The Harbinger Break by Zachary Adams Read Free Book Online Page B

"You know his full name?"
       "Of course. I was the only one who called him that. Did you know his mother named him after a guinea pig she had as a child?" She smiled, covering her lips with the back of her hand.
       "No, I wasn't aware of that. May I come in?"
       "Sure, Mr Summers, please do," she replied. "Where are my manners?"
       Her facade almost had him blushing, if for only a second, and he coughed lightly.
       She turned and he followed, looking anywhere but at her. He noted her marble floors, high ceiling, leopard print rug, and eco cotton sofas that were arranged as if she'd ordered the room as-is, directly from a high-class style magazine. Her white walls were covered in hideous modern art showcasing the naked human form, framed in what looked like bronze. It reeked of confidence.
       She turned and smiled at him. "You approve, agent?"
       He nodded, almost hating her. "Sure. You've clearly done well for yourself miss–I mean, Claire."
       She chuckled. "You flatter me, Mr Summers."
       She led him over to the sofa, and offered him tea. He declined.
       "I won't take no for an answer, Mr Summers. It's quite expensive, and delicious, if I do say so myself."
       "It's really–"
       "–Fabulous, I'll be right back–it'll only take a minute."
       She walked off, strutting and dripping with pomp. He knew she wanted him to look, playing cat and mouse with her body. And if he looked–game over, check mate. He shook his head. Sorry lady, he thought–but this ain't my first rodeo. He took out his notepad and jotted down the bit about Shane's mother naming him after her childhood pet.
       She returned a few minutes later, a glass of tea in each hand. She placed a glass in front of Summers, and sat down on the chair across from him, crossing her legs. Taking in the smell of the tea, she held the glass underneath her nose, waving the aroma upwards.
       "Try it, Mr Summers. It's wonderful, so good for your body and spirit."
       He studied the dark color of the glass's contents, then lifted it. The aroma hit him like a punch to the face, nothing shy of nuclear fallout, and he found himself in a life and death struggle with the urge to grimace. Forcing his lips to the glass, he lightly slurped and poker-faced through the bitter sweet jolt that clawed at his tongue. It was stronger than bourbon, with hints of ginger, lemon, slight mint, and rooibos. He'd survived staring contests against men with guns primed and aimed at his chest, and somehow this tea brought back those memories, and when she took a sip and smiled, closing her eyes, making love to the tea, he took a large, painful gulp, and frowned at how much was still left in the glass. He missed the simplicity of bad guys with guns. It was the emasculation game, and she held all the cards. As she audaciously smiled at him, a train of Fuck You's rumbled across his mind.
       "Doesn't it just invigorate your spirit, Mr Summers?" she asked.
       "Yes," he replied through clenched teeth. "It's very rich."
       Her smile broadened. "Remind me to pack a small baggie for you before you leave. Please, it's my treat. I love a man with good taste."
       Ignoring her, he placed the glass on the coffee table. "About Shane…"
       She postured, shoulders back, sitting straight–the master of her domain. "What about him?"
       "Did you know he's still alive?"
       The split second moment of shock was wiped away by a grin and a nod. (And the best actress in a leading role goes to…) "That's great news! Good for him!"
       Summers cleared his throat and refocused. "He murdered an innocent man. We caught him red handed."
       Her eyes widened, and a satisfying–albeit somewhat guilty–warmth rushed through him. Not a good enough actress that time, he thought. Or maybe she had enough tact to know when to drop the act. She covered her gasp. "Patches? Never!"
       Summers nodded solemnly, took out his notebook and licked the tip of his pen,