If Looks Could Kill Read Online Free PDF

“Terrif.”
    The search continued, but all they found was more of the same—except for some live rats cluttering in the corners. Which didn’t make either Spy Girl very happy. They also found an office on the second floor. But other than cobwebs, a desk, and a rickety old chair, it had been picked clean.
    They returned to the first floor, near a series of rusty garage doors that served as the main loading dock.
    Theresa sighed. “Well, that’s it.”
    â€œWhat about the basement?” Jo asked, delicately risking a seat on a crate.
    â€œI don’t think there is one,” Theresa said. “There’s no way down. Maybe the building’s too close to the water to have a basement.”
    Jo picked a piece of warehouse grit from her perfectly pressed Calvin Klein jeans. “Who knows. What’s the next move?”
    Theresa shrugged. “I guess we head back to the flat. Hopefully my new laptop has arrived. I can take another hack at Lucien.”
    â€œAnd I can have a bath,” Jo replied, wiping her hands on her sweet Armani sleeves.
    They moved toward the front door, but something she saw out of the corner of her eye stopped Theresa. Something on the floor a few yards away. She shone the light.
    It was a bright piece of cloth, decorated with an intricate red-and-yellow pattern.
    â€œHold up, Jo.” Theresa picked it up and showed her partner. Jo reached out and held it between her forefinger and thumb, rubbing the fabric.
    â€œIt’s silk,” she said. “ Nice silk.”
    â€œLook, it’s cut into a sleeve pattern,” Theresa pointedout. “But it hasn’t been sewn yet. Maybe they were storing textiles here.”
    â€œYeah, and maybe it was left from the previous owner,” Jo replied. “I mean, silk in East Asia isn’t all that rare, right?”
    â€œRight,” Theresa said, dropping the sleeve. “I think I’m just clue happy. I’m starving—let’s get some dinner.”
    They hit the street, checking first to see if anyone was lurking. The coast seemed clear. Theresa tossed what was left of the padlock into the harbor, and they walked briskly toward the tourist district.
    â€œI wonder how Caylin’s doing,” Jo said, looking out at the water.
    â€œProbably up to her black belt in peace and love,” Theresa replied. “Hope she doesn’t go crazy. I bet—”
    A loud roar cut Theresa off. The Spy Girls whirled at the sound. And froze.
    Four motorcycles squealed around the corner. Each was driven by a mystery figure clad in black leather from head to toe. As Theresa and Jo watched, stunned, the motorcycles stopped in a row and sat there, revving their engines ominously.
    â€œFriends of yours from home?” Theresa whispered.
    â€œNot me,” Jo replied with a gulp. “Maybe we look like old girlfriends.”
    â€œThat must be it,” Theresa said, taking a tentative step back. “Who says romance is dead?”
    â€œRomance . . . or us ?”
    The riders’ leather seemed darker than Darth Vader’s in the dim light. Their helmets covered their entire heads, and the visors were mirrored. But that wasn’t the worst part.
    Each rider carried a weapon. One had a baseball bat. Another had a pair of nunchaku—two lengths of wood attached by a thick chain. A third had a telescoping steel baton. And the last rider?
    He slowly reached over his shoulder and unsheathed a razor-sharp samurai sword. He held the sword high and spun his wheels in place, kicking up a cloud of gray smoke.
    â€œUh, T. . . .”
    â€œYeah, Jo?” Theresa said, staring at the blade.
    â€œI think we’re in trouble.”
    With a loud screech of rubber, all four riders roared toward the Spy Girls!

FOUR
    Caylin traced circles in the gravel with her toe. Jenny had been gone for a while, disappearing into the main temple. Caylin hoped that Uncle Sam had