A Touch of Malice Read Online Free

childlike grin came over him, as if a new person was emerging from the inside of his skin. He bent over and opened the bottom drawer from his desk and came up with a small doll.
    Sanchez rolled his eyes, then looked away. He could never get over this fetish of Santoro’s.
    “My pretty girl,” Santoro whispered.
    Sanchez knew to stay quiet during these episodes. The little man would go on for five or ten minutes pampering the blond-haired piece of plastic as if he were in a trance.
    The doll was dressed in nothing but lace underwear and Santoro’s eyes glowed as he held out his index finger and reached for the doll’s lower stomach. Slowly, and with a trembling hand, he touched the doll’s tiny abdomen and shut his eyes. A soft moan escaped from his slackened jaw.
    Sanchez watched the mentally disturbed leader with disgust. He sucked on the lollipop and swallowed, allowing the cocaine to numb his sense of pride. The power Santoro yielded prevented Sanchez from interrupting the sordid fantasy. Colombia’s landscape was littered with the shallow graves of tortured souls who even came close to embarrassing their president.
    “Now,” Santoro said, rubbing his tiny hands together, “how about some new girls?”
    Oh boy, Sanchez thought. The girls he was requesting now were all virgins, not more than fifteen. All of them handpicked by Santoro’s guards and held prisoner until he called for them. The things he would do to them made Sanchez cringe. He was tired of pampering the man’s fetishes, but he didn’t yearn for a death sentence either.
    “Yes, Mr. President,” Sanchez said. He yanked the lollipop from his mouth and dropped it in a nearby trashcan as he opened the massive oak door. Two armed guards on either side of the doorway came to attention. He regretted the anguish he was about to facilitate, but he was in no position to oppose the request.
    “He wants the girls,” Sanchez said. The guards both had the identical reaction. Their faces couldn’t hide the revulsion gathering in the pit of their stomachs. They were the ones who had to clean up the mess once the sadistic little man was through with the young women.
    One of the guards acknowledged the command with a terse nod, then left to retrieve the bait. The other guard simply stared at Sanchez with sadness.
    * * *
    Julie Bracco was startled awake when she heard the buzzing noise coming from inside her bedroom. She looked at the clock. Only ten thirty. She must’ve been asleep less than an hour. The buzzing persisted. The Braccos’ cabin in Payson, Arizona, was wired with a sophisticated alarm system and Julie knew every cautionary sound. This was not one of them, however. Her husband, Nick, headed the FBI’s top anti-terrorist team and they’d been targets of some revengeful terrorists in the past, so Nick had the place secured and tricked out for any intruders around their home.
    A slight glow came from the top of the dresser. She’d found the culprit. Nick’s cell phone. It was set on vibrate and danced slightly with each silent ring. Julie glanced to the other side of the bed and realized she was alone. She sighed. Nick was going through another battle of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and she figured he was reading downstairs in the den. He was finding it harder and harder to sleep and reading usually kept his mind from wandering down the wrong paths.
    They’d left Baltimore in hopes of finding a peaceful mountainside community where they could escape the grind of the DC politics and the speedy city lifestyle. But terrorists don’t have nine-to-five hours and they don’t care where you live. They will come find you and go for your weakest link. Your friends. Your family. Anything they can do to exact revenge.
    Julie slid from bed and pulled down her oversized T-shirt to cover her knees. She thought of looking at the display on Nick’s phone, but was more concerned about his whereabouts than his incoming call. As she crept down the empty