Chosen to Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

the guy wasn’t answering. Finally, she’d dialed Nate Santana again with no luck. Though Pescoli hadn’t confided the name of her most recent in a string of loser lovers, Alvarez was certain Santana was the man she’d been seeing. The guy was just Pescoli’s type: a good-looking drifter who’d rolled into town a few years back and had recently caught Selena’s partner’s eye.
    When it came to men, Pescoli never seemed to learn.
    Her first husband, Joe Strand, had been a cop who had taken a bullet in the line of duty, but there had been questions about his ethics. Pescoli had admitted to Alvarez that she’d married Strand, her college sweetheart, after learning she was pregnant and that there had been cracks in their marriage, affairs when they’d separated a while. Luke Pescoli, her sexy-as-hell but useless second husband, now owed her thousands in back child support.
    That was the problem with Pescoli, she picked men for their looks rather than their brains or moral character. Nate Santana was a case in point. The guy was the quiet type, with black hair, razor-sharp features, and piercing dark eyes that never reflected any of his thoughts. An athletic cowboy type with a whip-tough body and cutting sense of humor, he appeared as ready to ride a bareback bronc as he was to spend all night making love.
    Good for a fling, maybe. Definitely not suitable for a husband, which Pescoli had claimed she didn’t want anyway.
    Alvarez blew her nose and told herself not to worry. After all, Pescoli had called in. Again Alvarez replayed the message:
    “It’s me. Hey, I’ve got a personal issue to deal with. Lucky and the kids. It might take a while, so cover for me, will ya?” Pescoli’s voice had been firm. Determined. Borderline angry.
    So what else was new?
    But that call had been made yesterday.
    No word from her today.
    Something was off. Definitely wrong. Pescoli was nothing if not a dedicated cop. Surely she would have called again, especially since there had been an arrest in the Star-Crossed Killer murders. No way would Detective Regan Pescoli have missed out on the action, not after months of trying to track down the whack job.
    Sniffing, Alvarez tossed the tissue into her overflowing trash basket tucked under her desk. This cold—flu—she’d contracted was starting to really piss her off.
    She doubted that she was overreacting. Even though Pescoli had indicated whatever issue she was dealing with would take some time, this was all wrong.
    Alvarez glanced at the clock mounted high on the wall. Pescoli’s message had come in late yesterday afternoon and since that time the Spokane Police Department in Washington state thought they’d arrested the killer.
    Alvarez wasn’t so sure.
    Nothing seemed right today. But soon Sheriff Dan Grayson would be on his way to verify that the person who had been captured by the Spokane Police Department, and was now accused of being the serial killer who had terrorized this part of Montana, was their sick doer.
    But Alvarez doubted the suspect arrested would prove to be the Star-Crossed Killer. The person in custody was definitely a would-be murderer, but so far, Alvarez hadn’t been able to tie the suspect to any of the previous crimes. She glanced at the pictures of the victims lying upon her desk. Five women. Different races and ages with no connection to each other. She bit her lip and tapped her fingers as she thought about how hard Regan Pescoli had worked the case.
    She would have moved heaven and earth to be a part of the suspect’s arrest, no matter what her personal issues were. And she would have known about it. The stand-off and arrest had been splashed all over the news. Though most of the members of the press had swooped down on Spokane, a few reporters had stayed on in Grizzly Falls, still camped out in the surrounding streets, hoping for a new angle on the biggest story to hit Grizzly Falls since Ivor Hicks had claimed he’d been transported to a mothership