Deadly Little Secrets Read Online Free PDF

speak, Italian. Nor had she checked the names on the file.
    The woman stood for a moment longer, trying, Ana guessed, to figure out a way to find fault. Hoping to get out of it with better grace, Ana offered, “Did you want a listing of the sites and the individuals I’m searching?”
    â€œNo need,” Pretzky said, but didn’t bother to hide the annoyance this time. “Carry on.”
    It took her a few minutes to settle her heart rate, but Anna did go on. She printed out several of the searches, then wiped them from her search list, from the history, and from her hard drive. A dedicated effort would bring them up, but no one else in the building, especially IT, had that kind of time.
    She packed up for the day, and faced the prospect of an empty Friday night with a grimace. At least she’d have something to look forward to on Saturday, and there was always work she could do from home.
    Saturday was full of Jen and her doings. Jen positively glowed and couldn’t say enough about what a gentleman her Millionaire Jack had been. By the time they’d gotten through lunch, Ana was thinking longingly of her quiet apartment. Instead, Jen dragged her shopping and out to dinner.
    By Sunday’s solo dinner of leftovers, she’d seesawed back to actually being grateful that she’d had Jen’s antics for a distraction. Monday was full of phone calls and meetings, and she was grateful for the distraction, working late again just to avoid her empty apartment.
    On Tuesday, finally on the road to Mr. G’s estate in the hills north of San Francisco, she was pleased with all the background work she’d been able to plow through on the defrauded victims. The thorough understanding she had of Mr. G’s losses should make today’s meeting interesting.
    Ana drove up to the speaker at the edge of the driveway into the compound. Several workers bustled around a landscaping truck on the other side of the driveway, and there were workers cutting grass beyond the ornate fencing. By habit, she made a note of the license plate, counted the number of workers, noted the lone woman working the crew.
    â€œState your business, please,” the voice said, a second time since she hadn’t answered the first hail. Embarrassed, she briskly stated her business.
    â€œYou’re expected, Agent Burton,” the man said, and directed her to drive through the first set of gates.
    To her surprise, the gates shut behind her, trapping her between them and the next set. “What the hell?” she muttered, noting the openings in the second wall. “Huh, the modern version of arrow slits and murder holes,” she decided, seeing the shadow of movement behind one of the gaps.
    The sharp-eyed and well-armed guard asked for her identification and, unsmiling, took it into the guardhouse. He was apparently reading the contents to someone who approved, because he nodded and put down the phone with a smile. He was far more pleasant when he returned her documents.
    â€œThank you for your cooperation, Agent Burton. As I said, you’re expected, but we double-check everything.”
    As an answer, she took her identification and put it away before she spoke. “I hope no one would attempt to impersonate an agent.”
    The man grimaced. “They try everything,” he muttered, glancing beyond her car to the outer gates. “Really.”
    She moved through the estate at an easy pace, appreciating the peace, quiet, and beauty that money could buy so close to the city. The estate was a huge, well-manicured fortress.
    She arrived at the front portico, and a man was waiting for her. It was a bright day, but the area shaded by the overhanging canopy left the man standing there in shadow. Her dark glasses made it worse. All she could tell was that he was above average height. Judging by the dramatic doors behind him, he was at least six feet tall, probably a little over that. A dark gray,