The Devil's Due Read Online Free PDF

conversation. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how I felt about him right now—though beneath whatever other layers of feelings existed, I had to admit that I still loved him.
    Or at least still loved the man I’d thought I’d known. Only I was no longer entirely sure that man existed.
    Until that dreadful night, I’d always thought of Brian as the quintessential Boy Scout: virtuous, kind, and law-abiding to a fault. Never would I have imagined him being party to my father’s grisly death, and it was the disillusionment, more than the act itself, that put me into such a tailspin of uncertainty.
    When Brian had invited me to come to his apartment for dinner so we could talk things through, my first instinct had been to say no. I’m always one to follow my instincts, but Brian is a lawyer, and a good one at that, and whenever I allowed him to draw me into an argument—or “discussion,” as he called it—I invariably came out on the losing end. Which was how I’d ended up promising to show up at his apartment at seven o’clock tonight.
    I’m not what you’d call a girly-girl, and it was completely unlike me to spend twenty minutes agonizing over what to wear, but I did it anyway—even though my wardrobe was severely limited since everything I’d owned had gone up in smoke. I knew I was procrastinating, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
    I finally settled on a pair of tight, hip-hugging black jeans and a clingy, silk-knit green T-shirt that was a perfect complement to my red hair. It was—for me, at least—an understated kind of sexy. Not something that screamed “fuck me,” but not something that screamed “keep your hands off me,” either.
    I finished the outfit off with a pair of black leather thong sandals with just enough heel to keep the hem of the jeans from dragging on the ground. After a final inspection in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my bathroom door, I finally decided I was as ready as I’d ever be. I then looked at my watch and saw that I was already fifteen minutes late.
    Cursing under my breath, I hurried to the door—but not before I’d double-checked my Taser to make sure its battery was fully charged. Brian’s apartment was only six blocks from my own. Maybe I should have driven, seeing as I was already late, but I covered those six blocks at a brisk walk instead.
    By the time I got there, the thong on my sandals had rubbed blisters between my toes—they weren’t the best walking shoes in the world—and I was sure I’d chewed off all the lipstick on my lower lip. I took a couple of deep breaths to compose myself—like that had a chance of working—before I rang the bell.
    I’d expected Brian to be annoyed. After all my dithering, I’d managed to be more than a half hour late, and I’d been too self-absorbed to even think about calling. But his only comment was a raised eyebrow as he opened the door wide enough to let me in. I swallowed hard as I crossed that threshold. I was a mature adult. Mature adults don’t run away from conflict like frightened little girls. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t such a mature adult.
    Unlike Dominic, Brian’s kitchen skills were mostly limited to simple fare such as hamburgers or spaghetti with jarred sauce. I guess he’d decided that wasn’t good enough for tonight. There’s a good Italian restaurant approximately every ten yards in Philadelphia, and Brian had ordered takeout from one of them. The fact that the food was still piping hot told me he wasn’t surprised by how late I’d shown up.
    Tension sizzled and sparked between us. I fidgeted nervously as Brian laid the food on the table. I saw we’d be eating off paper plates, and wondered if he was just trying to be as informal as possible in a vain attempt to make me comfortable, or if he was afraid of what I’d do if he put breakables in front of me.
    By the time we sat down to eat, my stomach was tied in such knots I didn’t know how I’d be able to