The Blonde Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally break the embrace. About goddamned time. It was wrong to flaunt that kind of thing in front of a widower, wasn’t it?
    But wait. What is this?
    Her pale hand on his chest. A shocked look on the guy’s thick face. The girl pushing him away, stepping backward and sliding herself into the cab, slamming the door the shut. The guy pounding on the roof. Looking really pissed. The engine revving.
    “We’ve got a situation here,” Kowalski said.
    “What’s happening?”
    “Kelly White and the second male leaving by car. First guy left behind. He’s standing on the sidewalk. Need some direction here, sugar.”
    “Stand by.”
    But of course. The cab bucked backward for a moment, then lurched forward. In the meantime, the middle-aged guy was reaching for the door, as if that would do any good. Give it up, buddy. She’s got bigger and better things to do. Namely, the guy sitting next to her.
    “You have the cab’s license number?”
    “What you think these are, walnuts?”
    She didn’t laugh at the in joke. One lazy Sunday morning together, flipping channels, finding
Sesame Street
. A Cookie Monsterskit. Ernie asking a stupid-ass question. Cookie getting indignant, pointing to his googly eyes.
What you think these are, walnuts?
    “Send a text message, encrypted. Then follow male subject number one.”
    “Not Kelly White.”
    “Correct. Stick to subject number one as closely as possible.”
    There was no point in asking why. Could be one of a thousand possibilities. Girl passing guy drugs, a document, a serum, a weapon. Girl no longer in the game; guy the subject now. That’s what mattered. Now it was time to follow the new guy. Kowalski thought about Professor Manchette. Will I have to decapitate
this
guy in a couple of hours?
    Ah, the job.

11:24  p.m.
    1-95 North, Near the Girard Point Bridge
     
    D river, take us to the nearest police precinct. Immediately.”
    Kelly rolled her eyes and eased back into the dark blue vinyl seat. She folded her arms.
    “They are not called precincts here,” the driver said. “They are districts.”
    “What?”
    The driver had curly, thinning black hair. He spoke carefully and clearly. “I do not know the local districts. I operate mainly in the Northeast. I only brought someone down here to catch a late flight. I am working my way back up to the Northeast; that is all.”
    “Sir, ignore my husband. Jackie boy had too many Jamesons on the plane.”
    “You’re not my wife, and I’m completely sober. I don’t care if they’re districts or what, but I need a police officer.
Now.
”
    Jack knew this was his safest bet. He hadn’t gone to the police before because he thought the blonde had been joking. But he’d vomited enough to know otherwise. The proof was splattered all the hell over 1-95. In fact, they could drive past it, and he could point it out to the police.
See that! The contents of my stomach! There’s more of that fucking spinach stromboli!
Even if they didn’t believe him at first, they’d hold both of them—he’d make sure of that— until they could pump his stomach (whatever was left of it) or take some blood. Or whatever. Somehow, they’d be able to prove she’d slipped him something. If it took all night, so be it. His 8:00 A.M. appointment with Donovan “the Testicle Hunter” Piatt would have to be rescheduled. No great loss there.
    “Watch him, sir. Any minute now, he’ll ask you to pull over so he can vomit.”
    “Don’t listen to her.”
    “Please do not vomit in my cab.”
    “I told you before. Don’t listen to her!”
    Then he felt fingers on his chin. Soft, warm. They turned his face to the left. Kelly looked at him.
    “You only have eight hours left. I can stonewall
anyone
for eight hours.”
    “But if I die, they’ll know I was telling the truth.”
    “And I’m sure that will be a great comfort to you.”
    The blonde had a point.
    “Tell him where we’re staying. This night doesn’t have to be difficult. You