Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler) Read Online Free PDF Page A

syrup of ipecac into Bratton’s Manhattan.
    Ipecac’s main use in past decades was inducing vomiting in children who’d accidentally ingested poison, although it was no longer recommended for that purpose. Now it was a favorite of the binge-purge crowd. A poison on its own, ipecac caused nausea when taken by mouth. Bratton’s profile suggested he was known for fluctuating weight and fad diets to offset his voracious appetite, so traces that might remain in his body was found could be easily explained away. And as a bonus, ipecac was sugary sweet, tasting similar to pancake syrup, a flavor the whiskey and sweet vermouth should camouflage nicely.
    I stashed the lipstick tube back in my purse and filled up my glass. Now all I could do was wait.
    The men were inside for only ten minutes, and when they returned to the limo, neither one was carrying a thing.
    When Jacob had mentioned a package of lab reports, I’d been envisioning a briefcase or at least an envelope. But judging from their free hands, this package must have been small enough to fit in a pocket. And I doubted Bratton would ever let his bodyguard carry something that was valuable enough to warrant a special trip to Chicago.
    I needed to get my hands in Bratton’s pockets. As luck would have it, my cover identity should make that a piece of cake.
    Heath opened the limo door for his boss.
    “Left your shirt open, I see. Good.” Bratton slid next to me on the seat, his hands immediately going for my nipples, pinching and twisting. “You like showing them off, don’t you?”
    I forced a giggle. “I like showing them off to you.”
    I had to figure out a way to kill this bastard soon or I was going to have bruises.
    I could feel Heath’s eyes on me as he climbed into the seat opposite, and the car started to move.
    “How long does it take to get to the airport?” I asked, managing to get a sip of champagne without spilling.
    “A few minutes. Plenty of time.” Bratton grabbed my free hand and plopped it on his crotch.
    Charming.
    But a good opportunity all the same, and I took it, feeling up his package while straying to the sides and checking his front pockets for the package he’d picked up at the bank.
    Other than his phone, they were empty.
    I set down the champagne flute and climbed astride his lap. As I kissed him, I ran my hands down his sides, over his suit jacket, then under.
    Nothing.
    That left only his back pockets. If whatever he’d retrieved was tucked into his wallet, I was in trouble. Although I could pick his pocket easily enough, I wouldn’t be able to verify I had what I needed, not in front of Heath. I had to convince Bratton to check into a Chicago hotel for the night.
    “Oh yeah, now we’re talking.” Bratton unbuckled his belt and lowered his fly. Placing his hand on the back of my head, he attempted to push my face toward his lap.
    I was going to enjoy killing him.
    “Wait, my mouth is dry.” Sliding down to the floor space in front of him, I slipped out from under his palms. I reached for his drink and shoved it into his left hand, the glass clinking against his rings. Then I lifted my own. “Cheers?”
    He ignored my attempt at a toast, instead slamming back his drink then plucking mine from my hand. Grabbing a pigtail in each hand, he forced my face into his lap. The rings on his left hand rapped me along the cheekbone hard enough to leave a mark.
    With little choice but to play along until the syrup of ipecac took effect, I slipped my hands to his ass. His back pockets felt as empty as the rest, only the square outline of his wallet standing out. Out of the corner of my eye, a ruby set in gold flashed in the evening sunlight slanting in from the west.
    Had he been wearing that before? All I remembered was platinum.
    The car stopped at a light and I could sense Heath watching me. Trying not to be too obvious, I shifted left to get a better look at Bratton’s ring.
    A second later, the window exploded.
    Pebbles of glass