The Taken by Vicki Pettersson Read Free Book Online Page A

to raise a brow. “You barred yourself from the Everlast when you did this.”
    And Nicole Rockwell’s corpse replaced Frank on the screen. Grif shot a nervous glance out the window, but the cashier was still staring across the street, giving a play-by-play to whomever he was talking to on his cell.
    “Come on,” Grif protested. “I was nice to the working girl.”
    Sarge’s words were just a voice-over. “She wasn’t a hooker, Grif.”
    Grif sighed. “Yeah. That’s what she said.”
    “It’s not what she said, Shaw. It’s what she did .”
    And the image fluttered, shifted, and then there was Grif, entering the motel room just as Nicole Rockwell spotted her dead body and began screaming.
    “Damn,” Grif whispered under his breath.
    It looked more incriminating, more premeditated, from a distance. There was no sound, but he couldn’t fault the picture. Especially after he’d resuscitated Nicole’s body, and she made him turn away so she could dress.
    “The girl wanted some privacy,” Grif objected, having seen enough.
    “No . . . she wanted this.”
    And Grif watched, slack-jawed, as Rockwell scribbled something on the Moleskine he’d seen lying on the dresser. When his image finally turned away from the window and back to her, she made sure her head was on straight, literally, and that her body was blocking the notebook.
    Grif cursed again. “She tricked me.”
    “You let her trick you.” Frank’s wide face reappeared on the screen.
    “I wasn’t thinking straight!” Grif protested, then finally got the nerve to say what was really bothering him. “You sent me to Vegas. Vegas! ”
    Frank’s face remained impassive. “It was mandatory. Doing Surface time in the city where you died—”
    “Was murdered,” Grif corrected.
    “Is part of your rehabilitation and healing process.”
    “I’m fine,” Grif muttered.
    “Then what are you still doing here?” Frank asked, gesturing at his office in the Everlast.
    “You mean here ?” Grif motioned around the gas station on the Surface.
    The swirling eyes narrowed. “You want to see the rest?”
    The rest? Grif frowned. What was left?
    But Sarge was shaking his head, and Grif suddenly found he couldn’t hold the stare. He might be slow on the uptake, but he was catching up fast now. His actions had changed something on the Surface. They’d altered fate somehow, and whatever his interference had allowed—whatever Nicole Rockwell had written in that notebook—was big enough to gain a Pure’s attention. No, he didn’t want to see.
    But Sarge showed him anyway. The static blurred with a wave of his hand, and there was the same dingy hotel room but a new scene. Another woman and her john entering, freezing when they spotted Nicole’s corpse on the bed. Grif was already gone, of course, and the woman fled screaming, but the man looked around . . . then pocketed the notebook.
    “Who is that?” Grif asked, leaning forward, studying the blond hair, stocky build . . .
    “None of your damned business, that’s who!” Sarge reappeared, and looked like he was going to come at Grif right through the screen. “You are not a P.I. anymore. You’re not even human! Yet you took anchor in a body still pulsing with life, and so that must mean you want the human experience again. Fine. You’re demoted, angel .”
    Every instinct told Grif to remain quiet. “What’re you gonna do?” he said instead. “Confiscate my halo?”
    Frank’s gaze narrowed. “Go back to the man outside.”
    Grif looked at the cashier. He waved when he caught the man looking back.
    “The other one,” Sarge snapped. “And take the map. You’re gonna need it.” And the security screen returned to normal.
    Muttering to himself, Grif pocketed the Luckies and folded the map, and was halfway to the door before remembering the coffee. When he finally exited, the cashier looked over, scoffing when he saw the steaming cups, one in each hand.
    “You’re really not from