On the Hook by Cindy Davis Read Free Book Online Page B

of,” KJ said. “Brady—is that his name?—is happy to watch the place till you get back.”
    “His name’s Grady and that’s not fair to him.”
    “He’s fine with it. I already spoke to him.”
    Was that why he wanted to talk to her? “You have a lot of explaining to do before you’ll get me on a plane. Where is this plane going anyway?”
    “Chicago, of course. You’re booked at the Hilton. It’s all paid.”
    KJ must have fallen in the deep end of the pool and got water on the brain. What in the world was Westen supposed to do in Chicago? Even if she had the names of people involved, what was supposed to compel them to talk to her? She wasn’t the sort of person to whom people talked freely. Usually, they presented a blank-faced stare—unless they wanted to relate the details of their pet’s demise.
    For the first time since Ben’s death, Westen wished she was in the pet shop. Dealing with creditors was, at the moment, more appealing than speeding down the highway in this cab. Newly budding trees zipped by like a fast-forwarded video.
    Why hadn’t KJ targeted Phoebe Smith for this expedition? Her personality was much more suited to investigating. She was outgoing and didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. Though Westen could imagine she might alienate people, and she might have to get physical, she would get information. Kendra Jean was a lot of negative things, but she was intelligent. She would’ve known that about Smith. So, why had the colorful woman apparently been left out of KJ’s plans?
    Unless Smith refused to come.
    Which is what she should’ve done. Instead, she’d allowed herself to be manhandled and, well…the word kidnapped came to mind.
    She didn’t get a chance to ask any of the gridlock of questions clogging her head; the cab skidded to a stop in front of the terminal. Westen checked her watch. A trip that during rush hour took forty-five minutes had been made as if the roads were empty.
    KJ flung open the taxi door and leaped out. She stood tapping her foot while Westen inched herself across the seat and out onto the sidewalk. Again, Westen’s hand was grasped as if she was a belligerent child, and she was hauled to the United check-in desk. The boarding pass was shoved at the woman behind the counter.
    “Do you have any luggage?” the woman asked.
    “Apparently not.” She asked KJ, “Do I?”
    KJ crammed a manila envelope—probably the one from the diner that morning—into Westen’s hand. “I put in a cell phone. I figured you didn’t have one.”
    Westen took offense to the comment but there was no time to call her on it. She wedged the envelope into her handbag.
    Next, a white #10 envelope, bulging at the seams, sealed and with a red rubber band, was pressed into her fingers. “I scrounged together ten thousand dollars. It’s the last money I have.”
    Should this make her feel guilty?
    “Buy clothes, beg, bribe—do whatever you have to with it, but find that painting.”
    Westen fit the envelope in her bag. When she looked up, KJ was gone. Beyond the crowd out on the sidewalk, the cab was gone too. She blew the air out of her lungs and accepted the boarding pass back from the woman.
    “You’d better hurry. They’re boarding.”
    So Westen located the sign for Gate #7 and took off at a gallop, ousting from her mind the picture of a thirty-eight year old woman, slipping and stumbling on the shiny floors, and only wearing two-inch heels.
    They were announcing last call for boarding. Westen slid to a stop near the cord boundary. She shoved the pass at the young man. He gave it a cursory glance and waved her out the door.
    Seat 23B—toward the middle. She wondered if whoever had the window seat would trade. She hated spending a whole flight dodging elbows. Westen located the seat and slipped into it. She buckled up. Once they were in the air she leaned the seat back and closed her eyes. Seemed like just minutes later, she was being jostled awake by elbows on either