The Killing Hour by Lisa Gardner Read Free Book Online

disappeared, slipped into the pit, what was he supposed to do? Yesterday. He’d bought things. Supplies. At a very big store. Well, what could the name matter anyway? He’d paid cash, right? And burned the receipt?
    Of course he had. Even if his memory played tricks on him, it was no excuse for stupidity. His father had always been adamant on that point. The world was run by dumb-fuck idiots who couldn’t find their own assholes with a flashlight and two hands. His sons, on the other hand, must be better than that. Be strong. Stand tall. Take your punishment like a man.
    The man finished looking around. He was thinking of fire again, the heat of flames, but it was too soon so he let that thought go, willed it into the void, though he knew it would never stay. He had his travel bag; he had his attaché case. Other supplies in the van. Room already wiped down with ammonia and water. Leave no trace of prints.
    All right.
    Just one last item to grab. In the corner of the room, sitting on the horrible, fake carpet. A small rectangular aquarium covered in his own yellow faded sheet.
    The man slipped the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, followed by the strap for his attaché case. Then he used both arms to heft up the heavy glass aquarium. The sheet started to slip. From inside the yellow depths came an ominous rattle.
    “Shhhh,” he murmured. “Not yet, my love, not yet.”
    The man strode into the bloodred dusk, into the stifling, heavy heat. His brain fired to life. More pictures came to his mind. Black skirts, high heels, blond hair, blue eyes, red blouse, bound hands, dark hair, brown eyes, long legs, scratching nails, flashing white teeth.
    The man loaded up his van, got behind the wheel. At the last minute, his errant memory sparked and he patted his breast pocket. Yes, he had the ID badge as well. He pulled it out and inspected it one final time. The front of the plastic rectangle was simple enough. In white letters against the blue backdrop, the badge read: Visitor.
    He flipped the ID over. The back of the security card was definitely much more interesting. It read: Property of the FBI.
    The man clipped the ID badge to his collar. The sun sank, the sky turned from red to purple to black.
    “Clock ticking,” the man murmured. He started to drive.

CHAPTER 4
    Stafford, Virginia

9:34 P . M .

Temperature: 89 degrees

    “ WHAT ’ S UP, SUGAR? You seem restless tonight.”
    “Can’t stand the heat.”
    “That’s a strange comment coming from a man who lives in Hotlanta.”
    “I keep meaning to move.”
    Genny, a tight-bodied redhead with a well-weathered face but genuinely kind eyes, gazed at him speculatively through the blue haze of the smoky bar.
    “How long have you lived in Georgia, Mac?” she asked over the din.
    “Since I was a gleam in my daddy’s eye.”
    She smiled, shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in the glass ashtray. “Then you won’t ever move, sugar. Take it from me. You’re a Georgian. Stick a fork in you, you’re done.”
    “You just say that because you’re a Texan.”
    “Since I was a gleam in my great-great-great-grandpappy’s eyes. Yanks move around, honey. We Southerners take root.”
    GBI Special Agent Mac McCormack acknowledged the point with a smile. His gaze was on the front door of the crowded bar again. He was watching the people walk in, unconsciously seeking out young girls traveling in pairs. He should know better. On days like this, when the temperature topped ninety, he didn’t.
    “Sugar?” Genny said again.
    He caught himself, turned back to her, and managed a rueful grin. “Sorry. I swear to you my mother raised me better than this.”
    “Then we’ll never let her know. Your meeting didn’t go well today, did it?”
    “How did you—”
    “I’m a police officer, too, Mac. Don’t dismiss me just because I’m pretty and got a great set of boobs.”
    He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, then dug