Seven Wonders Read Online Free PDF Page A

angry police chief persona normally found on cheap late night made-for-TV movies. It would have been hilarious, had both Sam and Joe not felt his cold temper on more than one occasion. It didn't look like today would be any exception; if anything, things were about to get very unpleasant indeed. Today Captain Gillespie was well within bounds to blow his stack.
      The chief's walk was brisk from his newly parked car, a car exactly the wrong shade of turd brown that no civilian in their right mind would ever order, marking it as a police vehicle as clearly as any standard black-and-white paintjob, even without the nub of the Kojak strobing silently over the driver's side. The chief hadn't even bothered to close the door.
      In the growing heat of a California summer's day, Captain Gillespie couldn't have looked more out of place. Sam often wondered whether he had a whole closet full of plain black suits, the color of which was just a tone darker than his skin. In the few short steps it took to reach his subordinates, he'd broken into a sweat, beads of sticky perspiration pebbling his bald head.
      Sam self-consciously clasped her hands behind her back, an action to hide the brunette wig, but it was too quick, too obvious, doing nothing but making her embarrassment even more apparent. Sam felt her partner tense beside her and out of the corner of her eye saw him shake his head. It wasn't his fault, and not for the first time, Sam felt ashamed at the way she dragged Joe into her… obsession.
      Gillespie took a long drag on his cigarette. The end flared as he pulled air through the burning tobacco, taking a long, deep lungful. He was making a point, and Sam knew it. He was in charge, and they would just have to wait until he was good and ready. End of story.
      "No one dead, at least." When Gillespie finally did speak, it was quiet, calm, polite even. Sam and Joe looked at each other, unsure who should speak or what the response to the chief's inaccurate observation should actually be. While they fumbled for an answer, Gillespie dragged again, finishing the cigarette and tossing it to the tarmac where it lazily smoked like a spent shell. He held his breath for a moment and Sam watched, imagining the rush of nicotine and wishing she hadn't quit the habit six months ago. Then Gillespie exhaled over Sam's head and smiled.
      "Oh wait, two civilians dead. One missing half her head, the other with brains turned to scrambled egg by the Freak. God knows how many fuck-ups are sitting in that shitty bus." He gesticulated at the glowing yellow transport. "Marriage break-ups. Suicides. Who can tell. Seeing someone's brains blown out at close range can do that to the average Joe. Did you know that? Shock. Post-traumatic stress, that kind of thing." He paused, eyes flicking to meet Joe's but quickly focusing back on Sam. "And for… what, exactly?"
      Gillespie's voice remained low, quiet. The chief wasn't one to rule his department with loud voices and popping blood vessels. In fact, the quieter he got, the worse the situation. Right now it was looking pretty ugly.
      Gillespie sighed. "I don't want to see you guys in the precinct today. Consider it an unofficial half-day suspension." He looked the pair over again, head to toe, then took a step closer to Sam and turned so his back was to Joe.
      "Go stew in your own juices and come back tomorrow with a damn good explanation as to why you made this poor sucker–" Gillespie jerked a thumb over his shoulder "–complete your reports and alter the department work plan for the last three months to fit this little party in."
      Oh, shit . The chief knew. He knew all along. Sam glanced at Joe and saw him looking down at his feet, covering his eyes with a hand.
      The chief knew about the swapping of work, about the screwy timesheets, about Sam neglecting her regular duties to pursue the "Freak", the chief's name for San Ventura's public enemy numero uno, the Cowl.
      "Sir,