Kill List (Special Ops #8) Read Online Free PDF Page A

grooming eyebrows. She had seen all that and he hadn’t seen her. She would sketch what she saw if she could draw but she couldn’t draw well enough for that. She could, however, write down what she remembered. She would write it down, even though she doubted she would ever forget she still didn’t want to chance forgetting even the most minuscule detail. She had been so afraid that there were probably things she saw and they never registered because she was living with fear, sorrow, anger and the pain of watching the woman she loved like she was her own blood get murdered right before her and she couldn’t do anything to stop him, to save Amber. She couldn’t do anything and that made her angry with herself. She was there. She should have been able to stop him, to save Amber, anything. She should have taken that room to clean and sent Amber to the bathroom to clean. Things could have gone differently had Amber not had to move the case to reach the vacuum hose under the bed. Getting down on their knees and using the long extended hose to clean under the bed before doing the rest of the floor was a requirement in their cleaning regimen.
    Olivia would have just put the case on the bed, but since Amber had done the floor first and the bed was still a mess she had put the case off to the side and moved it around as need be. Then she had changed the sheets. She had already taken the dirty sheets and dropped them down the shoot and then came back and made the bed. She was just finishing things. She was just putting the case back. Why did it have to fall open? Why did he have to come back when he did?
    Feeling unsafe everywhere Olivia went down to the basement of the house, closing the door behind her. There was a bathroom down there so at least she would be able to go if she had to without going back upstairs. She could just hide out in his tribal decorated and history laced basement for however long it took. He would be back. He would come back for the funeral. Maybe he would know what to do. Maybe he could help her figure out what she needed to do. Until then, she would stay in hiding. Hiding was better than dying.

Chapter Two
    T he hum of the plane and the noise of the babies crying and people talking to people sitting right next to them as if they were talking to somebody five hundred miles away was filtered, but only because Chogan had his top of the line headphones on while he listened to whatever updates he could find.
    Chogan sat watching the news on the screen as he flew back home, realizing his going home was not for good times this time around. His going home was because of heartbreak and sorrow. When he got the request from his CO to come see him he hadn’t expected bad news. He had expected another assignment. He and his team had just gotten back not even two days earlier and most times they had at least a week or two between special ops missions unless something major came up. He didn’t mind working another mission that soon, but he was looking forward to getting some downtime and maybe spending a couple days in New York with his family before heading back out to get his next set of orders. He had expected more work, not the news of the murder of his little sister.
    “Police are concerned now for Olivia Marsei,” the dark as night reporter with the short cropped natural hair and red painted lips said. She sat there speaking in standard news person tones—the kind of tone that told him this woman didn’t care anything more about the murder than how much it could boost their ratings. Hell, he wasn’t so dumb to assume they covered the story for any other reason. Amber wasn’t white, and neither was Olivia. Had the hotel not been so high profile upscale, had the murder not been discovered, he doubted any of the stations locally, nationally, and even internationally would even cover the news of his sister’s death. No, it would have landed in a small box on page fifteen of a local paper, maybe, but he