Cold As Ice: Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 3) by M.K. Gilroy Read Free Book Online

paper with numbers on it?”
    “No, Pasha. Just the cash.”
    “What am I to do with you Med?”
    “Do as you will. Just don’t hurt Ilsa.”
    “Come to the office.”
    “I’m on my way, Pasha.”
    “Good. Be fast. We are on a tight schedule and you have messed it up.”
    “Can I talk to Ilsa?”
    “Of course.”
    Med waited for her voice. But it was Pasha who spoke.
    “You can talk to your konfetka when you get here.”

    “So tell me again. What were you doing alone in the Park at four in the morning?”
    “Like I told you, I wanted to get a run in before flying back to Chicago.”
    “In zero degree weather? Who does that?”
    Lots of people. Okay, maybe a few people. But either way, I’m not answering this guy. I don’t like his condescending attitude. Of course I’m a cop and nobody likes my attitude when I’m asking the questions either.
    “So you’re a Chicago detective?”
    I’m not covering old ground. Best way to put an end to this repetitive nonsense is to say nothing.
    “I’m just trying to work with you, hon.”
    Hon? What year is this? If that is supposed to be the good cop half of his one-man shtick, it’s pretty pathetic.
    “You checked out,” he says after another long pause. “And based on what I’ve been told I guess I’m supposed to be impressed. You’ve closed some big cases the last couple years. You’re the one who broke the case on that serial killer guy. What’d they call him?”
    I’m not answering. I know he already knows. Some guy with a popular website—the ChiTownBlogger—dubbed our infamous serial killer the Cutter Shark. It was a stupid name but it stuck. I hate that name but we all use it. Some nicknames just stick. This guy is just trying to get a rise out of me. I got a lot of press busting the Cutter. My sister did an exclusive interview with me that probably got her the job offer with WolfNews, a national network headquartered in New York.
    “Still not feeling talkative?”
    “I’m thinking about how I’ve missed my flight and I need to get rebooked on a later one. I’m soaked in blood. I need a shower. I’ve got to get packed. Is that talkative enough?”
    He smiles and shakes his head. “Might as well put all that packing and rebooking stuff out of your mind and just relax. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”
    “I’m due in the bullpen tomorrow morning. My vacation in New York City is over. Let me thank you for a grand finale.”
    “We aim to please. And since you aren’t leaving the warm embrace of our hospitality today, better call in and tell your boss you’ll be late.”
    That gives me pause for thought. Who is my boss? Captain Zaworski retired because he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. He was doing chemo or maybe it was radiation last I heard. I haven’t checked to see how he’s doing since . . . more than a month. I feel a pang of guilt. One of my colleagues on the Cutter Shark case, Bob Blackshear,was named acting head of homicide detectives in the Second Precinct. We busted a huge case with him in charge, which should count for something, but bad luck for him, it was discovered someone in our department was feeding the murderer information the whole time. That reflects bad on all of us, but Blackshear was boss so he took the fall. He’s back at the Fourth.
    I went into Christmas holiday not knowing who my new boss would be. I think they should look at my partner, Don Squires. He’s put up with me for going on three years. Everything else should be a snap in comparison.
    “You really aren’t going to talk to me are you?”
    “Sorry, I was thinking. I do need to make a couple calls, but you or one of your pals still has my phone.”
    He fishes in his pocket and hands me my iPhone. I should probably say thanks but seeing his smug face, I don’t. I hope I haven’t scratched the glass face when I dropped it. I keep meaning to get one of those plastic covers.
    I stare at the screen—can’t tell if it’s scratched