Dangerous Games Read Online Free PDF Page A

bridge that linked City Hall East with the original City Hall. Night had dropped over the city, and the building’s terra-cotta tower was lit up, bright white against the darkness. Tess looked skyward as she and Crandall crossed the bridge in the open air. There must be stars, but they were hidden by cloud cover. Beside her, Crandall whistled “All the Way.”
    She envied Crandall. He was young and enthusiastic. Maybe he even had a girlfriend. She hadn’t had much of a personal life in recent years. One semiserious relationship that ended after a few months. Occasional dates that only left her feeling tired. Men outside law enforcement were intimidated by her—they made dumb jokes about her job, asked if she was carrying a gun, or maybe handcuffs, ha, ha—while the men she worked with in the Bureau were her subordinates, off-limits for intimacy. She was wary of the media people she encountered, and turned off by the community activists she’d met, most of whom knew nothing about law enforcement except what they saw on TV.
    “They’ve booked you into a nice hotel,” Crandall said. “The MiraMist in Santa Monica.”
    “I’m familiar with it.” Her voice was flat.
    “You’ve stayed there before?”
    “No. Mobius killed a woman there. In room 1625, as I recall.”
    “Oh.”
    “I hope they didn’t book me into that room.”
    Crandall was uncomfortable. “It is a nice hotel, though. The AD made the reservations personally.”
    Tess managed a smile. “I’m sure he did.”
    “He must have forgotten the connection to Mobius.”
    “He didn’t forget.”
    Mind games. Bad enough that she had to deal with the twisted psychology of killers and kidnappers. Worse, she had to counter the stupid thrusts of her own colleagues.
    Their FBI creds got them past the security checkpoint at the entrance to what was known as Old City Hall, built in 1928 and recently renovated. The third floor, home of various ceremonial chambers, was a maze of marble floors and walls, the ceilings decorated in murals of Malibu tile, the ornately carved doors sprouting bronze handles.
    “Not a bad place to come to work,” Crandall said as they proceeded down a glistening hallway.
    “Where are we going?”
    “Mayor’s office. Just off the rotunda.”
    He led her through an anteroom, waving away a receptionist with a flash of his badge. Tess found herself joining a crowd in the spacious expanse of the mayor’s office. A drone of conversation rose to the high, painted ceiling. Marble archways linked decorative columns. The place looked like a movie set—appropriate for LA.
    Across the room she saw the AD, who was making an effort to draw as close to the mayor as possible. The room was large, and ordinarily she might not have recognized someone from a distance in a crush of people. But there was a reason the assistant director had acquired his nickname, and it helped him stand out in a crowd.
    Resolutely Tess made her way toward ADIC Richard Michaelson, a.k.a. the Nose.
    Michaelson had risen far in the three years since they’d worked together. She wondered how much higher he would climb. All the way to the top, possibly. He had the right combination of political canniness and narrow ambition. He was smart enough to get ahead, but not so smart as to threaten anybody. He was obsequious toward his superiors, contemptuous of those lower in rank—exactly the personality profile they looked for in Washington. And he’d never been much good as a field agent—another plus in the minds of those who did the promoting, most of whom had never been any good on the street, either.
    She might be looking at a future director of the Bureau. Now, there was a thought calculated to keep her up at night.
    Michaelson caught sight of her as she drew near. He left the mayor and intercepted her.
    “Agent McCallum.” His voice was more nasal than she’d remembered. His nose seemed longer, too, as if he’d been telling lies. No doubt he had. “You’re almost