Nightwalker Read Online Free PDF Page B

Paris, and have themstanding by at Charles de Gaulle Airport. And send two more to me now—not Tongue or Vaughn.”
    â€œRight.”
    Striker glanced up just as Takala Rainwater was leaving the candy store. Her arms were laden with a grocery-size shopping bag and her carry-on. She must have bought ten pounds of fudge, but she carried it beneath her arm as if it weighed nothing.
    Striker caught a whiff of the fudge, and it mingled with the sweet metallic scent of her blood. Blood was his candy, or poison, depending on how one looked at it. The potency skated through his senses. He took a deep, shuddering breath. His desire to taste Takala Rainwater was becoming more and more a forbidden temptation. But he would overcome it. He knew what happened if he didn’t. He could become like Raithe again, and that he would never let happen.
    She paused at the door of Arlene’s Tid Bits, one eye on Culler, then rummaged through the shopping bag. She came out with a chunk of fudge. She licked it and moaned softly at the pleasure of the taste.
    Striker imagined something very similar, only involving her neck or, better yet, the femoral artery that pulsed at the top of her thighs. The unbidden daydream dissolved when two of his agents appeared at his side. One was Katalinga, a lynx shifter. She had dark brown short hair, upturned feline eyes, and wore a brown spandex pantsuit that sheathed her body. She always looked as if she’d stepped out of the sixties. Brawn was a wizard. Tall and built like a wrestler. He had short-cropped auburn hair and deep, serious green eyes. He wore blue corduroys, a pin-striped oxford shirt, and a gray blazer.
    â€œHello, sir,” Katalinga purred. She had a Swedish accent, which only accentuated her r ’s. “Reporting for duty.” She sniffed the air. “What’s that delicious aroma?”
    â€œThat would be one of our targets standing in front of that clothing shop behind me.”
    â€œHer blood really smells delish.” Katalinga licked her lips. “We should get a copy of that for the lab so they can reproduce it.”
    â€œOur techs are talented, but I doubt they can invent anything close,” Striker remarked.
    He and the B.O.S.P. blood-dependent employees injected themselves with a serum that sustained them for twenty-four hours between feedings. It helped them when they were out on a mission. The serum left an aftertaste in the mouth, a “flavor” as the techies called it. Yet it could never come close to human blood. And he felt certain never equal the taste of Takala Rainwater’s.
    The serum supplemented Striker’s usual diet of freeze-dried animal blood that he reconstituted. It was the worst-tasting substance imaginable, but he only drank it for survival, not pleasure. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed anything or found joy in anything but his work.
    He’d had enough small talk and said, “Keep them safe and in view at all times.”
    Brawn had been studying Takala Rainwater as she ate the fudge, and he appeared enthralled. “You mentioned two targets?” he said without taking his eyes from her.
    â€œThe other one is in the store at the register.” Striker felt a sudden pang. Was it possessiveness? No, more a feeling of familiarity. What seemed so familiar about Takala Rainwater? He couldn’t lay his finger on it. Otherthan her aromatic blood, she was nothing to him but a problem. Why should he care who looked at her? “We’ll switch off. You both are on now. I will check out the gate and make sure it’s clear.”
    â€œAffirmative,” Brawn said.
    Striker walked down to Gate 5, glad to have some distance between him and Takala Rainwater. He didn’t need distractions at present. What he needed was a moment alone with Culler, to discover what she knew about Raithe and if she was still in contact with him. And he would, tonight on the flight, when he had his