Tell Me No Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

fifteen years younger. Trim and fit, he had style. People Magazine had named him one of their top fifty bachelors two years in a row.
    He twisted the Krugerrand ring, enjoying the weight of it on his hand. Tonight he would press Alex. He would see if that cool, knowing look in her eyes was just an empty promise. She would be ready, excited from the success of her event, flush with vodka, exhausted after the strain of playing hostess.
    And he would see that she relaxed.
    He smiled, completely satisfied. Oh, yes, he'd see to it.

3
    When Hank arrived, Sokanan's WBRN studio was in a lull between the six and ten o'clock news broadcasts. He introduced himself to the guard at the reception desk, was escorted into the work area by a producer, and eventually handed off to an intern, who made him a copy of the Baker house tour, including all the B roll the pickup shots of backgrounds and extras that might or might not have ended up in the final piece aired that night.
    In a small viewing room Hank went through the tapes, starting with the edited broadcast. He quickly found the section that had caught his eye: A. J. Baker in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed with books, curios, and pictures. Behind her sat a framed photo of a man and a girl. Something about the man had seemed familiar, but even when Hank slowed the tape to stop-frame speed, he couldn't be sure if it was Luka Kole. He ran through the rest of the footage but found nothing else of this particular scene. Imagining things? Probably.
    Only one way to find out.
    Half an hour later, he swung into the drive leading to the Baker home. Peter Newcomb was at the entrance, stopping vehicles and checking them in. He signaled for Hank to roll down his window.
    "Didn't know you were working this gig, Bonner. You're not on the list." Newcomb held up his clipboard. A thirty-year veteran, he was nearing retirement, a balding, big-bellied stereotype. All he needed was a donut.
    Hank shrugged. "I'm working a case."
    "Here? Tonight? Are you crazy?"
    Hank didn't feel like explaining. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pete." He headed toward the house, Pete's shout of protest lost in the sound of the car engine.
    He had a brief argument with the parking valet, who insisted Hank hand over his keys, but his badge quickly put an end to that. Hank parked his car where he could get to it easily and strolled into the house.
    Joe Klimet met him inside the door. "What are you doing here, Bonner?" He eyed Hank suspiciously, and Hank thought briefly about lying. But he'd have to fill out a report, and Klimet would find out anyway.
    "Chasing down a lead."
    Klimet's eyes narrowed. "What lead?"
    Hank bit down on a rush of annoyance. "Tell you if it pans out."
    Hank tried to pass, but Klimet blocked his way. "You make trouble here tonight, you'll have the whole town on your ass."
    "That a threat, Joe?"
    "It's a goddamn promise" Klimet flashed his adolescent grin "Hank." He pivoted to let Hank pass. "Don't go screwing this up for everyone," he called to Hank's back. "This town needs a boost."
    Christ, if he had a nickel for every time he'd heard that in the last month, he, too, could afford the flower-covered oil rig dominating Alexandra Jane's entrance. Renaissance Oil was a gilt-wrapped gift waiting to be opened by everyone in Sokanan. He just hoped that when they did, the package didn't explode in their faces.
    He navigated around the sculpture and plunged into the crowd. Waiters in hard hats and yellow jumpsuits embroidered with the blue Renaissance Oil R passed trays of food and drink. Hank snagged a couple of stuffed mushrooms and chomped them down while he oriented himself.
    The garden she'd shown him earlier was to the right. Maybe the den was on the left. He strolled in that direction. The house was crowded; he heard snatches of what sounded like French and Russian in addition to plain old-fashioned English. He found a large living room with a photographer set up in the corner. The