First You Run by Roxanne St. Claire Read Free Book Online Page A

froze, going taut, sharp, and alert. He pulled away and put one hand up to stop her from taking another step.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “Do you smell that?”
    She shook her head and sniffed. “Smell what? Fire? Smoke?”
    “Blood.”
    “Blood?” She jerked away and blinked into the darkness. “You smell blood?”
    “Right around there.”
    “That’s my front door.”
    He went first, then stared and muttered something under his breath.
    She closed the space between them and gasped, clutching her throat to keep from screaming.
    It looked like black oil, slick and wet and everywhere . On her front door, over the steps, and drenching the stones surrounding her entrance. Blood smeared the garage door and stained the concrete driveway. The sickening odor wafted toward them.
    At the doorstep lay the bright green feathers and long tail of a quetzal, its beak twisted at a freakish angle.
    “Is that a bird?” he said, incredulous.
    She stared, the message clear and horrifying. “It’s a sacrifice to the Maya gods.” And it warned of death.

C HAPTER FOUR
    H E WAS DEFINITELY not going to do the naughty with Miranda Lang tonight, which left Fletch as frustrated above the waist as below. Instead of the full-body inspection he’d planned, he was sitting in her small garage flat, listening to two Berkeley cops who didn’t have a full quid of smarts between them.
    “Did you fail any students this last semester, Dr. Lang?” Young Officer Solar seemed certain that the symbolic mutilation of the national bird of Guatemala was the work of an unhappy underclassman. He wasn’t the least bit interested in the melee that had taken place at Miranda’s signing. The other one, the more seasoned McMurphy, took notes when Fletch offered detailed descriptions of six or seven of the worst offenders, but his notes were not very copious.
    Solar continued to ask about students, which was starting to piss Fletch off. Miranda’s crazies were well versed in this type of symbolism, and they’d just demonstrated a pretty violent opposition to her work. Why was this sook trying to pin it on a failing student?
    And wouldn’t an investigator worth a tinny of beer ask who the hell he himself was and what he was doing with the victim? They’d simply accepted that the two had just met, dined, and come home, but no one questioned him, let alone searched him. If they had, they’d find a Glock 19 on his ankle, one that he’d already revealed to Miranda when he secured the property and the house. And in his wallet, they’d find a bodyguard’s license to carry concealed in the state of California. And in his head, they’d find some brains they might put to good use.
    After an hour, they left, promising to follow up and taking the quetzal in a plastic bag as evidence of what they were calling “off-campus vandalism.”
    By then, all that fire he’d whipped up had turned to ash. Seduction was out of the question tonight, but he still needed to find out if she had the mark on her body. Jack’s friend in jail wouldn’t reveal where it was, if she even knew.
    Since no tattoos were evident on any of Miranda’s visible flesh, he’d have to figure out some way to disrobe her. The nicely furnished flat had one thing in its favor: it was minuscule, with one main room, a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a ladder that led to a sleeping loft.
    Although she was working hard to maintain her composure, Miranda Lang was definitely scared right now. That could either get him booted out the door or, if he played the game right, jones him an invitation to keep her company.
    “Do you have any ratty old towels?” he asked, rising from the bar stool at the tiny kitchen counter.
    Curled in a club chair, she looked at him as though she’d forgotten he was in the room. “Towels?”
    “I thought I’d clean up the mess outside for you.”
    She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate you helping with the police; you obviously speak