When It Comes (Vampire Assassin League Book 31) Read Online Free PDF Page A

access property deeds, either. She had a laptop programmed and linked to the Vampire Assassin League. Moments later, she was viewing an image of the actual document Mitchell Hartnett had signed when he’d purchased his home. By himself.
    It even gave her the unit number.
    “Gotcha!” 
    Jubilation filled her cry. And her movements. She probably damaged the laptop more with the way she slapped the lid closed.
     
     
     
     

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
    This was complete shit.
    Mitch looked over at the sketch artist. They’d just finished the third attempt. Every picture looked the same. Denver PD had a really good artist. The woman should be making a fortune at an art gallery. The pick-pocket’s eyes loomed right off the page. As if she stared straight into his soul...
    Shit.
    Mitch rubbed his eyes. It was obvious to him. He’d been up too long.
    The artist handed the sketch to the FBI guys. Randy looked at it first. Snickered. Gave the picture to Tom who then passed it to Sam. Tom’s brows rose. Sam nodded. When he wasn’t jumping around like a meth addict in need of a fix, he acted downright sedate. He handed the picture to the captain. She pursed her lips as she looked it over, which put lines in evidence all about her lips. Captain Thomas wouldn’t like that. She was in her mid-fifties and looked like she hung onto youth with every chemical method known to mankind.
    Randy spoke up. “Well. I gotta say, he’s consistent.”
    “Is that her, or not?” The captain asked. Everybody waited.
    “Can’t say that it isn’t,” Randy finally replied.
    Mitch spoke up. “Look. Cap. I got a really good look at her. I have excellent recall. I appear to be able to describe that efficiently to an artist. We need to move onto something else.”
    “She’s quite the looker.”
    “So?” 
    “So. You’re single. She’s very attractive. And she now has possession of all your personal stuff. I’m just making sure it wasn’t intentional.”
    “She busted my cuffs. Broke open a safe.”
    “It does kind-a look like that. Doesn’t it?” Captain Thomas answered.
    Randy snickered again. Mitch sighed loudly. They were in the large interrogation room. The door was open. It wasn’t a legal proceeding. This space was just less hectic than the rest of the place. Mitch was on one side of the table, half-way down. The three FBI agents sat across from him. The sketch artist was at one end of the table. The captain was seated at the other. Donny, a desk sergeant, was on the captain’s right, standing behind a seat two down from Mitch. Donny was responsible for seeing to amenities. Food. Drinks. Rotten conversation.
    At least the females in attendance seemed to keep the amount of testosterone-fueled antagonism at bay. That was one good part of this. Mitch had a headache coming on, either from dehydration, lack of caffeine, or lower-than-normal caloric intake. They’d been at this for hours. Taken several breaks. He’d gotten a couple of quick naps in. Swigged some of the station brew that went for coffee. Sucked down at least a half gallon of water. Eaten some meat and veggies from the inside of the breakfast burrito they provided. Did the same with lunch.
    It was the chick’s fault.
    Mitch had been witness numero uno ever since prints from his car and the bag and even some of the wallets from the trashcan matched an unsolved homicide from 2015 in Orlando, Florida. A folder with newly printed documentation sat on the table somewhere in the pile of folders. The murderer had used a sharp object. Blood evidence should have been everywhere. The pattern analysis experts had been baffled. The DNA seemed to be a scrambled mess.
    Which was just the first oddity in this.
    The chick’s prints had also been found at an unsolved homicide in Houston in 2012. Murder weapon had been another sharp instrument but that fellow had bled out. A third homicide was from 2005. Syracuse, New York. Same type of weapon. They’d run the DNA on that homicide.