First Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

partner banter. “Do you want to hear it from me or the cop who was at the scene? Turns out he’s getting bumped up to homicide next month. Nice guy. His name is Gus Lido. He’s in the interview room if you want to hear it firsthand.” A-Rod grabbed his coffee and handed the bag back to me. “Thanks for the pastry, Chalice, but I’m allergic to chocolate.”
    “Allergic to chocolate? What planet are you from?”
    “It gives me the runs.”
    “I thought it only had that effect on dogs. Christ, you don’t eat chocolate? That’s like being a communist.”
    “Tick tock, Chalice—you want to speak to the nice patrolman or not?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” I shook my head disparagingly and snatched the pastry bag. “ Geez, you think you know a person.”
    So there I was toting my coffee and two chocolate croissants. Each yummy treasure was good for roughly four hundred calories and enough butter to fry a carton of eggs—certainly more than I needed and certainly enough to add a premature double chin. I’ll give one to the new guy. I spotted him sitting at the conference table. Oh my God. He was gorgeous. If I were a tabby, I’d classify him as catnip. If I were a moth, he’d be a flame. If I were … oh hell, you get it. I could almost visualize a flashing neon sign above his head: JACKPOT!
    I cleared my throat to get his attention. He stood up and smiled. This was no half-ass smile. It was warm and incredible. Okay, this guy was more than just a little attractive—he was total lady-bait. He’s probably an asshole , I rationalized—one of those guys with smoldering good looks and the ego of a rock star. You know, too good to be true. Get your shit together, girl. Raise the cloaking device. Don’t let him know … I extended my hand, greeting him as if he were gender-neutral. “Hello, Officer Lido, I’m Cha-lee-see , Stephanie Chalice.” A funny thing happened when he touched my hand; my knees buckled. I reached out and steadied myself on the conference table.
    “Are you okay?” he asked as he grabbed my arm and helped me into a chair.
    “What the hell?” I said in a tone that suggested utter bewilderment. Nice going, Stephanie—real smooth. I rolled my eyes. “Low blood sugar.” Don’t say “thanks.” Better he thinks you’re a jerk than a love-struck schoolgirl. I retrieved a croissant and hacked into it, up to my bicuspids in flaky, yummy goodness. “That’s better.”
    “Do you have a blood sugar problem?” he asked with concern.
    Not yet, thank God, and hopefully never, but diabetes took my father’s life, and Ma was recently diagnosed with it as well. Genetically speaking, I’m a marked woman. I felt ashamed for making up the cheap low-blood-sugar excuse. I should’ve told the truth. You’re dreamy . “Not normally. It’s just that I haven’t had anything to eat since …” I shrugged. Dinner? My expression made it seem as if I hadn’t eaten in months. Okay, back to business. “So I hear that you’re joining the squad—are you sure you’re ready for all of this madness?”
    “It’s madness at every level, Detective. I almost lost my partner out in the field the other night.”
    “No shit, that was your partner?” NYPD cops are as tightly knit as Kim Kardashian’s Spanx. If something happens anywhere in our universe we hear about it instantly—it’s a phenomenon akin to a disturbance in The Force. We had all heard about the patrolman whose throat was slashed at a Westside construction lot. “Stokes, right? Mark Stokes. How’s he doing?”
    “I saw him last night. He’ll be released this afternoon. The perp swiped at him trying to get away from us.” Using his thumb and pointer finger, Lido demonstrated the size and location of the wound on his partner’s throat. “Sliced the windpipe but missed the major blood vessels.”
    “Your partner is a lucky guy. Does he have a family?”
    “Yeah, wife and two boys—has a house in Queens.”
    “I just saw a knife