Expiration Date Read Online Free Page B

swooping down on its prey.
    Asgoth stumbled back, chafed by Monde’s laughter. “You think it’s funny?”
    “I think you’re fortunate to have me at your side. I’m not too modest to remind you of my own recent success. You read the newspapers, so you know the things I accomplished in Corvallis and in the coastal region. With a bit of help I manipulated one particular family and helped locate a lost inheritance.”
    “But it’s now out of your reach, isn’t it?” Asgoth watched his partner blink. “That’s why you answered my summons, that’s why we’re stuck together again as partners. We must pool our energies to show our value.”
    Monde squared his shoulders. “Admittedly, my stint at the coast was tinged with … regrets. Let it be noted, though, I won’t allow you to belittle me before the others. At the end of the day, what do I have if not my pride?”
    “My sentiments exactly. Which is why we’ll have to trust each other.”
    “I suppose. Tell me, does Mr. Clay Ryker have a part to play in this?”
    “That’s a strange thing to ask.”
    “Is it? You’re certain you’ve no personal ax to grind?”
    “And what if I do? What business is it of yours?”
    “Does he even know of your presence here?”
    Asgoth scoffed, “He has no idea.”

3
Dirty Little Secrets
    Clay’s mother met him at the curbside, wearing low heels, a tailored cream dress, and a purse over her arm. Clay had always admired her classic looks; for the first time, however, he noticed wrinkles around her eyes and lips, and he was reminded she would not be around forever.
    Della pulled back her shoulders, studying him from beneath waxed brows. “You made it in one piece, dollface. How was the trip?”
    “I should’ve flown. You meet a whole different element on the bus.”
    “We did offer to cover the airfare. You know that you could’ve—”
    “Mom, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in your debt. You and Dad’ve done enough already … you know, with everything that’s going on right now.”
    A reference to his insolvent business and escalating debt. At three hundred bucks an hour, his lawyer fees alone were enough to do him in.
    Clay’s mother led him to a sparkling white Dodge truck, which he was certain she’d pressured his old man into buying. She climbed behind the wheel. Clay dropped his suitcase and sack on the truck’s bed, then joined her in the cab.
    “Nice.”
    “A gift from your father.”
    Bingo
.
    “Here.” Della dangled a set of keys. “He and I agreed you can use the Duster while you’re reestablishing yourself.”
    “That thing still runs?”
    “It’s at the house, but you’ll have to fill the tank.”
    “Mom, I don’t need to be spoon-fed. I’ll be okay.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous, doll. Take what’s offered you.” Della’s lips formed an obstinate line, and she pushed the keys his way. As she lifted her chin andtossed styled black hair, Clay recalled how his mother had often used such gestures to solicit sympathy and compliance.
    “Okay,” he heard himself give in. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it.”
    He reached for the keys, his hand brushing hers. A jolt shot across his skin, and miniature chisels of heat carved through his nerve endings. Numbers. Six of them. Etched like tattoos into his palm.
    1.2.2.5.2.1 …
    He yanked away. Staring down, his eyes denied the sensation.
    “Clay? What is it?”
    “Did you feel that?”
    “Feel what?”
    “Your skin.”
    “Why, thanks for noticing.” She patted his leg the way she had when he was a child. “Your father hasn’t even said a word. It’s a new moisturizing lotion I bought at our Avon meeting last week. I’m sure you remember Mrs. Dixon? She’s my consultant, and she says the medicated formula does wonders.”
    Numerals. Still throbbing on Clay’s palm. Each number, like hot wax poured into a mold, sloshed and burned and hardened into irrefutable shape.
    1.2.2.5.2.1 …
    Were they products of his