Drop Dead Gorgeous by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

population whining all the time that the cops were bad as well. On the take. Bullshit. They didn’t begin to know the meaning of bad.
    He stared at the newswoman, so intense, going over and over the terror of what had happened, trying to make a name for herself.
    Poor Ellie. All right, so she had been something of a prick tease. Still …
    How strange. How damned strange. If Ellie were alive, they’d all be back now. All of them who had been there that day.
    He remembered that Sean had asked him to get Lori Kelly’s phone number. He dialed Brad Jackson.
     
     
    J ust what would they say on the news?
    The killer watched the television, feeling a rush of pleasure that was almost as good as the chase …
    As the act itself.
    The media. What fools! They spilled everything. Absolutely everything.
    Now a half dozen psychos would confess to the crime, and the dumb cops wouldn’t know the difference.
    At last the newswoman went off the screen, and a white-haired man appeared. Some retired stiff from the FBI. He described the murder as a typical sex crime, and warned women that they should be very careful, think carefully, act carefully. When such a murder occurred, people tended to think that it had to be carried out by a monster, a devil with visible horns.
    Sex crimes were usually carried out by men of the same race as their victims, men who were most often in their mid-twenties to late thirties. Younger than that, and they usually hadn’t yet reached a level of such overt savagery. Older than that, and they’d usually trip themselves up somehow.
    I’ll drink to that! he mused. Except he wouldn’t do so.
    The man on the television went on.
    Such killers were often men women trusted on sight.
    The average Joe.
    Average!
    He smiled tautly.
    Average, hell!
    He lifted his drink.
    And drank to himself again, terribly pleased. They’d soon know that there wasn’t anything average about him at all.
    He heard a knocking at his door, his name was called, and he smiled. She was here. He did know how to play at being the average Joe.
    But only a man way above average could begin to do it half so damned well.
     
     
    J an Hunt stood on Brad’s doorstep, looking around as she waited. It was dark. Despite the lights out on the street, it was dark. In the residential area of Coconut Grove, it could be dark as a black hole at night. One of the prime attractions of the area was the tremendous amount of foliage around, and she usually loved it. Trees, vines, bushes, flowers—she’d lived around the general area all her life, didn’t know the names of half of it, but loved it just the same. Except for tonight. Reading about Ellie had really disturbed her. Then, when she’d picked up the signed contract for the new condo for the old geezer, she’d seen nothing but the murder on the news. Unnerved, she’d called home, found that Tina was safely in with the doors locked and the alarm armed, and she’d headed for Brad’s.
    Dumb move. They had an agreement. They always called one another. She hadn’t called him tonight. He might be with someone. And here she was, goose bumps rising on her flesh because she was afraid to be standing here, in the dark. There was a breeze, and every time it ruffled a leaf, she felt certain that a homicidal maniac was crawling around her, watching her, waiting to pounce, already beginning to hunger for a taste of blood …
    The door opened.
    “Jan!”
    “Hey!” she said nervously.
    Brad was dressed—that was good, she reasoned. He hadn’t just come popping out of bed. He was casual, in jeans and T-shirt, barefoot, blond hair neatly combed, looking good.
    “Can I come in?” she asked.
    “Yeah, sure.” He backed away from the door, and she stepped in.
    His place was nicely, simply decorated. It was a contemporary house, no more than fifteen years old, and he had some modern art on the walls, with most of his furniture being leather, chrome, and glass. The floors were cool tile, the kitchen was