Burn by Sean Doolittle Read Free Book Online Page A

go now.” Lane gestured to the open doorway. “Shut the doors on your way out.”
    Sonja looked at him as though he'd just sprouted a snout and tusks. He looked back at her as if to say,
which word didn't you understand?
She cocked a hip and held it a moment. Then she pivoted like a runway model for surgical hardware. Using her good hand, Sonja slammed Lane's doors one at a time with a force that startled even Andrew.
    He turned back to Lane.
    “Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but Margot seemed angrier overall, ” he said. “I guess she considers dictation to be her turf, huh?”
    Lane stood and tucked in his shirttails with violent thrusts. “That's very funny.”
    “Lane, I'm afraid I might end up beating you to death one of these days.”
    Lane faltered, took one look at Andrew, then wrestled open his middle desk drawer. He retrieved a letter opener and took a step back. “I've got a year and a half of Kenpo, pal. Green belt with a stripe. Don't think I won't defend myself.”
    Andrew rolled his eyes and walked toward the desk. Lane bent at the knees and tracked him with the blunted point of the letter opener. When Andrew sat down in one of the chairs, Lane relaxed his posture and exhaled.
    “Margot's right, ” Andrew said. “You really are one sorry son of a bitch.”
    “Your opinion means so much to me I could just shit my pants.” Lane tossed the letter opener back into the drawer and pushed the drawer shut with his thigh. “Take your foot off my desk.”
    Andrew left his foot where it was. “We need to talk, Lane.”
    “We do?” Lane folded his arms and leaned forward. “What could you and I possibly have to talk about? I said everything I needed to say this morning. When the police came here asking about you.”
    “The cops came
here
?”Andrew put a hand to his heart. “Asking about
me
? Gosh. I hope you said nice things.”
    “Oh, Detective Munoz and I had quite a conversation. She had all sorts of questions. I had Margot clear my nine o'clock so we could talk without interruption.”
    “Civic of you, ” Andrew said.
    On the way over, he'd mentally outlined a basic interrogation plan based on the handful of possible responses he'd expected from Lane. But Lane had already wandered from the script.
    When the police came here asking about you.
Munoz, he'd said. Who would have been here talking with Lane right about the time Andrew had been talking with Timms at the beach house. Which meant the cops must have gotten Andrew's name somewhere else and split their leads. Assuming Lane was telling the truth.
    “So, ” Andrew said. “What did you and Detective Munoz talk about?”
    “You mean when she asked me what I could tell her about a person named Andrew Kindler, did I mention that I just so happened to have a dirtbag criminal by that name living in my house? Oh, never.”
    “That's a relief.”
    “Let me tell you something, ” Lane said. He put his knuckles on the desk and leaned over them. “I don't know what this is about. I don't know what you're involved in.”
    Andrew thought:
Join the club, you little nerd.
    “And do you know what? I don't give a runny crap. I've been telling Caroline something like this was bound to happen ever since you showed up here. Just a matter of when. Once a dirtbag, always a dirtbag.”
    “Can't argue with an authority, ” Andrew said.
    “Keep laughing, tough guy.” Lane finally sat down in the chair and pressed his lips into a smug, bloodless crease. “Maybe you were the big swinging dick around the neighborhood when we were kids, but you're on my turf now. And your little credit line at Bank of Borland just ran out. I already called your cousin and told her I want you out of the beach house by morning. You're history, Jack.”
    “You called Caroline? That must have been before your afternoon hum job.”
    Lane's face reddened in a descending flush, starting at the hairline and deepening all the way to his collar.
    “That, ” he said, “is none