Shadow Kill (Nick Teffinger Thriller) Read Online Free Page A
Author: R.J. Jagger
have to undo the latches and pull the top up to get to the photo inside. Legally, that would be a search without a warrant. As nice as it would be to know which of the eleven Susan Smith’s was the mark, it wasn’t worth jeopardizing the legality of the investigation.
He stood at the window.
Denver was thick with twilight.
Streetlights were on.
Headlights were on.
The air was full of mischief.
The bathroom door opened.
Portia was now in a short red dress that framed her body to perfection, tighter up top at the cleavage but flaring dangerously loose over her hips, barely covering her posterior. She wore no nylons.
Her lips were the same red color.
So were the high-heels.
“Acceptable?”
Teffinger swallowed.
“I suddenly feel understated.” In jeans and a white cotton shirt with no tie, the words were more than true.
Portia linked her arm through his.
“You’re fine,” she said. “Tonight’s my treat so just sit back and enjoy.” She pulled a flask out of the top dresser drawer, shoved it in her purse and said, “Let’s go.”
“Let’s.”
Downstairs in the lobby Portia hesitated for a moment as she looked around and then headed over to a stunning little blond in a white skirt sitting in a white leather chair by the fireplace.
“Are you here to meet Portia?”
Yes, she was.
“That’s me,” Portia said. “You’re prettier than I expected. What’s your name?”
“Seven.”
“As in the number?”
“Right, six plus one.”
“This hunky guy here is North.” To Teffinger, “She’s from Escorts en Secret. She’ll be partying with us this evening, unless you have an objection.”
Teffinger didn’t and extended his hand to prove it.
The woman’s skin was pure sex.
Her eyes were voodoo blue.
They jammed into the back of a cab with Teffinger in the middle. Portia pulled out the flask, took a hit, passed it to Teffinger and told the driver, “B.T.s.”
“The strip club?”
“Right, the strip club. Not the church.”
They ended up in a dark roped-off couch area of the club, an oasis in a world of high-energy, pounding music and twisting sin. There were several stages and most had two dancers getting down and dirty and wrapping their thighs around the faces of as many female takers as males. In the middle of the club was a gyrating dance floor. The women were armatures. Most had their tops off.
There had to have been five hundred people in there.
Over in the far corner was a stage of male entertainers, muscular men with swagger and attitude, awash in a sea of hollering women laying down green and getting their faces close in. The lucky ones got their drunken bodies pulled onto the stage and placed into a compromising position.
Portia got very touchy very fast.
Drinks landed on their table.
Dancers came over to party.
Hands went to Teffinger’s thighs.
Lips landed on his.
Sexy little thighs straddled his lap and the heavenly weight of beautiful young things grinded down for attention.
An hour into it, Portia’s hand slipped into Teffinger’s pants.
He needed to pull it out but the fire in his veins wouldn’t let him.
The plan changed, just like that.
The whole world changed. It shrunk and turned into Portia. There was nothing else, only her; her and her short little dress and her sweet little mouth and the smoothness of her golden skin.
“You’re an evil little thing,” he said.
“Me? I’m an angel.”
9
Day Two
July 9
Wednesday Morning
Jori-Lee woke Wednesday morning with a scary realization of just how serious a secret she was sitting on. The files she extracted from the MacBook last night weren’t just explosive, they were almost beyond comprehension.
She needed to figure out what to do.
She needed to do that this morning.
At five-one, she wasn’t big.
Her apartment wasn’t much bigger. She had to suck her stomach in to turn around. The thing that made it tolerable was the fact that it was temporary. Her Harvard law degree, now
He stood at the window.
Denver was thick with twilight.
Streetlights were on.
Headlights were on.
The air was full of mischief.
The bathroom door opened.
Portia was now in a short red dress that framed her body to perfection, tighter up top at the cleavage but flaring dangerously loose over her hips, barely covering her posterior. She wore no nylons.
Her lips were the same red color.
So were the high-heels.
“Acceptable?”
Teffinger swallowed.
“I suddenly feel understated.” In jeans and a white cotton shirt with no tie, the words were more than true.
Portia linked her arm through his.
“You’re fine,” she said. “Tonight’s my treat so just sit back and enjoy.” She pulled a flask out of the top dresser drawer, shoved it in her purse and said, “Let’s go.”
“Let’s.”
Downstairs in the lobby Portia hesitated for a moment as she looked around and then headed over to a stunning little blond in a white skirt sitting in a white leather chair by the fireplace.
“Are you here to meet Portia?”
Yes, she was.
“That’s me,” Portia said. “You’re prettier than I expected. What’s your name?”
“Seven.”
“As in the number?”
“Right, six plus one.”
“This hunky guy here is North.” To Teffinger, “She’s from Escorts en Secret. She’ll be partying with us this evening, unless you have an objection.”
Teffinger didn’t and extended his hand to prove it.
The woman’s skin was pure sex.
Her eyes were voodoo blue.
They jammed into the back of a cab with Teffinger in the middle. Portia pulled out the flask, took a hit, passed it to Teffinger and told the driver, “B.T.s.”
“The strip club?”
“Right, the strip club. Not the church.”
They ended up in a dark roped-off couch area of the club, an oasis in a world of high-energy, pounding music and twisting sin. There were several stages and most had two dancers getting down and dirty and wrapping their thighs around the faces of as many female takers as males. In the middle of the club was a gyrating dance floor. The women were armatures. Most had their tops off.
There had to have been five hundred people in there.
Over in the far corner was a stage of male entertainers, muscular men with swagger and attitude, awash in a sea of hollering women laying down green and getting their faces close in. The lucky ones got their drunken bodies pulled onto the stage and placed into a compromising position.
Portia got very touchy very fast.
Drinks landed on their table.
Dancers came over to party.
Hands went to Teffinger’s thighs.
Lips landed on his.
Sexy little thighs straddled his lap and the heavenly weight of beautiful young things grinded down for attention.
An hour into it, Portia’s hand slipped into Teffinger’s pants.
He needed to pull it out but the fire in his veins wouldn’t let him.
The plan changed, just like that.
The whole world changed. It shrunk and turned into Portia. There was nothing else, only her; her and her short little dress and her sweet little mouth and the smoothness of her golden skin.
“You’re an evil little thing,” he said.
“Me? I’m an angel.”
9
Day Two
July 9
Wednesday Morning
Jori-Lee woke Wednesday morning with a scary realization of just how serious a secret she was sitting on. The files she extracted from the MacBook last night weren’t just explosive, they were almost beyond comprehension.
She needed to figure out what to do.
She needed to do that this morning.
At five-one, she wasn’t big.
Her apartment wasn’t much bigger. She had to suck her stomach in to turn around. The thing that made it tolerable was the fact that it was temporary. Her Harvard law degree, now