Shoot to Kill Read Online Free PDF Page A

of his cocktail. “I’d say she’s basically a cold and calculating type.”
    “But ‘damn well-stacked’ according to Tim’s graphic description,” gurgled Lucy.
    Shayne said disparagingly, “Any woman who can fill a B-cup is well-stacked according to Tim. And that reminds me… have you ever seen the Larsons’ neighbor from across the hall, Tim?”
    “What reminds you?” demanded Lucy.
    “Not B-cups,” Shayne assured her with a sidelong, teasing grin. “How about it, Tim?”
    “I’ve never been to that apartment. But I do believe I’ve heard a description of the lady’s charms from Ralph soon after they moved in. Magnified in the telling, no doubt.”
    Shayne chuckled and said, “That I doubt.” He glanced at Lucy and saw a frosty look of suspicion beginning to dawn on her face, and explained hastily, “She’s one of those females who goes slopping around in the afternoon barefooted, angel. Not my type at all.”
    “You seem to have done a fair amount of detecting in a rather short time,” she suggested.
    “Not really. I just happened to catch a glimpse of her while I was ringing the Larson doorbell. What’s the most expensive thing on the menu?” Shayne picked it up and spread it out in front of him, hiding his face behind it while he ostentatiously ran a blunt forefinger down the list of prices at the right-hand side.
    It was just seven-thirty when the trio left the restaurant after an excellent dinner over which they had dawdled comfortably and companionably and for which Timothy Rourke had paid the bill without protest.
    As they went out into the warm night, Shayne suggested, “Suppose Lucy and I go along to her apartment and you follow us, Tim, and stop for a nightcap. You don’t need to get back to the paper for another hour, do you?”
    “No, but my car’s there now,” Rourke told him. “I picked Lucy up in a taxi because I knew you were meeting us here.”
    “Then we’ll all go to Lucy’s together,” Shayne decided. “I’ll take you on to the office whenever you want because I’m headed for an early bed and a solid night’s sleep.”
    Timothy Rourke said sure, that would be fine with him, and they all got in the front seat of Shayne’s car and he drove back to Biscayne Boulevard and turned south toward the city.
    They were a few blocks from Lucy’s turnoff when she wriggled uncomfortably on the seat between them and said plaintively, “Michael. I’ve just remembered something terrible. You’re going to beat me for sure.”
    “What’s terrible?” he asked indulgently.
    “I haven’t got any cognac,” she confessed in a stricken voice. “Remember? Last time you were there you finished the bottle.”
    “But that was over a week ago,” he protested. “You’ve had plenty of time to pick up another one.”
    “I know. And the last time I ran out you threatened to beat me if I ever let it happen again. And I forgot.”
    “With a cat-o-nine-tails,” Shayne amplified with relish. “You’re a witness, Tim. These damn secretaries. Won’t even go to the trouble of stocking their boss’s favorite beverage on the chance that he may drop in for a drink. All right for you, young lady.” He kept on driving steadily south, passing the street on which Lucy lived. “We’ll all go to my place where there is cognac. And we’ll have a drink or two or three and I’ll work myself up into the proper mood and then I’ll flog you, but good. While Tim holds you firmly over his knees.”
    “Just so there’s bourbon as well as cognac,” Rourke said firmly. “Last time I was up at your room I had to make do with Scotch.”
    “An entire fifth, if my memory serves,” Shayne agreed drily. “I assure you I hurried out the next day and stocked up with cheap bourbon. Your favorite. Old Outhouse.”
    Rourke said, “Ah,” fondly, and smacked his lips in anticipation, and Lucy giggled and Shayne slowed for the traffic light at Flagler Street and then drove on and made a right turn