Exposed by Alex Kava Read Free Book Online Page A

truck?” Maggie asked.
    “Too obvious.” Cunningham dismissed, without looking away from the monitors.
    “Sometimes the ordinary becomes the invisible.”
    He glanced at her and for a second she thought it might be a mistake to quote his own words to him. His eyes darted back to the monitors but he fingered the miniature microphone clipped to his lapel and said into it, “Check the moving truck.”
    In a matter of seconds they watched an agent dressed in a tan jumpsuit with the same plumbing-company logo slip out the back of the van behind them. He approached the truck, checking the addresses on each house against a clipboard in his left hand. He was still talking to the truck’s driver when Cunningham pointed to one of the other monitors, an impatient chess player anticipating the next move.
    “Can we make out anything inside the house yet?” Cunningham asked the tech tapping the computer keys without a pause.
    Maggie watched the moving truck, but glanced at the monitor that Cunningham was anxious to view. Somewhere behind the house in question, one of the SWAT-team members wore a helmet-mounted thermal imaging camera. The infrared-sensor technology could pick up body heat, distinguishing between a sofa and the person on the sofa. Hot objects appeared white, cool ones black. Anything above 392 degrees showed up in red. Firefighters used the cameras to find victims in smoked-filled buildings. Here they hoped to get a heads-up of how many people—whether victims, hostages or bombers—waited for them inside.
    “Small heat source in the first room,” the tech said, pointing at the screen as the first white mass glowed bright white. A few seconds later he was tapping the coordinates of the second heat source. “Maybe a bedroom. The person’s lying down.”
    They waited, Cunningham leaned over the tech’s shoulder, pushing up the bridge of his glasses. Maggie sat back where she could keep an eye on the other monitors and glance out at the moving truck. The agent waved a thank-you to the driver, but he walked around the open back of the truck, continuing his charade of checking addresses.
    “Is that it?” Cunningham finally asked the tech. “Just two heat sources?”
    “Looks that way.”
    Cunningham glanced out the window then looked to Maggie as he buttoned his jacket, a worn tweed borrowed from the same closet where Maggie found the purple-flowered one.
    “Ready?” he asked as he grabbed a handful of campaign flyers and adjusted the Glock in his shoulder harness.
    She nodded and scanned the neighborhood one last time.
    “Ready,” she said, then followed him out the back of the van.

CHAPTER 5
    Washington, D.C.
    Artie left the SUV in a public parking lot where the government-issued license plate would warrant little attention. He was a quick learner and he knew better than to get tripped up on a simple parking fine or traffic stop. Like Ted Bundy. The guy gets away with murder, escapes prison and then gets pulled over in a VW bug, driving after 1:00 a.m. on Davis Highway in Pensacola, Florida. An astute police officer thought the orange VW looked out of place and checked the license plate, discovering the car had been stolen in Tallahassee.
    Artie knew stuff like that. Bits of trivia about killers. He also learned from it. He knew not to draw attention to himself. So he parked the SUV and walked. He didn’t mind walking. He was in good shape, though he didn’t work out. Practically lived on fast food, switching from one kind to another. The hotel was only a few blocks away. He arrived as the tour bus was boarding. Perfect timing.
    He had taken this tour of the Washington monuments a couple of times before. It was a great way to add to his collection. He could get DNA samples from people all across the country just by riding the ten-mile tour. Last time he had been lucky enough to confiscate a long red hair from a woman wearing a Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt.
    The driver collected Artie’s pass and he took