Persuasive Lips Read Online Free PDF Page A

locomotive. Agent Jones waved to him and he waved back. So did Miss Davis.
    “There’s this great little diner over on King Street. Just a couple blocks away. I have something to ask you over a hearty meal...” He offered his arm and she took it. As they walked away, a nagging little feeling caused her to turn her head.
    No, it couldn’t be. She could have sworn she’d seen Alfred Hitchcock waddling alongside the train with a film can tucked under his arm.
    “Agent Jones, is that Alfred Hitchcock back there? Was he on our train?” She panted in fear.
    They stopped at the curb. He didn’t look back. “Agent Jones? My you sure are formal, Della. I should think after our little game on the train you would call me Ashley. Actually what a nice thought that conjures up. Soon you’ll be screaming out my name every time I take you to heaven.”
    “But aren’t you concerned there might be a movie of what we did? My goodness! I’ll be ruined. My reputation will be despicable. I’ll never work in this town again.” Della felt the sourness churning in her stomach. Wait a minute, what was it he was asking me? Does he think I’m going to make love with him willingly? Wait, I was very willing. He asked permission and I granted it. And it was tons better than I had even dreamed of. And my goodness, what a catch he is.
    They crossed the street as the light turned. A black Plymouth sedan sped towards them through a red light. Jones hurtled Miss Davis onto the sidewalk and they rolled to the grass. The car disappeared around the corner.
    “Come on!” He yanked her to her feet and they ran up the concrete steps toward the George Washington National Masonic Monument.
    They rushed inside through the front door then ducked into a stairwell without seeing anyone else. Della’s throat was dry and she was stumbling up the stairs behind him, grasping for the railing with one hand as he yanked her onward by her opposite wrist.
    They finally stopped when the stairs ended. He handed her the paper bag. With his service weapon drawn, Agent Jones shoved open the door and stuck his head into the unlit corridor. There were no windows.
    He pulled her through and quietly closed the door behind them.
    Della didn’t dare speak, not that she could say much of anything with her dry mouth and absence of much oxygen to her lungs.
    He maneuvered them into a room and locked the door. Agent Jones struck a match and walked along the walls until he found the mantel. He lighted two oil lamps, then threw the match into the fireplace as it singed his finger. A tiny dry twig caught the flame.
    He turned his attention to Miss Davis. He took the bag from her. Dumping the shoes, beer bottles and sheet out, he placed the paper sack over her nose and mouth and said, “Breathe into this. You’re hyperventilating. Calm down.”
    She complied and her respirations returned to normal. “Thanks.”
    He tossed the sheet onto the pile of oak in the fireplace. It went up in smoky flames, burning just long enough to ignite the other kindling and persuade the oak to smoke before catching on fire.
    He used his pocket knife to pry the lids off of two warm beers. He offered her one. “Here, drink this.”
    “Thanks.” She coughed a little on the first gulp, then drank half of the bottle. “Hey, what time is it anyway? Respectable ladies don’t drink alcoholic beverages before breakfast.”
    “Respectable ladies aren’t being chased by thugs.”
    “Who are we running from?”
    “You tell me. What have you done, Miss Davis and who have you done it to?”
    “What? I don’t like what you are insinuating. I have done nothing that would cause hooligans to run me down in broad daylight.” She wracked her brain, trying to think of anyone she’d irritated lately. She had gotten a little catty with one of the lady secret service agents, but that was all good clean fun. No, not really, because deep down she’d meant the insults. It wasn’t fair the other girl got to