vnNeSsa1 Read Online Free Page A

head tells me I’m about to lose control. He gives me a shit-eating grin.
    “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that.”
    It’s the lack of intelligence that offends me the most.
    My hand opens the desk drawer housing my suppressed Glock 26. Almost a shame to get it dirty for the likes of him. The man’s eyes are trained on the gun and he’s begging for his life. His pants have a growing stain in the front, I notice with distaste. Groveling on his knees now, he’s crying about a wife and kids. He says he’s sorry he didn’t think about the boat.
    I get mad all over again and shoot him in the head.
    It’s a clean shot. The look of disbelief followed by the realization this is it. The inevitable bleeding and crumpling to the floor are all mildly interesting.
    But this part is best. I crouch down low over his face so I can watch the light slowly go out of his eyes. Ah, there it goes. Slowly going. And, it’s gone. Extinguished. Blank. I feel a chill at the bottom of my spine as I know the last thing he saw in this life was me. Beautiful.
    A lovely calm has taken the place of all that pent-up anger. This is holy work, to rid the world of stupid creatures. They must not be allowed to procreate further. Energy surges through my muscles as I move to my desk and through my fingers as I push the intercom button.
    “Did you hear all that?” My voice sounds powerful to my ears.
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Good. Come up.” It will take a few moments to climb the flight of stairs to my study. Everything looks perfectly in place in the room. Except the dead body, of course. The blood may be difficult to get out of the Persian carpet. I’ll have to get rid of it. Pity.
    The woman enters and it startles me how much she looks like the help with her mousy hair and dumpy figure. Her shoes are brown, clunky things. Thick lenses magnify eyes that stare at me without blinking, frog-like. She’s so…untidy. Still, she comes highly recommended as the best tracker in the business, so I’ll give her a chance. One chance.
    What’s her name? Wilson? Williams? Wilcox, that’s it.
    “So, Ms. Wilcox, tell me again what you reported on the phone and give me any new information.” Her amphibian eyes shift from me to the body and back.
    “Rita. Call me Rita.” Wilcox delivers this in a monotone without a change in expression. I nod.
    “The boat was docked. Dried mud tracks in the house led to her room and to a trap door under the rug in the family room. She took the time to put the rug back in place, but it didn’t take much to find the trap door.” Her body stays in the same position, but her eyes move to the decanters on the liquor cart. “Scotch?” I don’t say anything. She outwaits me. I get up and pour two fingers for each of us and hand hers over. Her mouth turns down as she conspicuously notes the amount. She drinks it down as if she’s drinking a glass of water. She sighs when she sees I’m not going to pour more.
    “There was only an empty safe in the space beneath the trap door. Some clothes were thrown around her room. Van Clief’s Aston Martin was in the garage. You already know she went straight to the police station in town because you got a call from the chief there. On the phone you said you’d brief me about that.” Rita’s eyes return to the Scotch yearningly. I sigh pointedly, get up again, and splash some more in her glass. The corner of her mouth twitches in thanks, or perhaps it’s a tic.
    I try not to look at her as I continue. “An idiot, the chief. He was my back-up plan if something went wrong. He has political aspirations and needs backing. We traded favors. Apparently he listened to her story and sat her in a chair outside his office. He got on the phone immediately to me and swears she must have had her ear to the door. In any case, when he went back into the hall, she was gone. For God’s sake, woman!” Rita has shoved her empty glass across the table toward me for a refill. I get up yet again, grab the