Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet Read Online Free PDF Page A

partly. “What’s a Flowbee?”
    “Angel.” I put a finger under his chin and stroked the barely emerging growth of hair
     that peppered his jaw. “I need to know where he is.”
    “Can I see you naked first?”
    “No.”
    “You want to see me naked?”
    “No. And yuck.”
    He straightened, offended. “If I was still alive, I’d be older than you.”
    “But you aren’t,” I reminded him gently. “And I’m sorry for that.”
    “You aren’t going to like it.”
    “That’s okay. I just need to know where he is.”
    “He’ll be at Garber Shipping in the warehouse district tonight.”
    “At a shipping warehouse?” I asked, surprised. “Is he working there?”
    Reyes had money. Lots and lots of money. His sister told me. So why would he be doing
     manual labor for a shipping company?
    After Angel took a long moment to nibble at a hangnail, he said, “Depends on your
     definition of work.”
    *   *   *
    After being stunned speechless by Reyes’s new job title, I walked toward my front
     door, wrapped a hand around the knob, then rethought what I was doing. I was going
     to face Reyes Farrow. Unarmed. Reyes had never tried to hurt me directly, but he’d
     been out of prison for two months. Who knew what the man was capable of? He’d probably
     learned a lot of bad habits since leaving the big house. Like cheating at poker. And
     urinating in public.
    Even though I wasn’t much for carrying firearms—every time I carried a gun, images
     of it being wrestled away from me and used to end my life always flashed before my
     eyes—I headed back to my bedroom for Margaret. I figured, when facing a dirty, lying
     scoundrel like Reyes Farrow, one couldn’t be too careful. Or too armed. So I slid
     a belt through the loops of my jeans, holstered the Glock, then snapped the clasp
     closed.
    After another deep breath, I headed out the door only to lose steam when I came to
     the stairs. The same stairs I’d taken a gazillion times before. They looked steeper
     somehow. More dangerous. My hands shook on the rail as I paused on each step, working
     up the courage to take the next, wondering what in the name of thunder was wrong with
     me. True, it’d been a while since I’d ventured out, but surely the world hadn’t changed
     that much.
    When I finally made it down two flights of stairs to the first floor, I studied the
     steel entrance door to the complex. It sat ajar, not quite closed, and daylight streamed
     in around the edges. I forced one foot in front of the other, my breaths shallow,
     my palms slick with a nervous energy. I reached a quaking hand for the vertical handle
     and pushed. Daylight rushed in, flooding the area and blinding me. My breath caught
     and I pulled the door shut. Leaning against the handle for support, I took in long
     gulps of air, and tried to calm myself.
    One minute. I just needed a minute to gather my wits. They were always running amok,
     wreaking havoc.
    “Ms. Davidson?”
    Without thought, I drew the gun from my holster and aimed toward the voice coming
     from the shadowy entranceway.
    A woman gasped and jumped back, her eyes wide, gaping at the barrel pointed at her
     face. “I—I’m so sorry. I thought—”
    “Who are you?” I asked, holding the gun so much steadier than I thought possible,
     considering the irrational state of my insides.
    “Harper.” She held her hands up in surrender. “My name is Harper Lo—”
    “What do you want?” I had no idea why I was still holding the gun on her. Normally,
     nice women with no hidden agenda whatsoever didn’t scare me. It was weird.
    “I’m looking for Charley Davidson.”
    I lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Not just yet. She could turn out to be psychotic.
     Or a door-to-door salesperson. “I’m Charley. What do you want?” I cringed at the sharpness
     of my own voice. Why was I behaving so badly? I’d eaten a good breakfast.
    “I—I’d like to hire you. I think someone is trying to kill