Possession Read Online Free PDF Page B

radio on the kitchen counter, picked up a few items and went back outside to the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
    Akela virtually melted to the mattress, both disturbed by her attraction to this man, her captor, and frustrated that despite all her training and experience she was essentially chained to his bed.
     
    T HE STRAINS OF ZYDECO wafted out on the thick air as Claude walked to the edge of the porch and dialed his brother’s business number from his cell phone. The receptionist immediately put him through.
    “Jesus, Jean-Claude, what kind of trouble have you gone and gotten yourself mixed up in now?” Thierry said in lieu of hello.
    He moved the towel on his shoulder to the railing alongside his wet T-shirt. He’d hoped the police hadn’t gotten to his brother yet, that they had slowed their determination to track him down. Obviously the hope had been in vain.
    He looked through the screen and watched Akela try to crane her neck so she might hear his end of the conversation.
    “Have you really kidnapped an FBI agent?” his brother asked.
    “Aye, that I have.”
    “Mon dieu.”
    The fact that his brother was treating him as if it was only yesterday when he’d last been in trouble, instead of over a decade ago, added to his disquiet.“Look, Their, I didn’t call to get the third degree from you. I need the number of a good attorney.”
    “Did you do it?”
    “Murder that woman?” He ran his hand over his face. “Do you even have to ask?”
    Silence for long moments, then a sigh. “No.”
    “Good then. Find that number for me, won’t you, brother? I’ll call back in ten minutes.”
    He rang off then ran his thumb over the lighted numbers of the display. He wasn’t sure how sophisticated surveillance techniques were, but he wasn’t about to chance being traced through some sort of satellite GPS system. So he determined to keep any calls he made brief and to the point, and his phone powered off in between.
    Next, he dialed 411 and asked for the direct line to Eighth District Police Station, Homicide Division.
     
    C HIEF H OMICIDE D ETECTIVE Alan Chevalier studied the details in his notepad, then reached for his coffee on the lobby counter of Hotel Josephine. He misjudged the position of the foam cup and instead knocked it over, spilling its contents all over the guest book he’d been going over.
    The hotel’s pretty owner, Josie Villefranche, hurried to sop up the mess with paper towels she pulled out from behind the counter.
    “Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a few sheets and wiping up what he could from his end. He realized that some of the hot liquid had splashed on his tie and he dabbed at that, as well.
    Even as he did so, he caught himself staring with distaste at the stained piece of cloth, along with his wrinkled overcoat.
    There was a time not so long ago that he had taken a certain amount of pride in his appearance. Even his co-workers had once jokingly named him “Best Dressed Detective” one year, complete with a plaque.
    Now he couldn’t seem to drum up the enthusiasm to take his things to the cleaners.
    At thirty-six, he felt fifty-five. Of course, it didn’t help that he knew he was completely responsible for the changes he’d undergone. When you bedded the captain’s wife—no matter if they were estranged and lived in separate houses—it was only understandable that the boss would be a little pissed. Over the past ten months he’d been run through the wringer, suspended twice—once for a week, the next for a month—had pulled double duty and caught the blame for anything that went down wrong.
    He knew he was being set up for dismissal. Knew it and couldn’t do much about it but make sure everything he did on the job was aboveboard.
    Still, the only thing that could make him forget about his professional life was drinking his way through his personal life.
    He ran his fingers over the two-day stubble on his chin, his head reminding him of his binge the