Deadeye Read Online Free PDF Page B

covered with blinds. But the streetlights were on, and strips of greenish light were visible through the slats. Was that where the looker had been standing? Staring out through filthy glass? Probably. Assuming her instincts were correct.
    As the light tilted up, Lee saw something that made her blood run cold. Because there, written in red spray paint, was the name BONEBREAKER . She felt a stab of fear and whirled, ready to defend herself. But she was alone. If the Bonebreaker had been there, he was gone.
    So what to do? She could let the Bonebreaker team know, in hopes that they might find some sort of evidence in the house, but was a name on a wall enough to justify that? No, Lee decided, it wasn’t enough.
    It did scare the hell out of her, however, and Lee was happy to leave the house. Five minutes later, she was in her apartment and changing into some sweats. Then it was time to zap her dinner and carry it into the evidence room. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten there and wouldn’t be the last.
    Assuming the name had been spray painted onto the wall by the killer himself, the first question was
why
?
To spook me,
Lee decided.
To elicit fear.
If so, it was working.
    What did that mean? That he was stalking her? That she was the next person on his hit list? Maybe. Although there was no clear indication that the Bonebreaker had a list. All of his victims were cops. That much was glaringly obvious. But beyond that, the homicide detectives had never been able to come up with a common denominator. Not age, race, or gender. The Bonebreaker was an equal-opportunity killer.
    Lee ate as she reviewed her records, which was to say a bootleg copy of the department’s records, looking for mention of precrime warnings or signs. There weren’t any. So either the spray-painted name had been put there by someone else, or it represented a new behavior on the killer’s part.
    Don’t jump to conclusions,
Lee told herself
. What if there were previous postings? But nobody noticed them?
It was a good question. Because the odds were against anyone’s noticing a name spray painted inside an abandoned house. It wasn’t a crime scene after all—and the entire city was covered with graffiti. The discovery felt important at first, but after giving the matter some additional thought, Lee realized that it wasn’t. The police couldn’t monitor all of the city’s tags checking for what might or might not be a warning.
    No, the discovery wouldn’t lead to the killer. But it was another entry in the profile that Lee was trying to construct. Assuming the killer had been there and written on the wall, it might mean that he or she had accepted the name bestowed upon him or her by the media and come to take pride in it. Did that stem from ego and narcissism? That was possible. If so, those characteristics might cause him or her to make a mistake someday. Lee would be waiting.
    *   *   *
    The sun was up, and it promised to be another hot day as Conti turned the corner and drove down the street. He’d been out the night before, partying with some of his buddies, and wound up in bed with a blonde he barely knew. What he needed was a steady girlfriend. Somebody to spend evenings with—somebody who had a brain. Like Lee? Yes, the girl was smart and hot to boot. She was serious though . . . Haunted even. Could he make her happy? It would be fun to try.
    Conti parked the car, made his way up to Lee’s apartment, and pushed the button. The doorbell had just started to ring when someone jerked the door open. And there, much to Conti’s amazement, stood Cassandra Lee. All dressed and ready to go. “Come in,” she said. “The coffee is ready.”
    Conti followed her in, surrendered the box, and made his way over to the kitchen table. Lee put the burritos in the microwave for thirty seconds before bringing them over. The coffee came next. “No need to