Death on Heels Read Online Free PDF Page A

you’re the only man I’d stage a jailbreak for.”
    Vic kissed her. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that. You’re my Get Out of Jail Free card.”
    “Don’t stop rubbing my neck. You missed a spot.”
    Vic stopped anyway. He grabbed his black leather jacket and headed reluctantly toward the door. “Gotta go. My flight leaves in a couple of hours.”
    “I wish we were going together. I’ll see you Sunday.” She opened the door for him. He paused, and stroked her face.
    “You got your way with Mac. What about your friends? Stella’s going crazy with that wedding thing. Think she can do it without you?”
    “She’ll live, and I’ll have a blessed break from talk of tulle and ruffles, or whether it’s the leather bustier or the velvet corset for the wedding.”
    “And Brooke?”
    “Busy with work. Can’t get away. You know I love them, but…” She let out a deep breath and glanced ather watch. “Anyway, I have a powwow with the Pink Collar Posse in an hour. I’m sure I’ll get my last-minute instructions.”
    “This crazy mercy mission of yours couldn’t come at a worse time,” Brooke said, slinging her bulging briefcase into the booth at the restaurant. “My caseload is full. Stella is up to her bustier in strategizing all things wedding. What if you need us? What if I need you because Stella is driving me crazy?”
    Stella gave Brooke The Look. Brooke Barton, Esquire, was Lacey’s sometime attorney, full-time friend, and longtime Washington conspiracy theorist.
    “I’ll be fine,” Lacey said. “So will you. And Stella.”
    Stella frowned. A look of pique crossed Brooke’s face. It was eight o’clock on Friday night and Brooke still wore a sleekly tailored pin-striped suit of indeterminate color, somewhere between taupe and gray. Her long blond hair was twisted back in a tortoiseshell clip, strands escaping picturesquely around her face. Lacey knew this was Brooke’s hey-it’s-the-end-of-the-day-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-my-hair look.
    The third member of their group was Stella Lake, Lacey and Brooke’s loyal friend and fabulous-yet-opinionated hairstylist, who was at the moment planning her nuptials and more crazed than ever. Stella wore a tight purple sweater with deep-dipping décolletage, a short, tight, red miniskirt, and purple-and-white-striped tights. Her eyeliner and mascara and currently chestnut-colored cupid curls made her look like a naughty Raggedy Ann doll who had lost her way.
    Lacey wore old jeans and a soft, deep turquoise sweater. On her feet were comfortable low-heeled boots, not cowboy boots, and her hair was free. She felt a little subdued next to Stella, but a lot more comfortable than Brooke.
    Stella tapped her purple fingernails on the table, drawing their attention to her irritation, and to her engagement ring, which sported a large diamond solitaire.
    “I’m with Brookie,” Stella said. “This trip is totally rotten timing, Lace. Like, I know you gotta go. But to be honest, it kinda feels like you’re abandoning me. Us.”
    “Hey, I’m not abandoning anybody. Life doesn’t run on schedule. Don’t worry, Stella. I’ll be back in time for your wedding.”
And in time to wear whatever scary bridesmaid dress you finally decide on
.
    Stella’s choices for dresses had been all over the map, from Renaissance Goth Princess to Judy Jetson high on rocket-fuel fumes. Lacey shuddered at every new idea, each a little further over the top than the last. At least there was no time now for custom-made dresses. They’d have to buy them off the rack. Lacey just hoped the rack wasn’t at the costume shop for
The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
    The trio met for a quick dinner at the Southside 815 restaurant in Old Town Alexandria, instead of someplace in the District. It was two blocks from Lacey’s apartment, and she was still dithering over last-minute details. They ordered the Southern-style appetizers, crab and corn fritters, fried green tomatoes,