Limitless by Robert J. Crane Read Free Book Online Page A

stirring into motion for the first time in years.”
    “Oh, shit,” Dylan said, hands falling to cover his groin. “You got the bloody x-ray vision, too?”
    I glanced at him with a look of pity. “No. I just assumed you had a tiny, tiny penis because of the way you talk about a woman whose clothes have been shredded by a bomb blast.” I gestured at the crusted blood that had dried on my knee. “Clearly the thought of red wings doesn’t even turn you off, you’re so hard up for—”
    “Okay, well, let’s just veer off that topic,” Webster said, adopting the pose of a conciliator. I scowled, and he blinked away. “We’re… uh… almost done here. Dylan was just coming over to tell me what SOCO found.”
    "SOCO?" I said it back to him, because it made not a damned bit of sense to me.
    "Scene of Crimes Officers," Dylan said helpfully. And snottily.
    “Well, Dylan,” I said, turning my attention back to This Little Piggy Who Trod on My Nerves, “tell us what your British equivalent of CSI found that could aid in our murder investigation, and do so without looking at my chest.” That snapped his eyes north again.
    “Right,” Dylan said, sounding slightly professional. Slightly. “Ah, not much. No mobile phone, no calendar or computers in the house—”
    “You think the kidnappers took them?” Webster asked.
    “Or Angus never had any,” I said.
    “There is a phone in the house, a landline,” Dylan said, taking a notepad out of his trench coat pocket. As the sky started dribbling on me, I started to realize why they were both wearing coats. My leather one looked especially beat up next to my cut-offs. I wasn’t much for shopping, but I’d need to do some, and soon. “I’m getting the calls to it traced.”
    “That’s making yourself useful,” I said. “What else can we find out about this guy?”
    “We can ask the commissioner to make some introductions at the Foreign Office,” Webster said. “Perhaps get some answers from them on any other travel records, but I’m not hopeful.”
    “Forensics are going over the remnants of the bomb,” Dylan said, shrugging as he closed his notepad. “I don’t know what they’ll be able to give you, but it’s at least a few hours off.” He glanced nervously at me. “Um… about that foot… do you want it back?”
    “Why?” I asked. “Are you going to do something perverted to it if I leave it here?”
    “What?” He looked offended at that, eyebrows arching up even as his pupils dilated. “No, I’m asking because I know you Americans get bloody paranoid about people watching you, and I didn’t know if you didn’t care about leaving it behind or you just can’t be arsed to get it.”
    “Can’t be what ?” I asked with a laugh. “Arsed? What does that even mean?”
    “Bothered,” Webster said, looking a little chagrined.
    “No, I don’t care,” I said, looking evenly at Dylan. “I left enough of my blood in there that if your government wanted to clone me or whatever, they won’t have any problem getting a sample.”
    “This is without a doubt the oddest conversation I’ve ever been involved in,” Webster said, shaking his head.
    “It is a bit surreal,” Dylan said.
    “That’s a big word to come from such a small mind,” I said.
    “Oh, piss off,” Dylan said, and before I could take his advice, he turned and did it for me, dodging into the crowd of officers milling about.
    “He’s a charmer,” I said.
    “That’s just Dylan,” Webster said, still shaking his head. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” He had a hand planted on the back of his neck, like he had an itch where his hair started. “He just doesn’t know what to make of you, that’s all.”
    Dressed like this, I couldn’t totally blame him. Still, he got no points for anything he’d said. “I need clothes.”
    Webster’s eyes dragged south before coming up to meet mine, and I caught more than a hint of discomfort. “We can stop at