Storm Season by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

the need for secrecy and her partner’s position. But that didn’t mean she liked or accepted it.
    Sal arrived. He nodded in her direction, then retreated to his office. Everybody was hunkering down. Waiting for the emergency calls to start flowing.
    While the suits had been busy worrying about the money, the drop and making certain the perp was apprehended, she’d worried about Erik. Where he was. Whether he was protected from the elements, alive or dead. Or near death. Waiting for her to come.
    Because he believed in her. Her abilities.
    And in her feelings for him. Even when she didn’t believe in them herself.
    “Good morning, Detective. Ready for our snow-a-geddon?”
    She looked blankly up at the pathologist. “Frances?”
    “Last time I checked.”
    She didn’t smile and he cocked an eyebrow. “I have my report on Whitney Bello.”
    That penetrated. “And?”
    “Water in her lungs. Dirt and other organisms as well. Still waiting on toxicology.” He handed her a file. “I thought you’d appreciate a hard copy. Didn’t expect to find you here.”
    “Thank you.” She stared at it a moment, then back up at him. “What’s your excuse for the hour? Chief put you on call?”
    He laughed and shook his head. “Knocking a few out before the world comes to a screeching halt. Hope to God I haven’t stayed too long.”
    “Better get out of here, then. If you get in trouble, call me. My cousin owns a plow service.”
    He thanked her, then turned to leave. After a couple of steps, he looked back. “I’ve got a feeling about this one.”
    She frowned. “The storm?”
    “No. About Bello. This case. There’s more to it.”
    The image of the crescent-shaped bruise popped into her head. “Something come up during--”
    “Autopsy?” He shook his head. “Nothing but the fact she was a healthy young woman with her whole life ahead of her.”
    After he’d left, M.C. lowered her gaze to the autopsy report. A healthy young woman, her whole life ahead of her.
    Where there was smoke, there was fire. If it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, it was a duck. All those old clichés were clichés for a reason. They were almost always true.
    Exactly why she had been certain Dickey Larson had been their guy. He’d been eliminated as a suspect when the ransom call had come while he’d been in custody. He could have an accomplice, but none of them thought so. Even her.
    Unable to sit still, she jumped to her feet. Thoughts racing, she began to pace. Bello turns up dead. Bello worked for Erik. A day later Erik’s kidnapped.
    A coincidence? Or smoke?
    M.C.’s thoughts turned to the boyfriend. Bradley Rudd. He’d lied. About Bello never talking about her boss. Pretending he couldn’t remember the name of the place she worked. Those evasions and untruths hadn’t seemed important at the time.
    She went still. They did now.
    Why would he lie about something ostensibly so inconsequential? To distance himself from Kids in Crisis. From Erik. Of course.
    The son of a bitch had been under their noses all along.

7:40 a.m.
    BRADLEY RUDD LIVED IN A small brick home on Latham. One story. Eight hundred square feet if she was being generous. There were a lot of houses like this one on the west side. She should know, she’d grown up not that far from here.
    She rang the bell, then pounded. After several minutes of that, Rudd answered. He looked like someone had used his face as a punching bag. Two black eyes. Split lip. Swollen jaw.
    “Detective Riggio,” she said. “You remember me, don’t you?”
    “Go away.” Before he could slam on her, she had her gun out and in his face. “We either talk here or downtown. Your choice.”
    “I don’t know what happened to Whitney--”
    “But I think you do.”
    “Go to hell.”
    She was already there. “What happened? Did she catch on? Realize you were pumping her for information? Is that why you killed her?”
    “I’m calling the cops. This is harass--”
    “Call’em,