Illusions of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

Watched the thin red line of blood form.
    “I’m just sorry that brown isn’t one of the colors of the rainbow. You know—painting you brown. How appropriate that would’ve been for a UPS guy.”
    He drank in the terror. Let it wash over him like a balm.
    And then got to the business at hand.

Chapter 5
    Logan glanced at his watch and logged off his work computer as he turned to his partner.
    “I’m outta here.”
    Brad flipped another page of Sports Illustrated . “Got a hot date?”
    He snorted. “Yeah. Cruising down to Peachtree Plaza to rendezvous with Mila Kunis. We’ll pick her up a little slinky something at Victoria’s Secret before grabbing drinks. Then we’ll head over to the W Hotel and crash in a suite where we’ll have wild animal sex all night long.”
    Brad tossed the magazine into his lower desk drawer. “I love it when you talk dirty.” He paused. “But that sounds like one of my nights, Choir Boy. Not yours.”
    Logan stood. “I’m going to my parents for a home-cooked meal.”
    “And break up Mahjongg night? Or is it pinochle?”
    Logan flashed a grin. “Hey, we’ll be old, too, someday. That’s probably all the action we’ll be able to handle.”
    Brad shook his head. “Not me. Never gonna get married. Just like James Buchanan, our only bachelor president. In fact, never gonna fall in love. Or play board games. The only cards I’ll ever pick up will be for strip poker.”
    He stood. “Besides, I’m the one who plans to zip down to the city and catch some action tonight.”
    Logan shook his head. “Just keep tomorrow’s hangover to yourself, okay?”
    “Right, Mr. Boy Scout. Will do.”
    They both pulled their suit jackets from the back of their chairs and slid into them as they walked out of the station. Logan watched as Brad climbed into his year-old Corvette, midnight blue and as fast as the devil. He figured Brad had family money, based upon how frequently he traded in expensive sport cars, as well as his fashionable wardrobe. No way could he look like he did on a small town cop’s salary.
    He never asked, though. Brad was all smiles and charm, but he didn’t advertise his personal life. Logan understood because he kept most of his bottled up. That made them a perfect team.
    He started up his modest sedan and pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto Franklin. Within five minutes he’d arrived at his parents’ ranch-style house. Violet and white pansies bloomed in the flowerbeds. The paint job he and his dad did last fall still looked good.
    Logan rang the doorbell. His mother answered, drinking him in as if she hadn’t seen him in months.
    “Oh, sweetie, how are you?” She wrapped her arms around him. “I made lasagna. Hope that’s okay.”
    “Sounds good, Mom. I’ll be sure and take any leftovers off your hands if Dad’ll let me.” He followed her into the kitchen, where the table was set for three.
    Mitchell Warner tossed a salad. “Hey, son. Thanks again for coming.” He lifted his nose in the air and breathed deeply. “Smells delicious.”
    “Oh, Mitch, you act as if I starve you.” Resa swatted her husband’s butt with a dishtowel. “Tell Logan the truth. After forty-two years, you’re tired of my cooking. You’d rather eat out or zap a microwave pizza or Hot Pocket.”
    “Whatever you say, honeybun. Why don’t you check the sourdough? Should be warmed by now. Logan, open that wine, please.”
    They gathered around the table, the food rapidly vanishing as the conversation flowed.
    “So you closed those B&E’s. Anything else new?”
    “Broderick Campbell collapsed today in the middle of the road.”
    Resa gasped. “My goodness, is he all right?”
    “We called an ambulance. It might’ve been a stroke.”
    Mitchell Warner perked up. “Stroke, you say? Did he go to Our Lady?”
    He nodded. “Brad and I went to his house and drove Mrs. Campbell to the hospital. I haven’t heard how he is.”
    His mother sighed. “My book club wanted