Deadly Pursuit by Ann Christopher Read Free Book Online

to admit it.
    The night was crisp and fresh after yesterday’s sleet, the air still with waiting for tomorrow’s rain. After five or six steps the relentless cold penetrated his bones and he felt the familiar dull ache of his arthritis. If he’d been smart, he’d’ve worn a heavier jacket today, but of course if he’d been smart, he’d’ve moved to Orlando twenty years ago.
    The prospect of another winter here in the great Northwest was every bit as appealing as his nextprostate exam. He stepped up the pace to Amara’s black Saab SUV and walked her around to the driver’s side.
    “I’ll see you in the morning, girl.”
    The wry twist of her lips told him that this additional
girl
was duly noted, but she didn’t call him on it. “Actually, you won’t see me in the morning. I just finished up some paperwork and now I’m taking some time off.”
    “Time off? Don’t tell me you’ve got a life …?”
    She opened the door and tossed her briefcase inside. “No life. What I’ve got is fifteen vacation days that I’ll lose if I don’t use before the end of the year.”
    “Why don’t you use that time over the holidays and go visit family?”
    But he knew she didn’t have any family and the telltale flicker of sadness behind her eyes confirmed this before she hid it behind a careless shrug. “I’m not big on holidays.”
    “Me neither, girl.” He thought of his daughter Jenny back in Boston, with her buttoned-down corporate husband and big house that had six bedrooms, none of which ever seemed to be available for a broken down army sergeant at Christmas.
    Loneliness echoed through him. “Me neither.”
    Settling into her seat behind the wheel, Amara shut the door, started the engine and rolled down the window. “Where’d you park? Need a ride?”
    “Oh, I’m not leaving. I’ve got another hour of prep work for the morning and then payroll after that.”
    “Looks like I’m not the only one with no life, eh?”
    “I’m too old for a life.” Grinning, he smacked his palm on her hood, shooing her on her way so he could get back inside where it was warm. “Get outta here.”
    With a beep and a wave she rolled off. Taking amoment to appreciate the purr of a powerful engine, he watched her go until her taillights disappeared around the corner at the light.
    Once she was safely gone, he zipped his jacket up to the neck and scurried back down the sidewalk at a pace that had his knees protesting. He fumbled with his keys and got them into the lock by the third try. A rush of blessed warmth hit him in the face as he went back into his haven, but he kept the jacket on for now. With his luck, it’d be noon tomorrow before he got his creaky bones heated up again.
    He headed through the swinging door, past the kitchen and down the narrow hallway to his office. Paperwork first, while his mind was still fresh, and then he’d start in on the—
    Clink.
    J-Mart froze, listening, halfway between the kitchen and the broom closet.
    The diner was full of late-night sounds and he knew them all. The hum of the refrigerator, the rumbling grind of the ice machine, the nonstop trickle of the world’s most stubborn toilet, which resided in his men’s room and wasted enough water to fill a small pond. There was no
clink.
    Clink.
    Shit.
    Nerve endings crawled to life up and down the back of his neck and he felt the sudden and still-familiar clammy wetness in his armpits even though he hadn’t experienced it—not while awake, anyway—since he left the mosquito-infested humid heart of hell that was Vietnam.
    It was coming from his office. Where a lamp that he’d left off was now on. He could see the narrow lineof yellow light seeping under the door, which was ajar. He’d left it shut and locked because the cash box was in there.
    Double shit.
    Kids. Why didn’t they learn? Sort of a thug’s rite of passage, was robbing the Twelfth Street Diner.
    J-Mart had caught the last two hoods six months ago, and he’d catch