First to Kill Read Online Free Page A

couldn’t, it raised its ears and turned toward the house. Nathan looked up just as two men appeared at the front door, the older of the two in a wheelchair: former FBI Director Frank Ortega.
    Its docked tail wagging, the dog trotted up the driveway, turned up the wheelchair ramp, and sat by its owner’s side. The man patted the dog’s back.
    Nathan had met Frank Ortega once before, but couldn’t remember where. Maybe a political event. They walked over as the two men came down the ramp, one rolling, one walking.
    Harvey spoke first. “Hello, Frank.” They shook hands. “This is Nathan McBride.”
    “It’s an honor to meet you again,” Nathan said.
    “The honor is mine. You’re an unsung hero, Major McBride.”
    “I appreciate that, sir, but I’m retired now.”
    “You’ve earned the title, and please call me Frank.”
    The man issued a firm handshake, overly so. Nathan figured it was a gesture saying I may be in a wheelchair, but I’m still a force to be reckoned with . Frank Ortega had kind, brown eyes behind a pronounced brow line. The former director was thin, but not slack. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a belly under his white buttoned shirt. He wore tan slacks with penny loafers  that looked brand new. Although he did his best to hide it, his face looked taut with tension.
    Frank’s son, Greg, strongly resembled his father. He had the same eyes and brow line, just twenty-five years younger. Nathan guessed his age at fifty, plus or minus. Greg wore a dark jogging outfit and running shoes.
    Harvey gave Greg a hug. “Greg, this is Nathan McBride.”
    “Pleasure,” Greg said, shaking hands without a smile.
    “The same,” Nathan answered. Greg’s handshake wasn’t as firm and he spent a fraction too long looking at Nathan’s face. Nathan didn’t resent the staring. He’d gotten used to that over the years. It was just a natural reaction to seeing the damage.
    “Tell me something, McBride,” said Frank. “How did you know about Scout? Most people are intimidated by Rottweilers.”
    Nathan didn’t mind being called McBride. Frank Ortega would be in the habit of speaking that way. He’d been the FBI’s top man under two presidents.
    “Body language,” Nathan said. “When a dog is going to attack, it lowers its head, crouches down, and curls its lips back. Scout was barking, but he wasn’t singularly focused on me. He knew you’d be coming out the door, so he was dividing his attention. By approaching him, I established dominance.”
    Frank nodded a silent compliment.
    “I like dogs a lot. They’re amazing animals. They give affection and loyalty freely.”
    Frank Ortega looked at Harvey, but said nothing.
    Nathan sensed the tension thicken. He hadn’t intended the comment to be suggestive of their current situation, but he wasn’t going to backpedal from it.
    “Let’s go inside,” Frank said.
    Nathan watched as Frank easily maneuvered up the ramp and through the front door. He was also acutely aware of being studied by Greg. The surveillance was subtle, but steady. Understandable. From what he knew about Greg, the man rode a desk. Nathan hated offices and avoided his own as much as possible. First Security Incorporated was Harv’s deal, and he gave his partner complete freedom to manage everything. Although an equal owner, he had neither the desire nor the temperament to be actively involved in a complex business.
    Inside Frank’s home on the left, Nathan saw a small library. On the right, a sitting room with a beige leather sofa and matching love seat. Straight ahead, the kitchen. But what impressed Nathan the most was the stone floor. Staring in amazement, he stopped short of a fifteen-foot reproduction of the official FBI seal. Every aspect of the insignia was intricately re-created in a mosaic of colored stone. Inscribed within the seal were the words  Fidelity  Bravery  Integrity .
    A small, elderly woman approached from the kitchen. “Frank spent a fortune on