Spectrum (The Karen Vail Series) Read Online Free Page B

bills.
    Her basement home was a modification that many homeowners made to bring in a little extra revenue. By installing an unpermitted exterior door, a few cement steps, and a bathroom, the subterranean floor became an apartment with its own separate entrance. For Vail, it suited her needs. Except for the persistent smell of mildew that irritated her nose every time she came home. The owner had told her he would take care of it. That was three months ago.
    She tossed her purse onto the bed and switched her shoes for a pair of Adidas sneakers, then headed down to 243rd Street, the small town where the neighbors shopped at Key Food, got their hair cut at Fino’s and their bicycles repaired at Abel’s.
    Vail walked into the Pizza King, where music was playing on the radio behind the counter.
    “Hey Vinnie,” Vail said as she took a seat on a stool. “This that new one from U2?”
    “Yeah,” the Italian man said as he twirled pizza dough in his hands. “It’s got some weird name, like, ‘Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me.’ I picked up the CD in Green Acres last week. Goody’s last copy.” He maneuvered the flexible soon-to-be-crust over his forearms. “Want me to get you a slice?”
    “Do I really need to answer that?”
    Vail pulled out a pack of Marlboros and started to tap on it.
    “Thought you quit,” Vinnie said.
    “Going to. Haven’t yet.” She took a long look at the cigarettes, then shoved them back into her pocket.
    The smell of fresh mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce sent a rumble of hunger rippling through her intestines. She grabbed the red chili flakes and started to sprinkle liberally when a man sat down beside her.
    “You like your pizza kinda spicy.”
    Vail glanced over at him: a good-looking man, about her age, square jaw, innocent face, dressed in tight Levis and a polyester shirt splayed open down to the third button.
    “I like a lot of things spicy,” she said as her eyes studied his face.
    “Really. You like Italian?”
    Vail held up her slice. “This is Italian.”
    “No, I mean real Italian.” He used his hands for emphasis. “Eggplant parmigiana, fettuccini alfredo, linguini and clams, insalata, antipasti.”
    “I like all that.”
    “Maybe I can buy you dinner sometime. I know a place. In fact, I know a place in the city. We can catch a show, then have a candlelight dinner.”
    “Really.” She did not know who this guy was, but her defenses were down. She was about to agree to a night out in Manhattan with a man she met thirty seconds ago. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sound nice. But I don’t know you or anything about you.”
    “That makes us even.”
    “Then let’s remedy that,” she said, holding out a hand. “Karen Vail.”
    “Deacon Tucker.”
    He took her fingers gently in his—and the contact made her shiver. She pulled her hand away. Something told her this was moving too fast—even though the attraction was palpable.
    “And what does Deacon Tucker do?”
    “He’s a numbers guy.”
    “Uh-oh. You mean like you gamble? You run numbers?”
    Deacon laughed heartily. “That’s funny. No, I work in the accounting department for National Overnight Delivery in Sheepshead Bay. They’re sending me to night school. To become a CPA.”
    “So you’re cutting classes right now?”
    Deacon’s grin broadened. “It’s four days a week. This is my night off.”
    “They must like you if they’re paying your tuition.”
    Deacon shrugged. “Like I said, I’m good with numbers. What about you?”
    “Me?” The opening guitar licks of “Good” by Better Than Ezra started playing on the radio and snagged everyone’s attention—giving Vail a few seconds to think. A friend of hers had once told her men were intimidated by women who carry guns. But she wasn’t going to poison this relationship with a lie. She looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m a cop.”
    “Whoa,” Deacon said, leaning back on his stool. “Does that mean I have the