Dark Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

idiot. It was a pisser to lose Kung Fu Charlie, but what bothered him the most was that noise he’d heard behind him. What the hell was that? It was just noise, except for the sense of danger he’d felt.
    Madrone, still lugging the skin, ignored the yups and turned slowly, looking back toward the alley. All at once, he saw the dark opening as the maw of a huge animal. He swallowed.
    Watching every corner and shadowy niche, Madrone stuck to the streetlights all the way back to his car.
    He wrestled the door open, tossed the scaly skin onto the floor of the backseat, jumped behind the wheel, and pulled out without even checking the traffic. Luck was with him. A few people sat on their horns, but nobody creamed him.
    He blew past a stop sign on Ontario, turned right onto LaSalle, and headed north. He stomped the accelerator, ignoring the way the Mustang’s overworked engine whined, and followed Sheffield up toward the lake, almost ramming a taxi as he passed the huge, dark bulk of Wrigley Field. He raced through the city and didn’t let up on the gas until he turned onto Sheridan. He was getting close to home.
    Madrone kept looking in the rearview mirror, knowing it had to be paranoia. There was no one following him. No one in the backseat. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—no, some thing —was after him. The fear did not leave him, and he began to wonder if he’d snapped. He’d seen other cops lose it. Maybe he was next. Christ, he was hauling around a fucking animal skin…
    At a stoplight he turned, hooked his right arm over the seat, and stared at the mound of scales on the floor-board in the rear of the car. He considered opening the door and tossing it out. But he couldn’t. The Fu Manchu accountant had mentioned Carlton Wheeler. And he’d tried to take the skin. What possible connection could there be between the two?
    Madrone turned into the parking garage below his building, waited impatiently while the card reader swallowed his keycard, burped it back, and broadcast a signal that sent the wide chain door clanking upwards.
    He should have felt safe here. It was a secured building, one of the older high-rises along Sheridan that Lake Michigan had nearly swallowed a couple of decades before. He’d been living there then, when they had piled sandbags along the first floor to keep storm waves out of the empty apartments.
    The place had a doorman, cameras, and continuously monitored hallways and elevators. But he didn’t feel safe. He had to force himself not to run through the parking garage. He’d never noticed how dark it was in the garage before. Just a few old, flickering fluorescent tubes that cast everything into eerie blue shadows.
    He kept telling himself his feelings were irrational, but that didn’t stop him from shooting frequent glances over his shoulder and listening to the hollow sound of his heels echoing in the drafty concrete chamber. Like a tomb…
    He thought about going back to his car and returning to the precinct house, even though his shift was long over, just so he wouldn’t have to be alone. But that was crazy, too. Wasn’t it?
    He walked through the lobby, checked his mailbox, and exchanged a few words with the doorman, ignoring the way the man looked at the bundle of scaly skin under his arm. Looked at it and wrinkled his nose. Well, fuck him…
    He pushed the button to call the elevator, and waited. The elevator took its own sweet-ass time, and another eternity passed before he finally got to his floor. The skin was cumbersome, bulky, and slippery, and he kept having to shift it to keep it from sliding out of his arms.
    His keys clinked as he fumbled with them at the lock. Keys always got themselves tangled up whenever you least needed that kind of crap. He nearly slammed them to the floor in frustration before he got a grip on himself.
    Blame it on fatigue, maybe, but he’d just be lying to himself. His hands were still twitching. Crashing off the adrenaline