Vigilare Read Online Free PDF Page B

place smells of cucumber melon bubble bath and scented candles. On the coffee table in the living room, files are scattered about, accompanied by Sticky Notes outlined in bright red ink and diagrams attempting to make sense of the chaos within each manila sleeve.
    Music blasts from the radio, Sheryl Crow’s C’mon C’mon album, track eight Lucky Kid . Gina dances down the hallway in a black bra and matching panties, her hair soaking wet, her aroma good enough to eat from her bubbly indulgence. Her body keeping time with the music, she makes her way to the kitchen pulling a whiskey bottle from the top of the refrigerator.
    “‘Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, you’re a lucky kid,’” she sings along with the radio as she drops a few ice cubes into a short glass, topping it off with the high-octane oak-colored liquid. Tipping her head back, her lips part, her mouth wet, her throat warms with the contact.
    “Hmm,” she groans, a pleasurable smile forming. She moves methodically to her coffee pot in preparation for her five-thirty wake-up call.
    Knock! Knock! Knock! The urgent sound coming from her front door sends her into alert mode. She quickly throws a robe on over her attire, scooping up her handgun while in transit. She stands warily to the side of the door casing, “Who is it?”
    “Tony.”
    Tony? She mouths the name perplexingly to herself. “How’d you get my address?” she asks absentmindedly before fully considering who she’s talking to.
    “Uh, gee, it’s this little thing called my job. Detectives …they’re supposed to be good at finding things. Come on, Gina, I got something you are going to love.”
    “Typical,” she says dryly, releasing the deadbolt. “That’s what all the boys say.” She peers through the chain, scanning Tony up and down through the tiny crack, a wry smile forming as she sees him standing there, fidgeting. It’s obvious he can hardly contain himself, a file tucked securely under his arm.
    “Come on, Gina. Quit playing.” He looks from side to side, “This is it,” he says jockeying the folder from under his arm.
    “Alright, alright.” She releases the chain, pulling the door open for him, as she uses it to hide her nighttime attire.
    Tony busts in, slaps the file down on the island in the kitchen, the adrenaline in his system responsible for his choppy pacing. Gina closes the door behind him, holstering her pistol in its rightful place, her breadbox.
    “Take a look,” he says, his knuckles knock on the file, as he props himself up against the counter.
    Gina opens the file to find Dr. Patricia Ryan’s name and a much younger picture of her staring back, a graduation picture from West Point, Class of 1985. “Wow. She was beautiful.” Under the picture is a New York State rape report. The pieces coming together as Gina looks up at Tony, stunned.
    “She was raped her senior year at West Point. Date rape. Frat party. She knew the guy.”
    “Most of them do.”
    “The police were out looking for him the next day, after she filed the report. Got a call from Campus PD. They found the guy dead in his dorm room. O.D.’d on Special K.”
    “Karma’s a real bitch sometimes,” Gina defends, shrugging her shoulders.
    “Karma Schmarma, Gina.” Tony paces, his eyes diverting from the file to Gina, distractedly. “The guy was an athlete. Star running back. Full scholarship. It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “Oh, because jocks always make the best sense. I see where you’re going with this Gronkowski, and I don’t like it. She’s a psychologist with the department. You realize where you’re going here? When you start blaming your own? That’s dangerous territory, Tony, and you know it.”
    “Dammit, Gina. Yes, I know that.” Frustrated, he slaps his hand down on the counter top. “But we can’t ignore the possibility just because she’s one of us.”
    Gina makes her way around the island, preparing a drink for Tony, as he seems to need one.
    “His teammates reported they