Surveillance (Ghost Targets Book 1) by Aaron Pogue Read Free Book Online Page B

grabbed the soap and shampoo, and headed back to her room. She stripped down and threw her clothes in the wash, then settled in for a long, hot shower. Afterward, she had just time to whisper a word of thanks to Hearth for picking an apartment with a luxuriously soft bed before sleep wrapped her up and carried her away.
    The next morning she learned that the complex's community cars weren't available for round trips over half an hour, inside business hours, but the nearest subway station was less than a quarter of a mile away. She caught a train downtown, and stepped through the doors into Ghost Targets ten minutes to eight. The other part of her dad's old law, "Always beat the boss to work," and she'd certainly managed it, but before the morning was over she found herself wondering why she'd bothered.
    She spent two hours digging for dirt on the victim, anything to suggest a motive. She crawled backward through time, listening in on every conversation Ms. Linson had had on the day of her death (at least, she thought bitterly, every conversation that Hathor cared to remember). Rick stopped by her desk a little after noon to invite her to lunch, but she saw the rest of his team waiting for him—and Reed glaring at her—so she politely declined. As he was turning to go, though, she spoke up.
    "Rick."
    "Yeah?"
    "I, uh...I have a case going before the bench tomorrow. Back home, I mean. Would it be too much to ask—"
    "Not at all." He pulled out his handheld and glanced at it, probably checking the calendar. "No, that's perfect, actually. I know you've been chomping at the bit, but we're just swamped here."
    "About that," she said, and he must have seen the frustration in her eyes. He threw a glance at Reed and the other three headed for the elevator. Rick finally turned his full attention to Katie.
    "Look, kid," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. Probably shouldn't have dropped a homicide on your first day on the force, but it would have been gathering dust otherwise."
    "No," she said. "It's not that. It's just—"
    "It wasn't fair of me," he said. "You should be watching over somebody's shoulder, not running blind. I can get you on—"
    "Don't," she said. The word came down like a stomped boot, and stopped him dead. He raised an eyebrow in question, and she spoke a little more softly. "I haven't been pulled off a case since I was twenty-six. Don't do that to me. I can handle this."
    He chuckled, but she saw a sparkle of pride in his eyes. "Dammit, girl, you've got gumption. Don't worry about it. It's the software that's the trouble, it's the tricks of the trade, and we're the only ones in the world who do what you need to learn. It's not a personal judgment."
    "I know," she said, "but—"
    "Reed told me you two talked yesterday. He told me how worried you are, and I should have known better than to ask it of you."
    "No," she said, suddenly forceful again. "I want the case, Rick."
    His eyes rested on hers for a moment, and then he smiled. "I told him you'd say that. Okay, girl. If you want it, the Little Rock case is still your baby." He raised a hand and pointed at her, mock serious. "But you do your civic responsibility. Take care of that New York case tomorrow. Maybe by the time you get back I'll have a minute to breathe." He started to turn away, then looked back at her. "You sure you don't want something for lunch?"
    "No," she said. "I'm fine."
    He shrugged. "Suit yourself." Half an hour later he brought her back a turkey sandwich. It sat cooling on her desk while she spent the afternoon eavesdropping on Linson's private life. She went back four days, peeking in on private calls, business conversations, Hathor requests. Nothing seemed out of place. The young woman was having money problems, but nothing exciting—just the sort of problems college girls always have. Her brother's wife was pregnant, and if it was a girl they were going to name it after her, and that tidbit had covered most of conversations