Crave (The MacKenzie Family #11) Read Online Free PDF Page B

to being told no. He’d been the boss for too long. Fortunately she’d had lots of practice over the years. “You never have plans. You’re going to rot away in that house alone. Go out and have some fun. Make friends. Your isolationism is getting past the point of ridiculous.”
    “When do you turn into a nosy old woman instead of my father?” She smiled when he hmmphed on the other end of the line.
    “I beg your pardon? I am not a nosy old woman. I’m the goddamn ex-Director of the CIA.”
    “Ahh, there he is,” she chuckled. “Why don’t we talk about your hobbies, Daddy? Like maybe you should get some because being a matchmaker doesn’t really qualify.”
    “You’ve become entirely too much of a smartass since you turned thirty. Which is well past the age of settling down and starting a family.”
    “And the old woman is back. Maybe you should be tested for multiple personalities. I’ve got to tell you though if you start wearing one of those lacy scarves on your head like Aunt Tilda I’m going to call in a professional.”
    “I’ve never looked good in lace,” he said dryly.
    She laughed and said, “Enjoy your chicken dinner and chocolate cake. I love you.” She hung up before he could bring up her lack of a social life again. She lived her life exactly the way she wanted to.
    The crosswalk sign turned white and she went against the flow of pedestrians to the other side of the street, heading away from the snarl of traffic. The smell of red sauce from the little Italian place on the corner made her mouth water, and she thought briefly about stopping in for dinner. But she immediately felt the guilt of turning down her father’s invitation and walked on by. She had salad stuff in her fridge at home. That was punishment enough.
    The sun sat like an orange ball of flames just above the row of buildings on the opposite site of the street. It was hot enough to melt the soles of her shoes to the sidewalk, and she could feel tendrils of hair curling at the base of her neck. It was the miserable kind of heat—the kind that made it hard to draw in a breath and sucked the energy right out of the soul.
    She stopped for a moment to dig her sunglasses out of her bag and remembered she’d left them on her desk. She swore and slung her bag over her shoulder and a man jostled her as he passed by, not bothering to say excuse me. Her head snapped up to say something sarcastic to him but she swore in surprise instead.
    “Holy shit.”
    A silver car jumped up on the curb of the sidewalk, not ten feet in front of her, sending a couple of outdoor restaurant tables flying. The glass vases that had sat at the center of each table cracked against he pavement, and it was nothing but good luck that no one was seated outside because it was too damned hot.
    Time slowed and her eyes widened in horror as the car door swung open. All she could think was that it was just like a movie. An arm lifted and the dull sheen of the black gun glinted in the sunlight. His hands were nice. Like an artist. Or a piano player. With long fingers and a light smattering of dark hair on the back of the hand. She was close enough to see the gleam of a gold wedding band just before his finger moved to the trigger.
    She was the daughter of the former Director of the CIA. She’d trained and taken classes her entire life just in case. Her father always told her it never hurt to be prepared. Her instincts kicked in and she dropped to the ground, rolling for whatever cover she could find. It happened to be one of the overturned tables and she prayed no stray bullets would end up coming her direction.
    The gunfire sounded like it came from a cannon it was so close, and she watched as his hand jerked— one, two, three times — as he squeezed the trigger.
    The man who’d jostled her fell straight to his knees. He was so close she could almost touch him, could’ve reached out and touched the bottom of his shoe. She pulled her knees into her body so