In Cold Blonde Read Online Free

Liz started for her car.  “I’ll
call you guys when I know something.” 
    Hanrahan shook his head.  “I can’t imagine waking up to that every
morning.  How’d your dad do it?”
    “She makes a mean blueberry pancake,” Ryan said.  “She’s also smart,
informed and passionate about life.”
    “Yet she spends her days sticking her hands in dead people, go figure.” 
Hanrahan sucked the last bit of chocolate off his Tootsie Roll Pop.  “Anyway,
the bartender’s inside along with a few of the customers who got a look at the blonde.”
    “Don’t suppose the bar or parking lot had a surveillance camera?” Ryan
asked.  
    “No,” Hanrahan said.
    Syd pointed across the street.  “There’s a 7-Eleven.  I’ll
check to see if they have a camera pointed in this direction.”
    “Great idea,” Ryan said.  Syd hurried off.
    Hanrahan watched Syd cross the street.  “If she was my partner, I’d
have trouble keeping my dick in my pants.”
    Ryan studied Hanrahan for any sign of suspicion, found none.  “I’ve
never had a thing for redheads,” Ryan said, not crazy about lying to his
boss.  Then he sprinkled on a little extra seasoning.  “Besides,
she’s got a boyfriend.”
    “Good,” Hanrahan said, turning back to Ryan.  “Because fucking your
partner always ends the same way.  You end up fucking yourself.” 

THREE
     
    Syd was excited.  She just had a feeling.  Not about the
security camera.  7-Eleven’s have their cameras inside, trained on the
aisles and cash register, not on the parking lot.  There was probably no
way there was a security camera to help in their murder investigation. 
No, she was excited about Ryan’s lottery ticket.  She just had this
feeling.
    “Can I help you?” the clerk asked as Syd approached the counter.  He
was smiling, but he didn’t mean it.  Syd could just tell.  He was
Middle Eastern, of course, late thirties to early forties, and he just oozed
resentment.  He was probably a doctor or an engineer in his native country
but in America he’s stuck behind a sticky, slurpee-stained counter.
    “Yes,” Syd said, handing him Ryan’s Lotto ticket, beaming him her
brightest smile.  “Could you check this for me, tell me if I’ve won
anything?”
    “Certainly,” he said, perking up.  No man, no matter where he is
from, can resist a pretty girl.  He tried to put it in the Lotto reader,
but it was so wrinkled the machine rejected it.   
    “Sorry,” Syd said.  “It was sort of forgotten about, stuffed in a glove
compartment.”
    “No problem,” he said, smoothing it out.  “You’d be surprised how
many millions of dollars go unclaimed because people forgot about their
tickets.”  He carefully placed the ticket in the machine and, with a
mechanical whir, the machine sucked it in.   
    Syd couldn’t see the screen from her angle so she watched the clerk’s
face.  He stared at the screen, expressionless, and then shook his
head.  “Sorry, miss, no luck today.”  He hit a button, the machine
spit the ticket out and the clerk threw it into the trashcan behind the
counter.
    “Can I have my ticket?” Syd asked.
    “No need, miss, it’s a loser.  I’ve thrown it away for you.”
    Syd pulled her .9mm Glock and stuck it in his face.
    “Shit,” he gasped, raising his hands.  “Take whatever you
want.  But, please, don’t shoot.”
    “I’m a cop, you jackass, and all I want is my Lotto ticket.”
    Looking even more worried than when Syd pulled the gun, the clerk leaned
down, plucked the ticket out of the trash and handed it to her.
    “You lied to me,” Syd said.  “I could see it in your eyes. 
What came up on the screen?”
    “Nothing, I swear.  It was like I said, the screen said, no winner.”
    Syd walked behind the counter, stopped in front of the Lotto
machine.  “Let’s just double check, shall we?”  Syd smoothed the
edges and slipped it into the machine.  The screen flashed:  CALL