The Angel Maker - 2 by Ridley Pearson Read Free Book Online Page A

in on Pamela Chase, who was just bringing up another set of X-rays. Ever the diligent assistant. "We didn't get much on our first series," she explained. "You do good work." She glowed at this comment. Tegg knew exactly how to play her, how to feed her needs. She fed his in her own way-her unending compliments, her adoring glances. Other ways, too.
    He stepped up to the X-rays. Child's play, compared to the real work that lay ahead of him. He could feel her sweet breath warm against his cheek as she leaned in to share in this exploration. He moved over so that she could see better and allowed his hand to gently brush her bottom, as if accidentally. She didn't flinch, her eyes searching out the elusive fracture in the fuzzy black-and-gray images.
    Besides, he thought, self-amused, she knew this contact was no accident. She loved it. She loved everything about him.
    "Whose turn is it to heat up dinner?" Boldt asked his wife, feeling a little apprehensive about how to steer the conversation to the subject of his returning to work. How to negotiate his future with her. They had found a routine that worked. He was about to challenge all that, and he knew before he began that flexibility was not her long suit. She was changing clothes, out of her executive-banker look and into some blue jeans and a cotton sweater she had tossed onto the bed. It was past seven-he was starved.
    Liz answered, "I suppose it's mine, but I refuse. Let's go out."
    "What about Einstein?" Boldt asked, looking over at Miles, who was fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything. All so new to him. Each of his expressions meant the world to Boldt: an inquisitive glance, a furrowed brow. Simple pleasures. "Okay," she said. "You win. Take-out, and I'm buying. If I make the call, will you pick it up?" He asked,
    "Have you noticed how much we negotiate everything?"

    "Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai? You name it."
    "Fish and chips," he suggested. "Too fattening." "You said I could name it."
    "I lied." She patted her belly. "How about sushi?"
    "Where's your wallet?"
    "The front hall I think."
    "Make it a big order.
    I'm starved, and that stuff never stays with me."
    "And get some beer, would you?"
    While Boldt was gone, Liz had put Miles to sleep. When they finished eating, Boldt caught her hand and led her out to the living room where he sat her down. It was after nine. "The IRS
    shut down The joke last night. Confiscated all the books." "The IRS? So that's what's bothering you."
    "They want to talk to us."
    Disbelief came over her eyes. "Us? Oh, God, I hope they don't know about the cash income."
    "I don't see what else it could be."
    "Oh, shit. I signed that return."
    "We both signed the return."
    "But cash? Cash under the table?
    How could they ... ? Goddamn that Bear Berenson. He must have tried to deduct it. Damn it all. You realize the penalty we'll face? Oh, my God.- "And The joke is closed down. I can look around for other work, but no one's going to pay me like Bear did."
    "Oh, God. You realize the penalty? I wonder if they can send you to jail for something like this."
    "Money's all they want. It's all anybody wants."
    "But that's just the point!
    What money? Every available cent we have is going to pay off the hospital."
    Boldt didn't want her thinking about this. He glanced back toward the room where Miles now slept and remembered the complications of his delivery as if it had been yesterday.
    Would he ever forget that night? Could any price tag be put on having them both alive? "We'll manage."
    "Manage? You don't do the books. I do. We won't manage, that's just the point. We need that income. Are they going to audit us? Is that what you mean? Oh, God, I don't believe this."
    He hated himself for manipulating her like this, for doing to her what in her own way Daphne had done to him, but on this subject Liz had Special Handling written all over her. "I heard an awful story today about a girl named Cindy Chapman."
    "They nail you for unreported