Death Stretch Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Evidence is inconclusive. We're waiting on toxicology.”
    “Poison? Yikes, I didn't smell almonds on his breath when I tried to resuscitate him. But then, I didn't do mouth-to-mouth.”
    “We ruled out cyanide. And that's all you're getting out of me.” He moved to the kitchen door.
    “Hey, Dirk?”
    He turned and waited.
    “You said someone tried to run me down yesterday. Like my accident wasn't one. How do you figure?”
    “No skid marks.”
    “But there wouldn't be skid marks, he wasn't trying to stop.”
    “Exactly.”
    Sometimes my denseness surprises even me. “But that means ...”
    Dirk's hand came up. I thought he'd touch me but he dropped his arm to his side. “You're too cute to get hurt again. Lock the damn door, Katie.” My mouth continued catching flies as the door fell shut behind him.
    Locking the door, I headed for the phone. I warned Ginger that Dirk lurked on her trail. Then I poured another glass of wine. Dirk seemed to be on my trail too. Boy Howdie, what a lucky girl.
    ****
    I let the magazine drop to the floor. Inspired by the article on giving head, I turned my attention to the fine specimen in front of me. “Let's see. This says I should run my tongue up to...”
    The phone rang.
    “Let it go.” Johnson, no, Dirk growled the words. His hand snaked out, his fingers grabbed the back of my neck. He pulled me against his chest and his lips attacked mine, driving me into sensory overload.
    The phone kept ringing.
    I pulled back. “I should get that.”
    Dirk's lust-filled eyes were the last image I held from my dream. I blinked, turned my head toward the end table and picked up the phone.
    “Katie, are you alone?”
    I sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” Although come to think on it, having a dirty dream about someone I met the day before might be safer than doing the real thing.
    “Katie, I received another letter.”
    I jerked myself upright and leaned my head against my couch back. That second glass of wine had put me down for a nap in front of the television.
    “Could Morgan have sent the note yesterday?”
    “The message came hand delivered.”
    “Ginger, he could have arranged for delivery before...”
    “I don't think so.”
    “Why not?”
    My friend sobbed. I stood, ready to do battle.
    “Katie, the note says,” she inhaled, the sound loud in my ear. “It says they have Morgan's photos and the price has gone up. I'm also being threatened about Morgan’s murder. The blackmailer says I have motive and opportunity.”
    Holy crap. “I'll be right over.”
    I wiped the sleep from my eyes and brushed the parts needing brushing in record time, which said something given my damaged physical state. I limped to the car Ginger loaned me over my limp protests. Even though the vehicle was her oldest, least expensive automobile, its original purchase price would've made a down payment on a hefty mortgage.
    Ginger and I had been friends since kindergarten. Years later, after my parents' deaths, she kept me going. We'd do anything to protect each other and have. I was her maid of honor when she married Rob, but we were maids of honor for each other long before.
    Anger spiked and churned my stomach. Ginger had made one big mistake. One, in all the years we'd hung together. Now that judgment lapse had bitten her in the backside and whoever threatened her could bite my butt. No way I'd let some sleaze take down my friend.
    I turned the knob and pushed, but the door didn't open. Detective Johnson had apparently been preaching his lock-up sermon to my best friend too.
    Ginger threw open the door and enfolded me in a tight hug. When we pulled apart, I saw her red-rimmed eyes and mentally cursed the blackmailer again.
    “Is Rob here?”
    “No. He had to go into the office.”
    On Sunday night? I didn't say that, but my suspicion hung in the air. “So we can talk?”
    Ginger grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, turned and locked the door behind me. So much for feeling safe in the little