Bloodshot by Cherie Priest Read Free Book Online Page A

second-grader whose arm is covered in cigarette burn scars.
    Her brother Domino is even worse. If I don’t keep an eye on him, he’ll deliberately antagonize the cops. One of these days that poor little asshole is going to end up dead or in jail for life.
    And then who’ll look after his sister?
    Not me.
    No pet people. Even if they’re cute and slightly fey, and smart and somewhat needy. Absolutely not. It’s the cute ones you can’t get rid of. Just ask anyone who’s ever “kept an eye on” a stray puppy for a couple of days. You know what I’m talking about.
    Also, forget everything I said before about not being a rooftop-to-rooftop kind of jogger, because I needed to get some real speed going—and I couldn’t do it there on the street, in front of God and everybody. The best way to preserve my anonymity was to take to the higher path, and I don’t mean Zen. I grabbed a fire escape and climbed that sucker like a scratching post.
    Once I made it to the roof I was home free, for all practical values of the expression.
    From my starting point I was maybe a mile from the factorybuilding. For the millionth time I wished that everything you hear about vampires is true. I wished I could fly, or turn into a bat, or do any one of a hundred useful things that would move me faster through space.
    But I had to settle for the old-fashioned Run Like Hell.
    Above the crowds, or at least the trickling late-night party-goers, I could go as fast as I’m capable—which, if I do say so myself, is pretty damn fast. I can manage a really good clip if the cityscape is even enough.
    In the old part of town, most of the roofs are more or less the same height, give or take a story or two.
    I took the longest strides I could, and I made the farthest, stretching leaps that I dared manage. I pitied anyone who might’ve been indoors. All the grace in the world isn’t church-mouse-quiet when it’s flinging itself fifteen or twenty yards at a time. I’m not very heavy—though I’m not sure how much I weigh, but let’s say 140 pounds. Still, drop something that weighs 140 pounds onto your roof from a great height and terrific speed, and you can bet it’s going to make an impact.
    It was even colder on the rooftops than it was down on the street, though that might’ve been my imagination, or the fact that I was moving much faster. Above me, the moon spun low across the sky and a few watery clouds hung from the stars like cobwebs. In my ears there was only the rush of the frigid air, and the pumping and thudding of my feet and my heart.
    I slowed down a block away from my destination.
    No sense in announcing myself.
    I scanned the area with every jump, straining to see the streets and sidewalks that surrounded my building. They were empty as far as I could tell, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.
    I might have a transient, or I might have something weirder and worse on my hands. I hauled myself to a stop on the edge of theroof next door. I stalked as far as I could around its perimeter, and I thought that the side door might be open a crack.
    It shouldn’t be.
    I launched myself over the side and landed more carefully, almost silently, in the alley beside the door.
    A bending on the frame and a crease in the metal showed where it’d been jimmied, and I was not reassured to note that the jimmying job appeared to have gone quite smoothly. Someone had popped it fast, and without a lot of struggle.
    My stomach tightened with irritation and outright anger. Another pro?
    The thought made me want to bite something until it stopped twitching. If I found another thief inside, he’d suffice.
    (Yeah, or “she.” I’m not trying to be a hideous sexist with my presumption of a male pronoun. I’m a lady in a tramp’s game, that’s all, and no one’s more aware of it than me.)
    I pushed my fingers lightly against the door, and it opened inward on hinges that gave only the faintest squeak. I didn’t move. I waited for the