Three to Get Deadly by Janet Evanovich Read Free Book Online

get the nail polish first, then we get the guy?”
    “Yeah, but how are we going to do this? We can’t just stand in line, and when it’s our turn we say, ‘Two chili dogs to go, and you’re under arrest.’”
    “It’s not that complicated. I simply take him aside, show him my identification and explain the procedure to him.”
    “You think he’s gonna stand still for that? This here’s a fugitive we’re talking about.”
    Lula gunned the little truck and hopped over a lane. We spun slush at a few cautious drivers and skipped back into line. The heater was going full blast, and I could feel my eyebrows starting to smoke.
    “So what do you think?” I asked Lula. “Drives good, huh? And it’s got a great heater.”
    Brake lights flashed in front of us, red smears beyond the beat of the wipers, and Lula silently stared ahead.
    “Lula?”
    No response.
    “Uh, those cars are stopped ahead,” I said, not wanting to offend, but suspecting Lula might be having an out-of-body experience.
    She bobbed her head. “Not that I’m afraid of no fugitive…”
    “CARS!” I yelled. “STOPPED CARS!”
    Lula’s eyes popped open, and she stomped on the brakes. “Holy shit!”
    The Nissan skidded forty feet and careened onto the shoulder, missing a van by half an inch. We did a one-eighty and sat facing traffic.
    “Light in the back,” Lula said. “You might want to put some weight over the wheels.”
    My first choice of ballast would be a 230-pound file clerk. “Maybe I should drive.”
    “I’m okay now,” Lula said, easing back into traffic. “It’s just I’ve never been along when you actually apprehended someone.”
    “It’s like picking up laundry. You go to the dry cleaner. You show him your ticket. You take your stuff home. Only in this case, we take the stuff to the police station.”
    “I know my way around the police station,” Lula said.

CHAPTER 3
    Lula and I parked at the mall entrance nearest the hot dog stand and hustled, under low gray skies, through the rain and sleet and slush. We marched straight across the mall to Macy’s, with people walking into walls, mouths agape at Lula in her duster.
    “Uh-oh, look at this,” Lula said. “They got pocketbooks on sale here. I’d be fine carrying that little red one with the gold chain.”
    We paused to look at the red pocketbook and to test-drive it on Lula’s shoulder.
    “Hard to tell with this big coat on,” Lula said.
    A salesperson had been hovering. “If you care to take the coat off I’d be happy to hold it for you.”
    “I sure would like to,” Lula said, “but it might not be a good idea. We’re bounty hunters after a man, and I got a gun on under this coat.”
    “Bounty hunters?” the woman said on a gasp. The term synonymous with “lunatic vermin.”
    I slipped the pocketbook off Lula’s shoulder and put it back on the counter. I grabbed Lula by the elbow and yanked her after me. “You don’t really have a gun under that coat, do you?”
    “A woman’s got to protect herself.”
    I was afraid to ask what sort of gun she was carrying. Probably an assault rifle or a military-issue rocket launcher.
    “We need to get nail polish for Connie,” I told her. “Something red.”
    Lula stopped at the fragrance counter and squirted herself with a tester. “What do you think?”
    “If it doesn’t wear off by the time we get back to the truck, you’re taking a bus home.”
    She tried another one. “This any better?”
    “No more perfume! They’re making my nose clog up.”
    “Boy, no pocketbooks, no perfume. You don’t know much about shopping, do you?”
    “What do you like in nail polish?” I held two colors out for her opinion.
    “The one on the left is serious red. Looks like someone opened a vein and bottled it. Dracula’d go ape shit for that red.”
    I supposed if it was good enough for Dracula, it was good enough for Connie.
    I bought the nail enamel, and then we dallied in lipsticks, testing a few on the