was a cross between a wizard, a mother figure, and a pain in the collective asses of her operatives. But as a control she had no match. Lark could juggle from one to twenty-one operatives simultaneously. Caleb would’ve staked his life on the fact that Lark could see the future. She never spoke of it. Ever. But the ability had saved many an operative’s rear end, no doubt. Her advice and direction were always sound and spot-on. No one argued.
When Lark Orela said jump, intelligent people asked how high.
Caleb didn’t bother glancing around the commandeered apartment to make certain he hadn’t left anything behind. He hadn’t. He’d shimmered in. He’d leave the same way. Sight unseen.
SANFRANCISCO
MONDAY, JANUARY16
3:22P.M .
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Hunched over her worktable, Heather barely registered the unfamiliar sound of the doorbell pealing downstairs. The fog had gradually thickened during the last few hours and now the opaque whiteness pressed at the window, obligingly obliterating a boring view, and muffling the sounds of traffic in the street below. She sighed with satisfaction, enjoying the moment. Soft jazz crooned from the bedside clock/radio, and the mug of steaming chamomile tea beside her was almost steeped enough and ready to drink.
Ignoring the vague, atavistic sensation stirring the hairs on the back of her neck, she held the intricately twisted white gold necklace up to the soft light filtering through the lone window in the apartment. Taking a moment, she admired the craftwomanship of the delicate piece she’d just made with her own two hands. “Pretty, damn pretty.”
The stones, suspended on delicate wires, danced and prismed, giving off satisfying sparks resembling moonlight glittering off water and the rich purple of fine wine. “Very poeti—” Narrow-eyed, she turned to stare at the fog pressing against the window.
No one was watching her. Still, she rubbed the tingle, a primitive warning, on the back of her neck with her free hand. Her heart beat a little faster.
This piece was off to Klein’s Jewelers the next day, a special order, but for a few hours, it was hers.
Well, in some small way, it would always be hers. All her designs were made from gems—precious and semiprecious—pried straight out of her own jewelry.
In this case, the six round checkerboard-cut amethysts, held by three prongs, were from a necklace her father had given her on her thirteenth birthday. Those she was a little sorry to lose for their sentimental value. But she would be able to get two pairs of earrings out of the other stones still left in the original.
The .34 carats of pavé diamonds had been part of a bracelet her mother had picked up on one of her regular trips to her favorite flea market in Paris.
Heather’s heart ached when she thought about her parents. God—If only…There wasn’t a day in the past year that she hadn’t thought about them. She missed her mother desperately. Her death had rocked Heather’s world. The loss of her
Made no sense, but Caleb figured he was there, might as well save someone the trip. Fifteen minutes and he’d be done. He’d report in, results in hand, then pursue Lark in person for a mission. A real one.
“Yeah. Sure,” he told her easily. “I’ll give you a shout when I get the father’s location.”
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“Good luck.” Lark sounded…odd?
Caleb’s frown deepened at the strange inflection in her usually well-modulated voice. “What am I missing?”
“Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness?” On that cryptic note the phone went dead.
Caleb stared at it as he snapped it closed. Trust Lark to be enigmatic. She was a cross between a wizard, a mother figure, and a pain in the collective asses of her operatives. But as a control she had no match. Lark could juggle from one to twenty-one operatives simultaneously. Caleb would’ve staked his life on the fact that Lark could see the future. She never spoke of it. Ever. But the ability had saved many an operative’s rear end, no doubt. Her advice and direction were always sound and spot-on. No one argued.
When Lark Orela said jump, intelligent people asked how high.
Caleb didn’t bother glancing around the commandeered apartment to make certain he hadn’t left anything behind. He hadn’t. He’d shimmered in. He’d leave the same way. Sight unseen.
SANFRANCISCO
MONDAY, JANUARY16
3:22P.M .
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Hunched over her worktable, Heather barely registered the unfamiliar sound of the doorbell pealing downstairs. The fog had gradually thickened during the last few hours and now the opaque whiteness pressed at the window, obligingly obliterating a boring view, and muffling the sounds of traffic in the street below. She sighed with satisfaction, enjoying the moment. Soft jazz crooned from the bedside clock/radio, and the mug of steaming chamomile tea beside her was almost steeped enough and ready to drink.
Ignoring the vague, atavistic sensation stirring the hairs on the back of her neck, she held the intricately twisted white gold necklace up to the soft light filtering through the lone window in the apartment. Taking a moment, she admired the craftwomanship of the delicate piece she’d just made with her own two hands. “Pretty, damn pretty.”
The stones, suspended on delicate wires, danced and prismed, giving off satisfying sparks resembling moonlight glittering off water and the rich purple of fine wine. “Very poeti—” Narrow-eyed, she turned to stare at the fog pressing against the window.
No one was watching her. Still, she rubbed the tingle, a primitive warning, on the back of her neck with her free hand. Her heart beat a little faster.
This piece was off to Klein’s Jewelers the next day, a special order, but for a few hours, it was hers.
Well, in some small way, it would always be hers. All her designs were made from gems—precious and semiprecious—pried straight out of her own jewelry.
In this case, the six round checkerboard-cut amethysts, held by three prongs, were from a necklace her father had given her on her thirteenth birthday. Those she was a little sorry to lose for their sentimental value. But she would be able to get two pairs of earrings out of the other stones still left in the original.
The .34 carats of pavé diamonds had been part of a bracelet her mother had picked up on one of her regular trips to her favorite flea market in Paris.
Heather’s heart ached when she thought about her parents. God—If only…There wasn’t a day in the past year that she hadn’t thought about them. She missed her mother desperately. Her death had rocked Heather’s world. The loss of her