Night Shade by Nora Roberts(2).pdf

Prologue

It was a hell of a place to meet a snitch. A cold night, a dark street,

with the smell of whiskey and sweat seeping through the pores of

the bar door at his back. Colt drew easily on a slim cigar as he

studied the spindly bag of bones who'd agreed to sell him

information. Not much to look at, Colt mused—short, skinny, and

ugly as homemade sin. In the garish light tossed fitfully by the

neon sign behind them, his informant looked almost comical.

But there was nothing funny about the business at hand.

"You're a hard man to pin down, Billings."

"Yeah, yeah…" Billings nibbled on a grimy thumb, his gaze

sweeping up and down the street. "A guy keeps healthy that way.

Heard you were looking for me." He studied Colt, his eyes flying

up, then away, soaring on nerves. "Man in my position has to be

careful, you know? What you want to buy, it don't come cheap.

And it's dangerous. I'd feel better with my cop. Generally I work

through the cop, but I ain't been able to get through all day."

"I'd feel better without your cop. And I'm the one who's paying."

To illustrate his point, Colt drew two fifties from his shirt pocket.

He watched Billings's eyes dart toward the bills and linger

greedily. Colt might be a man who'd take risks, but buying a pig in

a poke wasn't his style. He held the money out of reach.

"Talk better if I had a drink." Billings jerked his head toward the

doorway of the bar behind them. A woman's laugh, high and shrill,

burst through the glass like a gunshot.

"You talk just fine to me." The man was a bundle of raw nerves,

Colt observed. He could almost hear the thin bones rattle together

as Billings shifted from foot to foot. If he didn't press his point

now, the man was going to run like a rabbit. And he'd come too far

and had too much at stake to lose him now. "Tell me what I need

to know, then I'll buy you a drink."

"You're not from around here."

"No." Colt lifted a brow, waited. "Is that a problem?"

"Nope. Better you aren't. They get wind of you…" Billings swiped

the back of his hand over his mouth. "Well, you look like you can

handle yourself okay."

"I've been known to." He took one last drag before flicking the

cigar away. Its single red eye gleamed in the gutter. "Information,

Billings." To show good faith, Colt held out one of the bills. "Let's

do business."

Even as Billings's eager fingers reached out, the frigid air was

shattered by the shriek of tires on pavement.

Colt didn't have to read the terror in Billings's eyes. Adrenaline

and instinct took over, with a kick as quick and hard as a mule's.

He was diving for cover as the first shots rang out.

Chapter 1

Althea didn't mind being bored. After a rough day, a nice spot of

tedium could be welcome, giving both mind and body a chan ce to

recharge. She didn't really mind coming off a tough ten-hour shift

after an even more grueling sixty-hour week and donning cocktail

wear or slipping her tired feet into three-inch heels. She wouldn't

even complain about being stuck at a banquet table in the ballroom

of the Brown House while speech after droning speech muddled

her head.

What she did mind was having her date's hand slide up her thigh

under cover of the white linen tablecloth.

Men were so predictable.

She picked up her wineglass and, shifting in her seat, nuzzled her

date's ear. "Jack?"

His fingers crept higher. "Mmm-hmm?"

"If you don't move your hand—say, within the next two

seconds—I'm going to stab it, really, really hard, with my dessert

fork. It would hurt, Jack." She sat back and sipped her wine,

smiling over the rim as he arched a brow. "You wouldn't play

racket ball for a month."

Jack Holmsby, eligible bachelor, feared prosecutor, and guest of

honor at the Denver Bar Association Banquet, knew how to handle

women. And he'd been trying to get close enough to handle this

particular woman for months.

"Thea…" He breathed her name, gifting her with his most

charming, crooked smile. "We're nearly done here. Why don't we

go back to my place? We can…" He whispered into her ear a

suggestion that was descriptive, inventive and possibly

anatomically impossible.

Althea was saved from answering—and Jack was spared minor

surgery—by the sound of her beeper. Several of her tablemates

began shifting, checking pockets and purses. Inclini ng her head,

she rose.

"Pardon me. I believe it's mine." She walked away with a subtle

switch of hips, a long flash of leg. The compact body in the

backless purple dress glinting with silver beading caused more

than one head to turn. Blood pressures were elevated. Fantasies

were woven.

Not unaware, but certainly unconcerned, Althea strode out of the

ballroom and into the lobby, toward a bank of phones. Opening her

beaded evening bag, which contained a compact, lipstick, ID,

emergency cash and her nine-millimeter, she fished out a quarter

and made her call.

"Grayson." While she listened, she pushed back her fall of flame-

colored hair. Her eyes, a tawny shade of brown, narrowed. "I'm on

my way."

She hung up, turned and watched Jack Holmsby hurry toward her.

An attractive man, she thought objectively. Nicely polished on the

outside. A pity he was so ordinary on the inside.

"Sorry, Jack. I have to go."

Irritation scored a deep line between his brows. He had a bottle of

Napoleon brandy, a stack of appl e wood and a set of white satin

sheets waiting at home. "Really, Thea, can't someone else take the

call?"

"No." The job came first. It always came first. "It's handy I had to

meet you here, Jack. You can stay and enjoy yourself."

But he wasn't giving up that easily. He dogged her through the

lobby and out into the brisk fall night. "Why don't you come by

after you've finished? We can pick up where we left off."

"We haven't left off, Jack." She handed her parking stub to an

attendant. "You have to start to leave off, and I have no intention

of starting anything with you."

She only sighed as he slipped his arms around her. "Come on,

Thea, you didn't come here tonight to eat prime rib and listen to a

bunch of lawyers make endless speeches." He lowered his head

and murmured against her lips, "You didn't wear a dress like that to

keep me at arm's length. You wore it to make me hot. And you

did."

Mild irritation became brittle and keen. "I came here tonight

because I respect you as a lawyer." The quick elbow to his ribs had

his breath woofing out and allowed her to step back. "And because

I thought we could spend a pleasant evening together. What I wear

is my business, Holmsby, but I didn't choose it so that you'd grope

me under the table or make ludicrous suggestions as to how I

might spend the rest of my evening."

She wasn't shouting, but neither was she bothering to keep her

voice down. Anger glinted in her voice, like ice under fog.

Appalled, Jack tugged at the knot of his tie and darted glances right

and left.

"For God's sake, Althea, keep it down."

"Exactly what I was going to suggest to you," she said sweetly.

Though the attendant was all eyes and ears, he politely cleared his

throat. Althea turned to accept her keys. "Thank you." She offered

him a smile and a generous tip. The smile had his heart skipping a

beat, and he didn't glance at the bill before tucking it into his

pocket. He was too busy dreaming.

"Ah… drive carefully, miss. And come back soon. Real soon."

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: