Kill Plan (Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers -) Read Online Free PDF

out. I have an IP address and a location.”
    “What kind of watch list? Are we talking terrorism? If we are, then you should go through the counter-terrorism division. Those agents would be better qualified than me to—”
    “He’s not a terrorist.”
    “Who is he? What’s he done?”
    “I can’t get into the details right now. Just trust me, OK?”
    In Ingrid’s experience, whenever Marshall asked for her unquestioning trust, things never turned out well.
    “We’re wasting time. Check it out—don’t identify yourself as a Federal Agent, come up with a cover story.”
    “What?”
    “Report what you find and we’ll decide how to proceed. No need to alert him the FBI are on his trail.”
    “Shouldn’t I get some back up?”
    “It’s probably nothing. Just check it out. I’m texting you the address.”
    And with that he hung up.
    Less than a half hour later, Ingrid had arrived in Dulwich, an area in south-east London roughly seven miles from the city center. She kicked down the prop stand and climbed off the bike. She’d parked fifty or so yards from the address Marshall had texted her, in a regular residential street. As far as she could see, the houses were a mix of large, smart detached properties with well-maintained gardens and even larger double-fronted buildings that had been converted into apartments. Some of the houses had shiny new SUVs parked on their driveways.
    Once she’d stored her helmet and gloves, she made her way slowly up the street, doing her best to look like a lost tourist. According to her GPS, the property she was looking for was around the next corner. She approached it cautiously, checking the street for any signs of activity. Apart from a dog walker at one end and a guy washing his car at the other, the street was surprisingly quiet for a sunny evening on a public holiday. She sniffed the air and detected a definite tang of grilled meat and supposed people were enjoying barbecues in their backyards.
    Marshall had called her back just after he’d texted her the address and reminded her that under no circumstances should she identify herself as an FBI agent. But he still refused to answer any of her questions. She’d worked out a fairly lame cover story on the ride over. Hopefully it wasn’t so lame it would arouse suspicion.
    Number twenty-three was the third property on the right. She walked purposely up the driveway of the wide, white stucco house and rang the door bell for apartment two. She waited for thirty seconds or so then rang again, keeping her finger on the buzzer. After another half minute the door creaked open a crack, a suspicious face peered at her through the gap. The woman at the door was probably late twenties or maybe early thirties, thin and very pale. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard French pleat. It was the color of cherry Kool-Aid. A small, dark green tattoo of a crucifix decorated the left side of her throat. It was a classy look.
    Marshall had told Ingrid she was looking for a man in his mid-thirties.
    “What is it? Who are you?” The woman’s accent was eastern European, one of the Baltic states, Ingrid reckoned. Estonia or Latvia, maybe. The crucifix tattoo danced as she spoke.
    “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I wonder, could I use your bathroom?”
    The woman looked Ingrid up and down and narrowed her eyes until they were no more than heavily mascaraed slits. Then she looked over Ingrid’s shoulder, toward the street.
    “I wouldn’t ask, only I’m desperate. You’re the fifth house I’ve tried. Seems no one is in.”
    The look of suspicion still hadn’t left the woman’s face.
    Ingrid reached into her purse and retrieved a tampon and held it up between thumb and forefinger. “You see, it’s kinda embarrassing.”
    The woman raised her eyebrows. “OK—you make it quick, yes?”
    “Thank you so much.”
    The woman ushered her into the house, pointed toward the half-open door of her apartment a few feet away, then stuck