Killer Chameleon by Chassie West Read Free Book Online

that I did not want to be trapped in this little room.
    Grateful for my soft-soled slippers, I inched my way toward the door, senses on full alert, flashlight held in position to be used as a weapon. Mentally I rehearsed what parts of the body to aim for. I tested my knee, shifting my weight to my right side. This had been a good day on it so far, all things considered. I’d been neglecting the exercises my physical therapist had recommended. Lord, I vowed silently, get me through this and I swear I’ll go back to the gym and—
    Suddenly a din erupted, scaring my pants off until I realized what it was. The fire door. Whoever was down here had pushed it open, and it had hit the wall behind it with explosive force. The corridor erupted in a blaze of light streaming toward my end. No twenty-five-watt, this one.
    â€œPolice! Slide your weapon outside the door, then follow it with your hands up! Now!!”
    Police? Thank God! They’d take care of the intruder. All I had to do was stay the hell out of their way. My bones melted with relief.
    â€œWe’re not playing games here, lady! Drop your weapon, kick it out hard, all the way across the hall! Then step out slowly, hands above your head!”
    Lady? Second thoughts slithered under my moment of gratitude. They couldn’t mean me. Could they?
    I started to move, then stopped, caution gluing me where I stood. No way was I falling for this. “What district do you work out of? I want to see a badge.”
    â€œAnd I want to see your hands. Lemme see your hands, Valeria. NOW!!”
    Valeria? Who the hell . . .?
    The ball dropped into the correct hole. Jesus! They thought I was Valeria Preston? The one who’d blown her husband’s head to smithereens in a restaurant full of witnesses and had walked out unmolested? Vince Preston had been a cop, and the whole city had been looking for her ever since. With a vengeance. In other words, I could be in deep doo-doo.
    â€œAll right, now listen,” I called, stooping to send the Maglite skittering into the hallway. “I’m coming out and I’m unarmed. You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Valeria Preston. My name in Leigh Warren. I used to be a cop, worked out of the Third District.”
    â€œYeah, right. I wanna see those hands out that door, then you. I’m counting to three, then we’re coming in. One. Two.”
    This was no time to test his knowledge of basic arithmetic. I stuck my hands beyond the cubicle and wiggled my fingers. “No weapon, see?” Stepping out, I raised my arms, blinded by the high-powered light someone held, definitely not the one doing all the yelling.
    I sensed movement, then felt myself flattened roughly against the wall, my arms yanked behind my back. Cuffs snared my wrists, and I fought an instant of panic. I’d never imagined how vulnerable one felt cuffed like this.
    Beyond me, someone began the Miranda bit. Submitting to a none-too-gentle frisking, I willed myself still and my temper quiescent. One move and I wouldn’t live to regret it. Besides, this guy was only doing his duty.
    He spun me around to face him. “Oh. Oh, shit,” he muttered.
    â€œOh, shit indeed,” I erupted, free to vent my anger now and unable to contain it. “Do I look like Valeria Preston?” Granted, she was African American and wore her hair cropped like mine, but from her picture and the info in the Washington Post, it was obvious that she was several inches shorter than I am. But of more importance, to me anyway, she had an unsightly birthmark under her jaw down onto her neck that he had to see was definitely not on mine.
    â€œUncuff her,” a voice directed from the darkness. “I recognize her. Pass the word back up the line that this is a false alarm, somebody’s idea of a joke. Whoever that somebody is is in big trouble with the department.”
    Perhaps they were, I thought, steaming, but not nearly as