The Murderer's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

body scream.
    The target turned shy suddenly and looked away.
    Endearing.
    Definitely a looker. Not in that craggy, hyper-Y, heavy-jaw, brow-ridge way. More like…nothing remarkable about any single feature but taken as a whole, a fine composition. Symmetrical. And at the core, attractiveness boiled down to symmetry.
    Boyish, she supposed some women would label him. Some women went for boyish.
    For the next four minutes, she alternated between jots of eye contact, some followed by warm smiles, others by neutral looks.
    The target’s hand began drumming a lamp table and he started rocking his head ever so slightly.
    The dance had begun.
    Then, darn her, Chicklet was back, asking if he wanted a refill. He began to shake his head no, then looked past the waitress at Grace.
    Grace lofted her glass, pointed at his, rotated her free hand palms up.
    What the heck, let’s both go for it.
    He said something to Chicklet, paid for both drinks, and pointed. Chicklet turned around, saw Grace, frowned and left.
    Now he was clearly fixed on Grace, not even pretending to be cool. Grace summoned him over with a curled index finger.
    He pointed to his chest.
    Who, me?
    By the time he arrived, he was breathing fast.
    She patted the cushion next to her.
    He sat down and said, “Thank you.”
    Nice voice, mellow, soft. A bit shaky—no big stud accustomed to this.
    Grace couldn’t have custom-ordered it better.

G race’s lies were perfectly prepared.
    Her name was Helen, she worked “in finance,” was in L.A. for a conference. When he asked about the topic, she grinned and said, “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Unless it’s instant sleep you’re after.”
    He laughed. “Guess I’d rather be awake.”
    She tossed her hair. “Okay, your turn.”
    He said, “Talk about boring.”
    Grace’s smile was blinding. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
    —
    His name was Roger, he was a civil engineer in L.A. for meetings concerning “a corporate project—trust me,
you
don’t want to know.”
    Aiming for easygoing rapport but he’d turned grave.
    Grace said, “Tough project?”
    His face tightened up and the smile he struggled to keep in place was uneasy. “No, it’s fine, the usual.”
    Grace waited.
    He drank beer. “Guess I’m a little off—jet lag. Sorry.”
    “Long flight?”
    “Aren’t they all, nowadays?”
    “Don’t like plastic food and being treated like a criminal, huh? Picky, picky.” Grace pointed a finger-gun at him. Then, dropping her arm, she allowed her fingertips to graze his khakis, touching the outer curve of his kneecap. Less than a second of contact but he felt it and his eyes shot downward.
    Grace picked up her drink. The look on her face was pure innocence. His shoulders had bunched and his lips had dried.
    He downed more beer. Let his eyes flit to her legs then forced himself away from the view. Grace slipped the financial nonsense back in her briefcase, pretended to discover how much bare skin she’d been exposing and, again, tugged the dress down. Her breasts mounded through the soft fabric of the dress. Her nipples were fully inflated and couldn’t be missed.
    Roger the Engineer’s Adam’s apple rose and fell twice. His blue eyes made it easy to nail the nonverbal message: wildly dilated pupils. Serious interest.
    Mission accomplished.
    He cleared his throat. “So…thanks for the company, Helen.”
    “Ditto, Roger.”
    “This is a bit…” He shook his head.
    “What, Roger?”
    He shrugged. “This is nice.”
    “It is nice but that wasn’t what you were going to say.”
    He looked away.
    Grace touched his shoulder briefly. “What is it?”
    “Nothing. Really. Refill?”
    Grace hadn’t touched her second Negroni. She pointed to her glass and smiled.
    Roger blushed. “Mr. Observant…what I was about to say—this feels—okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit out of my league.”
    “That’s sweet.”
    “No, I mean it.”
    “What league do you play in, Roger?”
    “Frankly,