The Kill Order Read Online Free PDF

up everything she ever knew and start over again.
    Then again, with her history, maybe a fresh start was just what she needed—even if she didn’t realize it. From what he and Tex had learned after talking to the girl last night, she was alone in the world. She’d been raised in foster care, but when her foster father died just after her thirteenth birthday, and her foster mother’s health had failed, she’d been shuffled around through the system, some places better than others. Once the physical abuse turned to sexual, Piper ran away. The authorities picked her up, placed her in a new home, where the foster parent only cared about the money, not where the kids were or who they were with. Unfortunately the woman also didn’t care about feeding them, and so the kids found other means to acquire food. Stealing, Piper decided, was the only option she was willing to resort to. After a couple of arrests, however, a probation officer assured her that she’d end up in prison if she continued down such a path and didn’t make an effort to straighten out her life.
    A lot of good that did her, Griffin thought, as he looked at his watch, then walked over and picked up his overnight bag. “We should get going.”
    Lisette turned to Tex, and just before they left, said, “Be careful.”
    He gave her a dark look. “What can possibly go wrong?”
    In their business, Griffin thought, plenty, and he hoped like hell Tex was successful.

4

    FBI Academy
    Quantico, Virginia
    “G un!”
    Special Agent Sydney Fitzpatrick drew her weapon, fired twice, then scanned her surroundings. The agent next to her did the same.
    “Holster!” the range master called out, then walked down the line, making sure everyone had complied. When he reached Sydney’s side, he eyed her target, saw a tight pattern that would have been excellent—had it not been to the right and slightly below the ten X. “You’re pulling.”
    “Trigger’s a lot stiffer than my normal weapon,” she explained. Her issued weapon had been secured after a recent on-duty shooting, and this, her temporary replacement, same make and model, Glock 22, was brand-new out of the box.
    “Until you get yours back, this is what you’re working with. Take it up to the armorer. Have him lighten that trigger pull, see if we can’t move that pattern back over.”
    She did as told and was standing by while the armorer stripped down the weapon, adjusted the trigger pull, and was putting it all back together when her cell phone rang. It was Tony Carillo, her former partner, calling from the San Francisco field office.
    “Any chance you have a few minutes to talk?” Tony asked.
    The sharp crack of gunfire echoed in the distance, as she said, “In the middle of qualifications. Why?”
    “Call me as soon as you can.”
    He disconnected before she could ask what was going on.
    “Here you go, Fitzpatrick,” the gunsmith said, wiping the excess oil from the empty weapon, then handing it back to her. “See if that works a little better.”
    “Thanks.”
    She carried it to the range, put on her shooting glasses, and waited for the range master to give the okay to reload and fire. This time the pattern was mostly in the center. The moment he signed her off, she cleaned the weapon, then hurried off to her basement office in the academy building, calling Carillo from the landline phone. “What’s going on?” she asked.
    “Trivia question. Guess what office item besides your computer has a hard drive?”
    Even though she thought the question absurd, her gaze flicked around her office. “A printer?”
    “Besides that,” he said.
    “No clue.”
    “Copy machine.”
    “And your point?”
    “There was a murder in South San Francisco that was connected to the machine from our San Francisco office.”
    “What makes you think that?”
    “We recently had ours replaced after it went kaput, along with several others. Only someone forgot to remove the hard drives from said machines prior to