Thomas Prescott Superpack Read Online Free

she’d just stepped off Wall Street and I was shocked to learn she was the Fed’s contact at the Bangor Police Department. The delectable Dr. Caitlin Dodds.
    We were all introduced and I was hoping Dr. Caitlin was thinking, Dr. Caitlin Prescott, not bad, not bad at all, but she looked more like the type to make me adopt her last name.
    There wasn’t much for small talk and after each of us signed a form, we broke huddle and headed back to the cars. I hesitated for a couple seconds, gazing across the Atlantic trying to make out where the thin bridge ended and this so-called island began. There was an ulterior motive for my hesitation, which paid off when I fell into stride behind the good doctor. To say the view was spectacular would be an understatement; her professional skirt unable to shroud the well-maintained, grade-A caboose, housed beneath the fabric.
    Thomas Dodds, I could deal with that.
     
    No one  was allowed at the crime scene until the Feds arrived, which is a terribly stupid policy and everyone was pissed off. Well except the Feds. And me. And Francis, the quasi-Canadian Mountie, didn’t seem all that upset. So, I guess that left Caitlin. Dr. Caitlin Dodds was pissed off.
    I made a point to get in the same car as Dr. Dodds who greeted me with a grunt when I had her slide over in the backseat. No one else filed in, and within ten seconds it was clear why; Dr. Caitlin Dodds was a monstrous bitch.
    The car started onto the bridge and after staring at me for a couple awkward seconds, the doctress barked, “What? Your suit get lost at the cleaners?”
    I’ve always had the uncanny ability to give off the impression I’m lying whenever I’m telling the truth, and vice versa, so I said, “I’m not FBI.”
    “Yeah right, you’re not FBI like I’m not on my fricking period.” She rummaged through her purse and extracted what I can only assume was a tampon.
    I attempted to roll out of the car and plunge myself into the Atlantic, but my door wouldn’t open. Blasted federal perks. I turned around and saw what I’d thought was a tampon was in actuality a pack of Mentos. Now, there would be  a good commercial—The Freshmaker.
    After popping a Mentos—she neglected to offer me one—Dr. Dodds unbuttoned her blazer and revealed she’d been concealing three deadly weapons. While all were respective thirty-eights and all were equally special, only one was a Smith & Wesson.
    I made my way up the eighteen inches to her eyes and she said, “Sorry, I’ll try to de-bitch. I’m just a little wound up right now. I thought these killings were over, then this morning I get word they found another woman. Then to top it off, they tell me I’m not allowed to do anything because she was found in Canada and the case was being turned over to you imbeciles.”
    I liked this girl, she hated the Feds almost as much as I did. I cocked my head at the car speeding alongside ours and said, “You mean those imbeciles.”
    Caitlin sat quietly, no doubt trying to get a read on the asshole, with the lavender shirt and tan tweed jacket sitting beside her. Finally she asked, “What are you?”
    I repositioned myself on the black leather, “I’m the government’s idea of a safety net.”
    “Safety net? Please explain.”
    “If I break this case my name is never mentioned and the FBI gets another slot on the bedpost. However, if the case breaks them, my name shows up all over the place and I get slaughtered on the bedpost.”
    She began buttoning her blazer and said, “It’snotch on the bedpost, no t slot on the bedpost. Maybe you would have gotten it right if you hadn’t been using my tits as a teleprompter.”
    I knew I’d stared at them one second too long. “Sorry, won’t happen again. But, you have to admit, it’s one hell of a teleprompter.”
    She tried to look offended but it’s hard when the sides of your mouth are turned up in a grin. I guess she thought it was in her best interest to change the subject and