Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) Read Online Free PDF

in the condo.
    “Nice. Perfect weekend ahead—murder on one, feel-good angels and miracles inside.” Bob leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head, every ear in the room waiting for the dismissal he’d used each day of my eight-plus years at the Telegraph . “My office is not newsworthy, so get out and go find me something to print.”
    I hopped to my feet and whirled for the door, just enough time left to make my coffee date.
    “Nichelle?” Bob’s deep voice carried over the chatter of our section editors.
    “Yeah, Chief?” I paused in the doorway and looked over my shoulder.
    “Stay ahead of Charlie. It’ll keep Andrews in his cave.”
    I nodded, the reminder of our publisher’s push for Bob’s retirement unnecessary. It had kept me running on coffee and Pop-Tarts until I’d beaten every reporter in town on the daily for five months. Bob had never let me down, and I wasn’t about to sit by and watch Rick Andrews take away his only reason for getting up in the morning.
    Maybe finding my creeper would lead to an exclusive that could be good for both of us.

      
    Kyle was already there, head bent over his iPhone, a latte cooling on the table in front of him.
    “You let your hair grow back out,” I said as I walked up behind him. “I thought the buzzcut was part of the hotshot federal agent uniform.”
    “I’m a rebel.”
    He grinned, tucking the phone in his back pocket as he stood and reached to hug me.
    “I like it,” I said, squeezing his shoulders briefly before I stepped toward the counter to order my caramel white mocha.
    The cryptic DMs pinged through my head again as the barista put the finishing touches on my latte. Dropping a dollar in the tip jar, I spun back for the table and pulled out my phone, still not sure how concerned I should be.
    “I don’t think this person’s pissed at me, but I’m worried that someone might end up getting hurt,” I said, opening the thread and handing Kyle my BlackBerry.
    He bent over the screen, his mouth twisting to one side as he read.
    “This is all you’ve gotten?”
    I nodded. “Bizarre choice for a creeper. He can’t write a manifesto in 140 characters.”
    “True. But he’s also harder to trace.” His fingers moved absently over the bristles of his auburn goatee. “They have so many users, who are all online at different times, that the site is damned near impossible to police.”
    I sat back. “Fantastic.”
    “Why you, though? And why haven’t you blocked this,” he looked back at my phone, “LCX12?”
    “I don’t have the first damned clue why me. And because I want to see what they’re going to say next. Duh. If I block it, how am I going to figure out what it means in time to help?”
    “Help who?”
    “Whoever ‘they’ are.”
    “That’s a mighty big umbrella you have there, Nichelle.”
    “I’m hoping you can help me shrink it.”
    He twisted in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, his left hand still worrying the goatee.
    “I think you’re right that you’re not in immediate danger. But if you insist on getting into this, you could piss them off. Which is never wise with someone who’s unstable.”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “White know about this?”
    “I showed him last night. He said he could try to trace an IP address. But he has a dead rich guy giving his homicide unit heartburn.”
    “I saw your story this morning. What’s up with that?”
    “Nothing you’ve heard about?”
    “Subtle.”
    “Just checking.”
    “I haven’t heard a word.”
    “So it’s probably not a dead shady rich guy. That puts my money back on a bad business deal or a pissed-off girlfriend. Aaron did say he wasn’t married, so it wasn’t a wife.”
    “Not his wife, anyway.” Kyle arched one eyebrow.
    “Oooh, I hadn’t thought of that.” I pulled out a notepad and pen and jotted it down. “I like the way your brain works.”
    He grinned. “Cause of death?”
    “They haven’t released it