Deserves to Die Read Online Free PDF
Author: Lisa Jackson
Ryder rolled into Grizzly Falls, Montana on a wing and a prayer. His old Dodge truck was wheezing by the time he pulled into a service station and mini-mart where he filled up his tank, added antifreeze to the radiator, and bought a prewrapped ham and cheese sandwich, bag of chips, and two bottles of beer.
He’d spied a motel on his way into town, one of those long, low buildings with a shared porch, empty parking lot, and a sign proudly announcing F REE WI -F I AND C ABLE T ELEVISION right next to the V ACANCY sign. Good enough. His back ached a bit, his stomach was growling, and he needed to settle in for at least a few hours to study the lay of the land and figure out if Anne-Marie had landed there.
It seemed unlikely, but then stranger things had happened.
Hell, didn’t he know it?
He drove back to the motel. After locking his old pickup, he crossed the icy lot and pushed open a glass door to a small, brightly lit reception area that smelled of bitter, overcooked coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke. A second after he approached the counter, a heavyset woman of fifty or so appeared through an open doorway leading to the inner sanctum of the River View Motel. Wearing a uniform that was on the tight side, she took one look at Troy and smiled widely enough to show off a gold crown on one of her molars. “What can I do ya for?”
“Lookin’ for a room.”
“That we got. How many nights?”
“Just one to start with.” After all, he wasn’t certain that Anne-Marie had stopped here. “Then, we’ll see.”
“Got a double-double or a king. What’s your pleasure?”
“One bed’ll do. ’Round back, if you’ve got a room there.”
“You’re in luck,” she said, then her eyebrows drew together as her hands clicked over the keyboard of a computer that looked as if it had been built before the turn of the millennium. “Well, I mean, if you call room thirteen lucky. It’s the only one that’s ready on the back side, where, you know, you get a river view. You’re not superstitious, are you?”
“Not much.” He filled out the required paperwork, listened to her drone on about the beauty of that part of the country, then snagged the key from her hand and returned to his truck where he drove to the far side of the building and parked in front of room thirteen, an end unit with what only an optimist could describe as a “view” of the river. Not that he cared. He hauled his gear inside, flipped on the lights, and closed the door.
A big bed that looked as if it sagged in the middle, a television on a stand, two night tables with matching lamps, and one chair positioned near the window were the extent of the furniture.
Good enough.
The place was showing its age. The carpet near the door was discolored, the comforter on the bed fading a little, the smell of disinfectant not quite masking a lingering odor of cigarettes, but all in all, it would do.
After cracking open a beer and taking a long swallow, he took a short shower, then changed into fresh clothes and went to work. One way or another, he was going to find Anne-Marie Calderone and haul her tight little ass back to New Orleans.
Alvarez was right.
Okay, she was right again , Pescoli thought as she drove down a winding lane that led to the partially built home where she and Santana were planning to live once they were married. Two days earlier, her partner had informed her that Dan Grayson was being moved from ICU and sure enough, when Pescoli had gone to visit him, the sheriff was in a private room, hooked up to all kinds of monitors, not too far from the hub of a nurse’s station.
She had expected him to be recovering a lot faster than he was, but she told herself to be patient. So he hadn’t woken from his coma, that didn’t mean anything. If it were a problem, certainly the doctors and nursing staff would do something. And Grayson’s family, his two brothers, Cade and Big Zed, had been at the hospital, along with Hattie, their
He’d spied a motel on his way into town, one of those long, low buildings with a shared porch, empty parking lot, and a sign proudly announcing F REE WI -F I AND C ABLE T ELEVISION right next to the V ACANCY sign. Good enough. His back ached a bit, his stomach was growling, and he needed to settle in for at least a few hours to study the lay of the land and figure out if Anne-Marie had landed there.
It seemed unlikely, but then stranger things had happened.
Hell, didn’t he know it?
He drove back to the motel. After locking his old pickup, he crossed the icy lot and pushed open a glass door to a small, brightly lit reception area that smelled of bitter, overcooked coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke. A second after he approached the counter, a heavyset woman of fifty or so appeared through an open doorway leading to the inner sanctum of the River View Motel. Wearing a uniform that was on the tight side, she took one look at Troy and smiled widely enough to show off a gold crown on one of her molars. “What can I do ya for?”
“Lookin’ for a room.”
“That we got. How many nights?”
“Just one to start with.” After all, he wasn’t certain that Anne-Marie had stopped here. “Then, we’ll see.”
“Got a double-double or a king. What’s your pleasure?”
“One bed’ll do. ’Round back, if you’ve got a room there.”
“You’re in luck,” she said, then her eyebrows drew together as her hands clicked over the keyboard of a computer that looked as if it had been built before the turn of the millennium. “Well, I mean, if you call room thirteen lucky. It’s the only one that’s ready on the back side, where, you know, you get a river view. You’re not superstitious, are you?”
“Not much.” He filled out the required paperwork, listened to her drone on about the beauty of that part of the country, then snagged the key from her hand and returned to his truck where he drove to the far side of the building and parked in front of room thirteen, an end unit with what only an optimist could describe as a “view” of the river. Not that he cared. He hauled his gear inside, flipped on the lights, and closed the door.
A big bed that looked as if it sagged in the middle, a television on a stand, two night tables with matching lamps, and one chair positioned near the window were the extent of the furniture.
Good enough.
The place was showing its age. The carpet near the door was discolored, the comforter on the bed fading a little, the smell of disinfectant not quite masking a lingering odor of cigarettes, but all in all, it would do.
After cracking open a beer and taking a long swallow, he took a short shower, then changed into fresh clothes and went to work. One way or another, he was going to find Anne-Marie Calderone and haul her tight little ass back to New Orleans.
Alvarez was right.
Okay, she was right again , Pescoli thought as she drove down a winding lane that led to the partially built home where she and Santana were planning to live once they were married. Two days earlier, her partner had informed her that Dan Grayson was being moved from ICU and sure enough, when Pescoli had gone to visit him, the sheriff was in a private room, hooked up to all kinds of monitors, not too far from the hub of a nurse’s station.
She had expected him to be recovering a lot faster than he was, but she told herself to be patient. So he hadn’t woken from his coma, that didn’t mean anything. If it were a problem, certainly the doctors and nursing staff would do something. And Grayson’s family, his two brothers, Cade and Big Zed, had been at the hospital, along with Hattie, their