The Blonde Read Online Free PDF Page A

the bar.
    The blonde.
    Jack turned around. She was standing there with a paunchy middle-aged guy who had a black MEMBERS ONLY jacket draped around one shoulder. A green backpack was slung over the other.
    The blonde ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She whispered, “Go along with this or you’ll die.”
    Members Only stuck his hand out. “Damn pleased to meet you, Jack. Your sister Kelly is quite a character.”
    Kelly—was that really her name?—kept her arms locked around Jack.
    “Name’s Ed Hunter. I do tax law. Kelly tells me you’re a newspaperman.”
    Kelly pressed her cool palm to his forehead. “You feel hot, baby.”
    “I am,” he said in reply to both. He was both feverish and a newspaperman. But how did his blonde—Kelly—know that? He’dsaid nothing in the bar that would have tipped her off. He’d been careful. Tell someone you’re a journalist in a bar, and then everybody and their grandmother has a story idea. No thanks.
    “So you guys ready to enjoy the best martinis you’ve ever had in your life?” Ed asked, draping an arm around Kelly.
    “Ed wants to take us to a place called Rouge,” the blonde explained.
    “That’s French for
red
. Owner went bankrupt, lost his entire restaurant empire, but he’s kept this one open. Best martinis you’ll ever have.”
    “You look like you could use a drink, Jack,” she said.
    “Sure.” He was too stunned to say much else. The trio—thank God, not wrapped up in a bear hug anymore—walked out the sliding doors to the cabstand. Kelly kept her hand on his arm, as if she was afraid he’d slip away. No chance of that. Not until he received his antidote.
    If
there was an antidote.
    If there was a poison.
    Ed led the way.
    “This one’s on me. Besides, it’s a flat rate. Twenty-six-twenty-five takes you from the airport to anywhere in Center City. That’s what we call our downtown, by the way.”
    Again with the flat rate. What, was it printed on the side of the Liberty Bell?
Happen to be traveling by cab to the airport? Well, friend, Philadelphia has a helluva a deal for you
.
    Kelly opened the back door before the driver even had a chance to pop out of his seat. “You first, Jack. Slide over.”
    Jack did as he was told. Sliding over to the opposite door wasn’t a problem, either. The knot was tightening, and if he was going to throw up again, he wanted to do it in the privacy of the opposite side of the cab. Kelly might have poisoned him, but Jack was still too proud to vomit blood on her. And there was Ed to consider.
    Through the open door, Jack saw Kelly pivot to face Ed. What was going on? He ducked his head to look out the window.
    Oh.
    Oh Christ, they were French-kissing.
    That’s French for
red.
    It went on for a while. He could hear an audible slurp now and again. The driver looked at Jack, who could only shrug his shoulders. Hey, search me, buddy, he wanted to say. Guess my sister’s a ho.
    The knot in his stomach tightened.

11:13  p.m.
    Philadelphia International Airport
     
    G ood thing Philly International was a one taxi stand kind of joint; Kowalski didn’t have to bounce around a bunch of them. There were only two options: Kelly White was here or she’d left. The bartender in the Terminal C bar remembered a girl fitting her description leaving around 11:30. She left with a man, middle-aged, in a black jacket. Bartender assumed he’d picked her up. “They were real clingy,” she said. Chances were, they were still around.
    Okay, so two likely options. They’re somewhere else in the terminal, or they’re going to catch a cab. Headed somewhere else to get friendly.
    Once Kowalski checked the terminal a few times to his satisfaction, he decided to flush them out.
    He approached a Continental manager, flashed a card identifying himself as an agent of Homeland Security—which was sorta true, only not official. Kowalski’s organization, CI-6, was buried ina blur of funding, obscured by a purposefully