Paradise By The Rifle Sights (Greatest Hits romantic mysteries book #5) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Leslie Langtry
while to cram him in there so that a stray ankle or hand didn't pop out, but I managed. The dark green tablecloth covered everything but the back, but I'd be pushing it there so would probably be okay.
I 'd have to avoid the service elevator. I didn't want to run into the staff or end up in the kitchen. None of the guests seemed to think it strange that I was using the guest elevator. Hotel staff were usually invisible to most people. I made it to the parking lot easily enough.
Finding his truck wasn 't even hard. All I had to do was hit the unlock button on the key remote, and a navy blue Dodge truck flashed its lights. After unloading Luther into the vehicle, I started up the truck and made my way to the address on his driver's license.
I pulled up into a set of elite condominiums in Beverly Hills. A row of carefully manicured hedges kept the door from view. After changing back into my own suit jacket, I made my way to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. I tried again. No point in letting myself in if there was a Mrs. Luther at home.
When several minutes passed, I inserted the key into the lock and turned. The key to breaking into a house that isn't your own is to look like you belong there. Once the door was shut behind me, I let out a breath.
The condo looked more like a showroom than an actual living space. There was no dust, no wrinkles in the upholstery, nothing to indicate anyone had lived here. The cupboards and drawers in every room were empty. Nothing was plugged into the outlets. Whatever this address was, neither Luther nor anyone else had ever lived here.
The condo was clean —devoid of any information at all. Even the computer was a prop. Now I had a different problem. Do I leave the body here? That was my original intention. Someone would eventually find him here and think he died at home. But now, with this being a false address, a dead body would only make it very newsworthy.
But maybe that wasn 't a bad idea. The local news might find out more than I could. Besides, I was running out of time. I waited in the condo until darkness fell, and smuggled the body in through the sliding glass door out back. After arranging the body on the bathroom floor, to look like he'd fallen and hit his neck on the sink, (and planting his wallet back on him) I slipped out the back door.
Leaving the keys in the truck, I took side streets back to my hotel. Back in my room, I checked out the gun. At least I had a weapon now. But I still didn't know how I was going to kill my target in the morning. Fantastic.
CHAPTER FIVE
" She grinned at me. 'You got types?'
Only you darling —lanky brunettes with wicked jaws."
~ Dashiell Hammett, The Thin Man
" This is your front desk wake-up call…" the computer-generated voice sang in my ear, waking me to a sunny and hazy LA morning. After a quick shower, I turned on the news. There was no mention of a body found in a condo in Beverly Hills. I sighed as I suited up for my audition. This was good and bad. Good, because Bombays don't like to attract notice.
But it was bad because I had no new information on the guy. I had no idea why he tried to kill me, or even if I was the target. I could always call in a tip to the police, but that had an element of risk I wasn't ready to assume.
Besides, I had to audition for and kill one of the most obnoxious producers in Hollywood. First things first, I thought as I tucked Luther's .45 into my jacket.
Getting the audition wasn 't hard. And I had no intention of passing it. In fact, I was pretty sure that once I killed Plimpton, there wouldn't even be a show, which was a good thing—maybe even a service to the television-viewing public. And then, in a few hours, I'd be jetting back home. Granted, there was this strange attempt on my life, but I'd have more resources and time to deal with it later.
A Lincoln Town Car was waiting for me outside, complete with a chauffeur holding a sign that said, PARIS BOMBAY. The
I 'd have to avoid the service elevator. I didn't want to run into the staff or end up in the kitchen. None of the guests seemed to think it strange that I was using the guest elevator. Hotel staff were usually invisible to most people. I made it to the parking lot easily enough.
Finding his truck wasn 't even hard. All I had to do was hit the unlock button on the key remote, and a navy blue Dodge truck flashed its lights. After unloading Luther into the vehicle, I started up the truck and made my way to the address on his driver's license.
I pulled up into a set of elite condominiums in Beverly Hills. A row of carefully manicured hedges kept the door from view. After changing back into my own suit jacket, I made my way to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. I tried again. No point in letting myself in if there was a Mrs. Luther at home.
When several minutes passed, I inserted the key into the lock and turned. The key to breaking into a house that isn't your own is to look like you belong there. Once the door was shut behind me, I let out a breath.
The condo looked more like a showroom than an actual living space. There was no dust, no wrinkles in the upholstery, nothing to indicate anyone had lived here. The cupboards and drawers in every room were empty. Nothing was plugged into the outlets. Whatever this address was, neither Luther nor anyone else had ever lived here.
The condo was clean —devoid of any information at all. Even the computer was a prop. Now I had a different problem. Do I leave the body here? That was my original intention. Someone would eventually find him here and think he died at home. But now, with this being a false address, a dead body would only make it very newsworthy.
But maybe that wasn 't a bad idea. The local news might find out more than I could. Besides, I was running out of time. I waited in the condo until darkness fell, and smuggled the body in through the sliding glass door out back. After arranging the body on the bathroom floor, to look like he'd fallen and hit his neck on the sink, (and planting his wallet back on him) I slipped out the back door.
Leaving the keys in the truck, I took side streets back to my hotel. Back in my room, I checked out the gun. At least I had a weapon now. But I still didn't know how I was going to kill my target in the morning. Fantastic.
CHAPTER FIVE
" She grinned at me. 'You got types?'
Only you darling —lanky brunettes with wicked jaws."
~ Dashiell Hammett, The Thin Man
" This is your front desk wake-up call…" the computer-generated voice sang in my ear, waking me to a sunny and hazy LA morning. After a quick shower, I turned on the news. There was no mention of a body found in a condo in Beverly Hills. I sighed as I suited up for my audition. This was good and bad. Good, because Bombays don't like to attract notice.
But it was bad because I had no new information on the guy. I had no idea why he tried to kill me, or even if I was the target. I could always call in a tip to the police, but that had an element of risk I wasn't ready to assume.
Besides, I had to audition for and kill one of the most obnoxious producers in Hollywood. First things first, I thought as I tucked Luther's .45 into my jacket.
Getting the audition wasn 't hard. And I had no intention of passing it. In fact, I was pretty sure that once I killed Plimpton, there wouldn't even be a show, which was a good thing—maybe even a service to the television-viewing public. And then, in a few hours, I'd be jetting back home. Granted, there was this strange attempt on my life, but I'd have more resources and time to deal with it later.
A Lincoln Town Car was waiting for me outside, complete with a chauffeur holding a sign that said, PARIS BOMBAY. The
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