For Love or Vengeance by Caridad Piñeiro Read Free Book Online

with?”
    He finished shrugging on the jacket and stared at her, a boyish grin on his face. “Yes, as in go with you to get a cup of coffee, because I need a break and partners do that kind of thing.”
    His voice was almost singsong and obviously teasing.
    She didn’t do teasing all that well, but somehow found herself kidding him in return with, “Really? Do partners maybe also spring for cinnamon scones?”
    He rounded his desk, tucked her arm into his, and said, “If that’s what floats your boat.”
    With gentle pressure he urged her toward the elevator. Once they were there, she shifted away from him. His presence continued to be a challenge, and if she really admitted what would float her boat—she would probably shock the hell out of him.
    And possibly herself.
    She was silent while they waited for the elevator, trying to restrain her wayward thoughts. But her partner didn’t seem to understand she needed a little space.
    “Find anything in the numbers yet?” he asked.
    “Nothing.”

    Miguel waited for Helene to ask him how it was going, but she didn’t, hard nut that she was. So instead he mimicked, “And how are you doing, Miguel?” He lowered his tone. “Not finding much yet, Helene.”
    The barest tilt of her lips told him he might be making inroads on his taciturn partner, so he continued, raising his pitch once more. “If we’re not finding anything, Miguel, maybe we should try running through all the victims’ backgrounds again.” Then lower. “Yeah. And their credit card purchases, address books, and anything else they’ve got lying around.”
    She finally looked at him, but with a growing glimmer of a smile. “You work hard at being annoying.”
    “But not as hard as you work at being a cold-hearted bitch,” he said, but again with a lilt of humor to soften his words.
    “Actually, the bitchiness comes naturally. It’s being nice that’s a ball-buster,” she said, deadpan, drawing a chuckle from him.
    “Well, as long as we understand each other,” he said as they exited the elevator, left the FBI building, and walked the couple of blocks to the nearest Starbucks.
    It was late, almost ten, and the staff was cleaning up as they arrived. The cashier pasted on a smile and took their order while a barista with dark circles under her eyes and a sleeve of tattoos grabbed the cups to fill their orders.
    They were silent once again while they waited, and after prepping their coffees, exited into the comfortable autumn night. Pedestrian traffic had dwindled, but taxis and other vehicles still rushed past on the streets as they strolled back to the office.
    After they had taken sips of their coffees, he asked, “Seriously, though. Do you feel as if we’re following another round of dead leads?”
    “Possibly. Although I did notice an uptick in phone activity immediately before the possible dates of their disappearances,” she said.
    “I wish I could say the same about the trade newspapers the victims had. They have all kinds of casting calls and news, but nothing that connects back to the victims.”
    Helene nodded, took another sip of the fragrant coffee, a caramel macchiato this time. “It’ll happen. I just…”
    Miguel understood her unspoken words. She was hoping they would put something together before the next victim was killed. He wanted to do the same, but based on all the information, they were no closer to a clue. All he could do was echo her sentiment.
    “It’ll happen.”
    They continued walking, sipping their coffees, the time companionable despite the silence. As they approached Federal Plaza, Miguel caught sight of ADIC Hernandez hurrying away from the building in the direction of Tribeca.
    He pointed with his cup at the ADIC. “Someone is sure in a rush to get home.”

    Helene watched their boss race westward. Even from this distance, with her second sight she could feel Hernandez’s excitement. In a burst of mental connection, two words formed in her mind—