Parker And The Gypsy Read Online Free PDF Page B

grip, snarling, “Mr. Storm ain’t got no time to waste with you, wise guy. He told me to request your presence and I’m requestin’. Now, it can either be at your convenience or your inconvenience, if you get my drift.”
    Mike’s hand clenched into a fist, his immediate impulse to deliver a solid blow to the big ape’s solar plexus. He didn’t know what stopped him. It was what a younger Mike Parker would have done. But maybe he was finally starting to get a little older and wiser. Maybe he remembered too well the result of his last encounter with good old George—three cracked ribs, a dislocated jaw and a night in jail.
    And maybe it was nothing more than the besetting sin that had landed Mike in a heap of trouble more than once in his life—curiosity. It had been a couple of years since he had crossed paths with Xavier Storm and they hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms. What the hell could Storm possibly want with him now?
    After a brief hesitation, Mike forced himself to relax. “All right,” he said, breaking George’s grip with a quick, sharp movement. “I’ll go see your boss. Just keep the paws to yourself. I wouldn’t want to have to do anything that would mess up your pretty uniform.”
    George gave a contemptuous snort but retreated a step. As Mike sauntered over to the car, the driver dogged his heels like a suspicious pit bull preparing to chomp into Mike’s ankle at any moment if he showed any signs of attempting to escape.
    Mike noted the limo awaited him, eased next to the yellow curb of a no-parking zone. But that was typical of Storm’s arrogance, Mike thought sourly. From his penthouse high atop his hotel casino at the end of the boardwalk, the man thought he owned the whole damned town.
    George stepped forward to open the rear door. He barely gave Mike time to scramble inside the limo before slamming it closed again. Mike sank down into an air-conditioned interior that was better outfitted than his office—dark luxurious leather upholstery, a minibar, a TV, a personal computer and printer. All of it was as sleek, cool and expensive as the man who sat in the opposite corner, speaking into a cellular phone.
    Xavier Storm gave Mike a brief nod of greeting and continued with his conversation, which seemed to consist mostly of dictating orders to whoever was on the other end. Storm could have been an ad for Gentlemen’s Quarterly, not a strand of his thick black hair out of place, his tailored linen trousers crisp, his necktie perfectly arranged, his subtle pinstripe shirt immaculate, the square links that fastened the cuffs simple in design, but obviously solid gold.
    He gave an impression of height and power even while lounging in the back of a limo, his hooded green eyes dispassionate, faintly bored as he listened to whatever excuses the subordinate was apparently whining into his ears through the phone. The cast of his features was gaunt, almost predatory. Mike supposed Storm could have been called handsome, if you liked that lean, arrogant look that many women appeared to, including Mike’s own ex-wife.
    The chauffeur resettled his large bulk behind the wheel of the car. Never missing a beat in his phone conversation, Storm depressed a button, raising a tinted glass, turning the back seat of the limo into a very private, sealed-off world.
    â€œHow cozy,” Mike muttered, his fingers drumming out an impatient tattoo on the armrest. Between the minibar and a seat large enough to be a bed, Storm really had it made. Make-out city if the rumors about Storm were true. An unwelcome image surged into Mike’s head no matter how hard he tried to fight it.
    So was it here in the back seat that Storm had seduced Darcy, or had he deemed her worth the cost of a hotel room?
    The thought no longer had the power to burn Mike with a jealous rage, but the cold ashes of his hate for Storm remained.
    Even if it hadn’t