Hunter: A Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page B

leaping across his chest. He’d meant it to be a point of focus, a distraction. It seemed to be working.
    “Well, Danika , I guess I just don’t have your taste and refinement.”
    She tsk-tsked . “What youneed is daily guidance from a woman of taste and refinement.” She leaned forward, the top two buttons of her pale-yellow silk blouse strategically unbuttoned. Whatever she wore underneath must have been spun from a single spool of gossamer.
    “No woman of taste and refinement would possibly want me,” he said, careful not to let his eyes drift south.
    “Don’t you be so sure, now.” She grinned, settling back and rocking her swivel chair so that he could get a good look at the rest of her. “You’d be an interesting project.”
    “‘Project.’ How romantic. How’s Tyrone?”
    She beamed. “He just had his fourth birthday party on Saturday. Ten neighbor kids showed up. They had a ball, but I spent all afternoon yesterday getting chocolate cake and ice cream out of the carpet.” She laughed. “That boy’s something. You know, before he opened his presents, he insisted on reading all his birthday cards out loud. Didn’t miss a single word.”
    “Such a bright little guy. Takes after a lovely lady I know. And how’s Melvin treating that lady?”
    She wrinkled her nose. “That man, he’s the most infuriating— Oh, don’t you get me started, now.”
    “Any mail?”
    “Nothing in two weeks. Just one call, this morning—Mr. Bronowski . That’s your editor, right?”
    “So he believes.”
    “He asked you to return his call today, if possible. And your one-thirty arrived early. Mr. Diffendorfer .” She tried to keep a straight face. “He’s occupying office number eleven.”
    “All of it, I’m sure.”
    She laughed, the dimples deepening in her smooth coffee skin. “You bad.”
    “ Danika , you have no idea.”
    *
    Hunter left her and headed down the hallway of the suite. It was a perfect set-up: a “virtual office” lease arrangement from a national chain that provided him a downtown address, mail and call-forwarding, and time-shared space whenever he needed it. Anybody who wished to find Dylan Lee Hunter could try to contact him here. But anybody whom he did not wish to find him would reach a charming but unyielding stone wall named Danika Cheyenne Brown.
    The conference room was empty, so he ducked in. From the thigh pocket of his cargo pants he pulled a cell phone. It was one of the many cheap, prepaid models that he bought anonymously, with cash, from drugstores throughout Maryland and Virginia , then dumped after brief use. He reinstalled the battery, thumbed the number for the managing editor’s line at the Capitol Inquirer , then sat on the edge of the conference table as the call rang through.
    “ Bronowski .” The voice was harsh and harried.
    “Hunter.”
    “Finally! Dammit , Dylan, you’re harder to get ahold of than a virgin on a first date. Don’t you check your messages?”
    “Annually.”
    “Very funny. Why the hell don’t you give me a direct number where I can reach you?”
    “I’ve told you. I don’t share my personal contact information.”
    “But this is stupid. I’m your editor.”
    “Not stupid. What I write upsets people. Powerful, nasty people. I need to protect my privacy.”
    “What, you don’t even trust me with your number?” Silence. “Well. I guess not, then. Dylan, this whole goddamned arrangement is weird. You realize we still haven’t met, even though you’ve been working for me for a year?”
    “Not for you, Bill. Not for anybody. I work for myself.”
    “Know something? Even for a writer, you’re an uncooperative, egotistical, insufferably arrogant prick.”
    “Hey—who are you calling ‘uncooperative’?”
    Bronowski laughed in spite of himself. “Well, you’re right about one thing. What you write does upset people. Wanna know who you’ve pissed off now?”
    “No.”
    “The frickin ’ governor of Maryland , that’s