Touching Evil Read Online Free PDF Page A

downstairs..."
    Oh, Jesus. The guy was still on the phone. Still. He needed to get
these lines tapped. He needed to get Greg away from there. Away from
the windows. No way was Greg opening the package with the freak talking
in his ear. Overload for sure. He'd just have to grab it.
    Greg didn't reach for the little package, though; he went for the
front door, for the doorknob, head jerking back with a snap as his long
fingers closed around the metal. "White truck. Little. Dented. She hurt
your hand. She bit your hand. I can see your hands."
    His gut tightened, bile rising as all he could do was wait and see
what happened next. Remember what happened. Goddamn, he hated being
useless. He couldn't call in the uniforms until the call was over. Not
if they really wanted to know what Greg had to say.
    "Fuck you, too. You coward. You come back here for me if you can. I
can see you. You have a doll in there. Tools. A ... a ... a cheap
watch." Greg was beginning to shake, the man hitting his knees with a
sharp crack, the phone sliding across the tile, plastic shattering and
scattering about.
    "Shit!" On his knees in a flash, Artie was touching Greg without
even thinking about it, holding the man up when he would have crumpled.
    Greg jerked, eyes flying open, hands tearing free from the doorknob
and holding his face. "Raspberries. You like raspberries because
they're tart."
    "Yeah. They go good with chocolate." He squeezed Greg's upper arms,
supporting him, letting him know Artie was there and the psycho wasn't.
Thin. Fuck, the man was thin, but strong.
    "Yes. Yes. Raspberries and chocolate and coffee and your chair all
together. Like home." Greg nodded, fingers exploring his face, just
touching him, cheeks and eyebrows and jaw.
    It had to be the weirdest fucking thing that had ever happened to
him ... something he'd been hoping for the longest time, but under the
worst circumstances. He woulda laughed had it actually been funny.
Artie chafed Greg's skin, feeling goose bumps.
    "Uh-huh. You kicking my ass at backgammon. Alfredo. It's a tradition, man."
    Greg nodded, relaxing a little, eyes closing. "Yes. Yes. Our
tradition. We'll have to replace the doorknob. This one's poisoned."
    "Not to mention broken. We'll do it, but I have to get someone out
here first. They're gonna have to sweep the place, man." That was gonna
kill Greg, he knew. He'd keep the crew to a minimum, but people would
still have to touch Greg's stuff.
    "No." Those black eyes met his, that familiar, heart wrenching panic
right there. "They'll be thinking, Art. Over and over and over. They'll
be everywhere."
    "I know. I know, man, and I'm sorry. Leah can come. And we can try
to get one processor. You know? But we have to collect what we can."
He'd do as much of the work as he could. He would. And it was just the
shop, just Greg's public face.
    Greg nodded. "I know. I know you will. You take care of me." Greg pursed thin lips, fingers just brushing his mouth. "You do."
    "I do." Greg had become like his personal fucking mission in life
somewhere between that first case, where he'd called into the station
and said he knew who'd killed that society wench, and now. It was
fucking odd. "You know I will if I can."
    "They can't come into the stairwell. They have to stay in the
store." Greg's head tilted. "He was driving away in a truck. He said he
was watching us. He said he knew I hadn't opened the mail. How did he
know that?"
    "I don't know. We'll make sure there's nothing planted. Okay? He
could have just had binoculars. Come on, Greg. Let's go upstairs so I
can call." He wanted Greg out, away from that damned box before they
opened it, away from the windows for fuck's sake.
    "Your people won't let me read the box, if they come first." Greg
stood with him and it meant something that Greg would touch it, even
though the man was shaken and sick and scared. Even if those eyes
begged him to say no, it wasn't necessary. All it would take was a word
from him and Greg would do