Mastered by His Touch-Complete Box Set Read Online Free PDF Page B

picture?"
     
    "Oooh, I sure do," said Nikki.
     
    "Now add to that the arrogant way George Clooney walks and talks like he's the total shit."
     
    "Oh honey that's the total package right there," said Nikki.
     
    "Hey!" said Dan, "I'm right here!"
     
    "Sorry, hun," said Nikki and kissed him on the cheek. "Nobody's more manly than you."
     
    We were at Mass Ave. We turned right. The cars on the Pike hummed in streams underneath us.
     
    "So do you have anything else to go on?" said Nikki.
     
    "No," I said. "That's the problem. All I know is that he's rich and his name is Horace Willoughby."
     
    "Horace Willoughby?" said Nikki. "No way. That isn't the name he gave you, is it?"
     
    "Yes, why?"
     
    "That's the name of a character in a book I read a long time ago. Damn, I don't remember the name of the book but I remember Horace Willoughby because it was so silly."
     
    I almost stopped dead in my tracks.
     
    "Was the name of the book Death at Sea? " I said.
     
    "Yes!" said Nikki. "That's it. You've read it then."
     
    "No. I just... I ... I think I just heard it somewhere," I said.
     
    "It's the most god-awful boring story," said Nikki. "My dad had an old copy on his bookshelf. I think it was written back in the 1930s. Or twenties maybe. It sucked."
     
    "What's it about?"
     
    "You know, I completely forget. Something about a treasure. It was so bad I've forgotten the details. I just remember that name."
     
    "Hmm, interesting," I said.
     
    After pinging our Charlie Cards and passing through the stalls, we parted ways. Nikki's place is in the North End and I lived the opposite direction in Allston. I fucking hate Allston. I'm only there because it's cheap but I'm sick of the college parties, the dilapidated buildings, and people throwing up in the streets.
     
    As I rode the B-train I noticed a guy I had seen earlier. About forty, red hair in a crew-cut, plain dark green jacket, black pants and shoes. Reading a newspaper.
     
    A light chill surrounded my body. I'm not sure why, but I felt incredibly vulnerable all of a sudden.
     
    The B-train emerged from the tunnel and several people got off at Blandford Street. At each stop, the crowd thinned more and more but Red Crew-Cut just stayed there.
     
    Where did I see him earlier in the evening?
     
    Trying to remember, I stole a couple of glances at him. He was engrossed in his paper.
     
    The restaurant!
     
    Before we went in, he was outside. I saw him standing in front of a doorway. And he was reading a newspaper then!
     
    My heart beat faster. I reached into my purse without looking and touched the key.
     
    The damned key.
     
    What the fuck? Why is this happening to me? Why did Horace Fucking Willoughby give me that damned key? Does he want me to retrieve what's in the box?
     
    Doesn't he know there's no way I can do that? Not only would it be a breach of bank security, I could never possibly get away with it. Not with all the protocols and security cameras in place.
     
    Like anyone ever checks that.
     
    Troy's words came back to me in a flash. No, I think Troy is wrong. If anything suspicious ever happened, the first thing they would do is retrieve the video.
     
    But they wouldn't retrieve the video if they didn't know anything was taken.
     
    Shut up, Kiri. I'm not taking what's int the box. It belongs to H.
     
    H.
     
    My God, I barely know this man. And yet I'm comparing every man I see to him now. I'm even going home with strangers and pretending they're him. I'm not acting like myself at all lately.
     
    Not to mention those two vividly lifelike flashes of being on a sinking boat. What the fuck is that? And now I swear I'm being followed. I think I might be losing my mind. Maybe it's time to seek some help.
     
    The train lurched left a little too fast at Packard's Corner. Red Crew-Cut kept staring at his paper.
     
    I'm just being paranoid, right? He probably had dinner with friends in the Back Bay and is heading home just like me, right?
     
    I zipped