Body Count Read Online Free Page B

of friendship. Of history. But with Sam we clicked straightaway. History has to start somewhere.
    â€œWell, ladies, I’m off,” Rivers says.
    â€œWhy don’t you stay, sir,” I say, even though I’ve never seen him stay. He has a beer or two and that’s it.
    â€œNo…” He drags out the “o.” “Besides, I have to let any would-be thieves know that the house isn’t abandoned.”
    He does work hard. Long hours.
    â€œHave a good night but don’t forget our eight o’clock meeting,” he says.
    Sam and I look at each other and respond in unison. “We won’t.”
    Rivers comes in close but doesn’t lower his voice. “She’ll be a bad influence on you, that one.” He points his finger at Sam.
    â€œMe?” Sam winks at me.
    Rivers raises his hand in a saluting goodbye. “Good night all,” he yells over his shoulder and then disappears out the door.
    Sam’s admirers soon join us and I watch Sam enthrall her captive audience. One night, about a month ago, she insisted we go clubbing. But instead of going out in our normal clothes, she managed to convince me to dress up in cheerleading garb. We pretended we were up from Texas for cheerleading tryouts—Sam’s from there anyway—and I even attempted a Texan accent. The guys were all over us, thinking they’d stumbled onto easy marks. I went along with it for about two hours before one of the guys spotted my gun in my handbag. Suddenly we didn’t look like “easy lays” and they were gone, moving on to a couple of women at the bar.
    The gun scares off lots of men. It probably doesn’t help that I carry it with me everywhere. Perhaps I’m paranoid, but you never know when you’ll need it. InAustralia I used to carry my gun and badge all the time too. The problem is, I know what, or should I say who, is out there. I see their handiwork every day. At least here I’ve got an excuse—it’s Bureau policy that we’re armed at all times.
    Sam’s telling the guys a story but I’m only half listening. Tonight I don’t feel like joining in on the fun. I think about the case and the victims. I find it hard to party with Christine Henley and the others staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I see so much in a victim’s eyes.
    Marco brings me back. “Thinking about home?”
    â€œNo. Not home…” I pause. “Do you think we should have—”
    â€œWe got him, Sophie. That’s all that matters now. That’s all you can think about.”
    â€œYeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
    Everyone else seems so good at separating the horror from their everyday lives. Everyone except me. Or maybe they’re just better at putting on the front. The BAU has one of the highest burnout rates in the FBI. It’s easy to get too close, too absorbed in a killer’s mind.
    A few hours later Marco and I walk out of the smoke-filled bar. I take in a deep breath of fresh air, already regretting the late night.
    Marco walks me to my car, not saying much, but it’s a comfortable silence. I’m glad of his company. I say good-night to him and bundle into my car. I jump on the I75 to Alexandria, where my apartment is. It’s between the unit’s base in Quantico and D.C.
    I walk into my apartment and dump my bag and keys on the hall table.
    â€œHi, honey, I’m home.”
    Silence.
    I took this job knowing I was leaving my boyfriend of seven years, Matt, and my friends and family. I couldn’t pass up the chance to work at the FBI. The real deal. It had been my dream since…well, as long as I can remember. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up on Charlie’s Angels, James Bond and The X-Files. But it’s hard coming home to an empty house, knowing the people you love are on the other side of the world. I look at the two clocks on the wall, which I’ve labeled