Poisoned Pearls Read Online Free PDF

wasn’t a man out there whose dick actually felt that smooth. Or
who smelled like plastic and melted rubber.
    “Really?” Ms. Monroe asked, incredulous. “This is the most
popular dong in your store?”
    We had put up helpful, handwritten signs on some of the
aisles, suggesting products to those too shy to come up to the counter and ask.
    I shrugged. “We sell a lot of them.” I didn’t know if many,
or even any, of them got put to serious use, or if they were primarily gag
gifts.
    “Huh,” was all she said before she disappeared back into the
aisle again.
    Three times six is eighteen. Three times seven is twenty
one. Three—
    “You know, whatever you’re doing won’t work.”
    Damn it. I hadn’t seen her sneak out of the aisle and
approach the front. “What do you mean?” I asked. I knew my guilt was probably
written all over my face—damn my Swedish mother and my fair skin.
    “I’m not a telepath,” Ms. Monroe said. “You can’t distract
me from your thoughts. I’m a post-cog. That’s all.”
    “Sure,” I told her. Three times three is nine.
    She smiled and shook her head at me, as if she were dealing
with a particularly endearing, if stubborn, child.
    “So how can I help you tonight, Ms. Monroe?” I asked.
    “Please, call me Sam. Short for Samantha,” she said, holding
out a beautifully pampered hand for me to shake, the nails done in a perfect
French manicure that probably cost more than I made in a month.
    “Cassie. Short for Cassandra,” I told her. I clasped her
hand, then figured, what the hell, and brought it to my lips for a quick kiss.
Her lotion smelled surprisingly of lemongrass, not anything girly. The skin was
softer than silk and, I suspected, very addictive.
    “Sorry,” Sam said, pulling her hand back.
    “I’m not,” I told her cheekily. “Wrong team?” I asked.
    “Out of your league,” she said demurely.
    Wait a second. Did that mean that—
    “You are involved
with your friend’s—Kyle’s—death,” Sam said, derailing any question
I might have asked.
    “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “I didn’t get him
killed.” If she kept telling the police that, my life was sure to be hell. The
cops would start coming after me. I’m sure they still considered me a person of
interest in the case.
    “You’re tied up in it,” Sam said vehemently. “I don’t know
how. I’ve never seen anything like it before. You weren’t there watching it,
but you were still there, present, the whole time.”
    “I was working the entire time,” I told her hotly. “You can
check the in-store cameras.”
    “I know you were here,” Sam replied, clearly as frustrated
as I was. “I don’t know how you’re connected. Just that you are. And you need
to be careful of what you see.”
    I rolled my eyes. Great. Was she about to go off into some
pre-cog loop like Angela? Just what I fucking needed.
    Cops might haul me down to the station out of spite if I got
their prize post-cog all in a twirl.
    When Sam didn’t add anything after that, I asked, “Any idea
what I’m not supposed to see?”
    Sam shook her head. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know. I’m
not a pre-cog. Just whatever it is, it’s strong enough to break through to all
the blessed in the area. I had a
friend come down and check.”
    Figured she’d call herself that, and not the more secular
term. If she even knew it.
    “Well, thank you for that news flash,” I told her.
    “I’m trying to help you here!” Sam insisted.
    “How?” I asked. “By giving me these half-assed warnings?”
Seriously. What did she expect me to do? Keep my eyes shut for the rest of the
night? The week? The year?
    Sam gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I know this isn’t
making any sense. But just—be aware! Hopefully it will make sense before
it’s too late.”
    “ Ain’t that the story of my life,”
I told her. I was never fucking aware of anything :
not of my ex, Natasha, double-dipping with that whore Frieda right here