Last Known Victim Read Online Free PDF Page B

his turn to “pass along.”
    Which was too bad. His brothers had damn good taste—he would miss the largesse.
    He’d certainly been glad to have this place. Located at the Uptown bend of the Mississippi River, the Riverbend area had been among the twenty percent of the city left high and dry after Katrina.
    He’d been host to a dozen family members after the storm. And to Stacy Killian, his girlfriend and fellow NOPD detective, whose City Park double had taken on four feet of water.
    Stacy was the only one still with him.
    Spencer stepped inside. “I’m home,” he called.
    â€œBack here.”
    He followed the sound of her voice and found her in front of the bathroom mirror, applying makeup. She wore a pair of snug-fitting, low-riding jeans and a small stretchy top that exposed a nearly indecent expanse of her flat belly.
    â€œLooking good, Killian.”
    She met his gaze in the mirror and smiled. He saw that she had lined her eyes with a deep smoky color.
    â€œGlad you like.”
    â€œOh, yeah. Not your usual look, but I could grow accustomed.” He crooked his finger. “Come on over here and I’ll show you.”
    She sauntered over and slid her arms around him. He nuzzled the side of her neck. “Never mind that I’m not going to let you out of the bedroom in that getup, but… damn. ”
    â€œSorry, stud.” She rubbed herself against him, teasing. “It’s for my new job.”
    He cocked an eyebrow, playing along. “New job? You’ve left DIU? Quit the force to move on?” Not so outrageous, considering when he met her she’d quit the Dallas force and moved to New Orleans to go to graduate school. And study English lit.
    That hadn’t lasted a semester.
    Truth was, you either were a cop or you weren’t—it wasn’t something you could just give up. Like smoking. Or the bottle. There wasn’t a twelve-step program for reformed cops.
    Though most days, he thought there should be.
    â€œMmm,” she said. “Moving on to the Bourbon Street Hustle.”
    The Hustle billed itself as a “gentleman’s club.” Skanky titty bar was a better description, one that catered to tourists, bikers and those who couldn’t afford upscale clubs like Rick’s Cabaret or Temptations.
    Just a few years ago, Bourbon Street had been dotted with places like the Hustle, but those had become fewer as the high-end, luxurious clubs had appeared on the New Orleans scene. Folks who wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like the Hustle felt comfortable frequenting this new breed of club.
    Given what was left of the traditional Bourbon Street clubs, the Hustle wasn’t bottom of the barrel, but damn close to it.
    She kissed him, then stepped away. “Undercover gig. Starts tonight.”
    He was a cop, she was a cop. She had a job to do and could absolutely take care of herself.
    But the thought of her down there, looking like that, being drooled over by a bunch of horny bastards…That he didn’t like it would be an understatement.
    He dropped his gaze to her chest. The tops of her breasts spilled out of her tight shirt.
    She laughed at his expression. “Victoria’s Secret, Wonderbra. Uncomfortable as hell.” She crossed back to the mirror to admire her cleavage. “Bet these babies’ll get me some major tips.”
    Not exactly what he wanted to hear. “I need a beer.”
    â€œGrab me a diet Coke. I’ll be out in a minute.”
    She appeared as he was taking a swallow of his beer—and nearly choked on it. Her short blond hair had been transformed to a long auburn mane. Between the makeup and wig, he wouldn’t recognize her in passing.
    Which, of course, was the point.
    â€œI’ve always wanted to be a redhead, now I’ve got the chance.” She grinned and caught the can of soda he tossed her. “This is going to be fun.”
    She was liking this drug