One Wrong Step Read Online Free PDF Page B

he’d noticed when they’d first arrived. With her long blonde hair and soft southern accent, this woman radiated “sorority chick.” But Rowe knew better, even if Stevenski didn’t. This woman was sharp. He wanted to signal his partner to get back to the subject of money. Rowe had reason to believe Robert Strickland was indebted to the Saledo drug cartel for a quarter million in stolen drug profits, money he hadn’t been in possession of at the time of his death. If his ex-wife had some knowledge about the money, it might mean a break in the case.
    Manuel Saledo wouldn’t turn his back on a debt like that—not because of the amount, which was chump change to him, but because he had a reputation to uphold. If Cecelia knew the money’s whereabouts, Saledo would damn sure try to collect. And when that happened, Rowe and his task force might get a chance to collar some high-level operatives in Saledo’s enterprise, hopefully someone who could help them develop useful intelligence on Saledo himself.
    “Are you almost finished with your questions, Mr. Stevenski? Like I told you before, I have plans for the evening.”
    Rowe shifted his attention back to Cecelia, who had just reminded him of the other thing bugging him—this lie she’d obviously concocted about a date coming over. Rowe didn’t know a woman alive who would go out on a date with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose. And she was wearing gray sweats that didn’t exactly make a fashion statement. He’d bet money Cecelia’s only plans for the night included a bottle of Chardonnay and another one of those bubble baths. Which meant she was trying to get rid of them. Which meant—despite her seeming cooperation and polite, thorough answers—she was uncomfortable being interviewed. Which confirmed Rowe’s suspicion she was hiding something.
    A buzzer sounded, and Cecelia sprang off the sofa.
    “Excuse me.” She rushed across the living room and punched a button on the intercom by the door. “Yes?”
    “Ms. Wells, you got a visitor here. A John McAllister?”
    She went still. Rowe would have liked to see her face, but her back was to him.
    “Thank you,” she said. “Please send him right up.”

CHAPTER
3
    J ohn stepped into the elevator and immediately noticed the fancy brass no smoking sign posted beside the door.
    Jesus, he wanted a cigarette. He rode up the three floors to Celie’s apartment, desperately wishing for just one drag, or even a piece of freaking Nicorette gum. Quitting smoking sucked, and he couldn’t have picked a worse month to do it.
    He’d spent all afternoon trying to talk to Celie, but her number wasn’t listed and she’d spent the day away from home. John had dropped by her building three times since noon, and each time the burly guy in the lobby had said she was out. Finally at 5:15, when the doorman or security guard or whatever the hell he was had called up to her apartment yet again, she’d picked up.
    John tried to imagine what she’d do when she saw him. Would she invite him in or tell him to get lost? He figured his odds were pretty evenly split.
    The last time he’d seen Celie had been just after Feenie’s wedding reception last summer down in Mayfield. Celie had left her car at the church, and John had offered her a ride home. He’d known she was going through a rough time, and he’d meant to play it cool, to give her plenty of space. But his noble intentions had evaporated after that first kiss on her front porch.
    She’d been backed up against the front door, looking flushed and tousled and sexy as hell. He still remembered her mouth, all red and swollen from where he’d nibbled on it. God, she’d tasted so sweet, and not just her mouth either. Her skin had tasted sweet, too, that pretty stretch of it from her neck all the way down to the top of her party dress. He remembered kissing her there, listening to her uneven breathing, getting revved up for all the things he’d been waiting to do with her for