Everybody Loves Evie by Beth Ciotta Read Free Book Online Page A

AC. Run-down buildings and vacant lots. No fun to be had here unless you got a thrill out of the possibility of being mugged.
    I scaled the steps leading up to the boardwalk and squealed as the gusting wind blew the rain at a hard angle. Umbrella or no, I’d be soaked by the time I reached Beckett. I barely cared. At this point I just wanted to get inside.
    Fate had other ideas.
    My heel was just narrow enough to wedge into a large gap between two soggy wooden boards. As I struggled to free myself, the wind blew my umbrella inside out. “Dammit!”
    â€œCan I help you, ma’am?”
    I peered up through the pelting rain to find a scruffy-bearded young man with his hands stuffed in the pockets of a ratty trench coat. He could be a drunk, a pickpocket or a panhandling con artist. Arch had made me leery of, well, everyone. Even if he was an upright guy, he reeked of some god-awful cologne and he’d just called me ma’am. Two reasons to make me grimace.
    â€œLooks like your heel is stuck,” he yelled over the wind.
    Well, duh.
    â€œAnd your umbrella—”
    â€œYes, I know,” I yelled back. “I’m fine. Thank you.” I imagined him getting close enough to help, then snagging my bag. Jayne had been mugged last summer on her way from a casino to the self-parking lot. Busy season, busy area, broad daylight. And here I was, alone on a stormy day in the flipping Inlet. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I jerked again, and this time my heel popped free. I staggered, but when the bearded stranger reached out, I slapped his hand. “Don’t touch me!”
    â€œListen, ma’am—”
    â€œBeat it, kid, or I’ll stab you with my umbrella. I warn you—I’m trained in the art of peculiar weaponry.” Whatever that meant. But it sounded ominous to me.
    I guess it sounded scary to him, too. “All right. All right. Jeez.” He backed away, shoved his sodden hair out of his face.
    Yup. His expression told all. He thought I was dangerous. Or crazy.
    Good.
    The wind tore the umbrella out of my hand, and though it was mangled, I gave chase. My luck, if I abandoned it, a cop would magically appear and ticket me for littering the beach. I nabbed the useless thing and turned back toward the club. I didn’t see or smell Bearded Boy. Things were looking up. I race-walked, putting my weight on my toes in hopes of avoiding another stuck-heel episode. Please, don’t let me slip.
    I was wind-ravaged and soaked by the time I breached the front door of the Chameleon Club. I shook like a wet dog, then leaned against a cigarette machine, composing myself and allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
    I’d expected a professional reception area, something representative of a government agency. And a secretary. You know, a pristine-suited Moneypenny type who’d lead me to the high-tech, supersecret office of Special Agent Milo Beckett. I’d expected to step in to spy world.
    The Chameleon Club was a dive bar.
    The interior looked as if it dated back to the late ’50s. Not a trendy retro look but a never-been-refurbished look. The tables and chairs, the painted walls, the linoleum floor. Faded, chipped, cracked, warped. At least it was tidy and didn’t stink.
    So…what? Beckett and his team squeezed into a cracked vinyl booth and devised stings over pretzels and beer? I refused to believe it. There must be a back room, a secret room. Maybe they met in the basement or on the second floor. There had to be more to this place than met the eye. Smoke and mirrors. I checked my watch. Twelve-ten. Surely Beckett would forgive my tardiness once I explained the circumstances. All he had to do was look at me.
    So much for dressing to impress.
    I looked around but didn’t see my new boss. Maybe he was running late, too. Maybe I could slip into the bathroom and check to make sure mascara wasn’t running down my face. It was waterproof, but