Snagged Read Online Free PDF Page B

had never happened for them. That’s why it’s so nice, Luke thought, to be down here to celebrate Maura’s wedding with the Durkins, people who felt like extended family. Maura and Regan had always been close, and now Maura was marrying a nice guy. Now if only Regan could find someone like that . . . Luke shrugged himself out of his reverie. My God, he thought, I’m starting to think like my beloved wife! Give her a break. If I ever get my hands on that guy who didn’t tell her he was engaged, only to let her find out about it by reading it in the Sunday Times , I’ll kill him. And to think I bought him dinner the week before. He was even marrying someone else named Regan. I guess it makes it easier if you talk in your sleep. But Luke was glad it wasn’t his Regan because the guy was such a loser. Regan, of course, had laughed it off, saying she’d been some detective, but in his day . . .
    “Hey, Marcel Marceau,” Nora said for the second time.
    Luke looked up at her. “Very funny.”
    Nora took his hand and pulled him out of his chair. “We’ve got to get ready. We’re meeting Regan at the Durkins’s in less than an hour.”

R EGAN SHOWERED QUICKLY and immediately felt much better. A cool-water rinse at the end was refreshing and served to give her a second wind. Stepping out of the old-fashioned tub, she wrapped herself in a towel and attempted to wipe the steam off the mirror, only to watch it immediately reappear. I guess I’ll get dressed first instead of fighting this losing battle, she thought.
    Her garment bag was hanging in the closet, where there was also a safe and, surprisingly enough, a variety of hangers, the kind you’d find in an old closet at home. At least they don’t lock them onto the rack the way they do in some hotels, as if anyone paying a couple hundred bucks a night for a room isn’t entitled to make off with a few wooden hangers, she thought.
    She pulled out a pair of white jeans, a striped blouse and her red leather flats, then looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand, which read six-thirty. Regan went over and picked it up. Boy, this really is a relaxed hotel, she thought. In most places this thing would be nailed down with industrial-strength screws. They must have good insurance.
    Ten minutes later, Regan was ready to go. She’d done a quick makeup job and fluffed her hair with a pick. She transferred her wallet, keys and a cosmetics bag to an oversized purse and then decided to take advantage of the room safe. She placed her extra cash and jewelry on the shelf, slammed it shut and pulled out the key. There, she thought, the crown jewels are protected from any sticky fingers lurking in the vicinity.
    She shut the room door and hurried down the one flight to the main floor. Outside, people were lingering over drinks at the tables on the sidewalk. One couple was going through models’ composites that were stacked up before them. Like me going through mug shots, Regan thought, or police sketches. Only the people I deal with don’t have one-word names like Autumn or Sapphire. South Beach had become the latest hot spot for fashion shoots. Several young girls with their portfolios in hand passed her walking down the Strip.
    Maura had told her that this place jumps at all hours. She was right. Now, at six forty-five, it was way too early for most South Beach diners to have dinner, but the cafés along Ocean Drive were crowded with people enjoying a cocktail and checking out the scene. Some looked very European with their designer shades, and their cigarettes held at that just-so angle between their fingers.
    As Regan strolled along the narrow sidewalk, a dark-haired guy on Rollerblades, wearing a Day-Glo orange outfit, zoomed by her and jumped over one of the small cafe tables. That lunatic must be getting ready for the Olympics, she thought. He certainly makes walking around here hazardous.
    The Fourth Quarter was just two more doors down. There was no missing it. Whereas the