Trust No One by Diana Layne Read Free Book Online Page B

tolerable life had been when his hands were holding a bottle.
    “My daughter isn’t ready to leave yet.”
    Ben didn’t want to stay any longer, in spite of his threats to do just that. “How about I meet you at your apartment in an hour?”
    Resignation sank deep into her eyes. “Okay.”
    “Since you’re not going to feed me, where’s a good place to eat?” Food would take his urge off the need to drink as well. Every day he fought that urge. It was funny how Southern Comfort had become such a necessary comfort. Or maybe not so funny.
    MJ didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Roy’s Diner. Ask for Paula.”
     
    * * *
     
    Another One Bites The Dust.
    The song blared out of Tasha’s speakers, the bass so heavy it shook her Porsche.
    She drove on through the night, listening to the music, the song now part of her ritual. She held herself rigid behind the steering wheel, her focus on the road ahead. Driving away from the latest victim, moving forward toward the next. Of course, not straight to the next victim. Each one took time and meticulous planning. And pretty soon if her theory—Ed’s theory really—was right, someone at Vista should catch on, if they hadn’t already, and send an agent after MJ.
    Help. It would be nice to have more help, Tasha thought. Definitely not the kind Vista would want from MJ, but either way Tasha didn’t want MJ involved. Little sis had a new direction in life now. Still, Tasha knew well enough that the mystery person at Vista was going to try and drag MJ into a fight not hers.
    Tasha had already dragged her little brother Nikolai into the mess. Sent him on a mission to run down the Russian angle. That he’d disappeared, hadn’t been in touch with her for over a week now caused a worrisome niggle to tighten her chest. No time to find Niko now though. Had to keep moving.
    Before she regrouped, Tasha needed to send a warning message for MJ to stay away. And then back to focusing on the goal that drove Tasha ever forward. The senators.
    Failure was not an option.
    Adrenaline seeped out of her body leaving Tasha struggling to keep her eyes open. Still more to go. More to do.
    After she’d driven a hundred miles, the first of many, Tasha started looking for a fast food place. The dumpsters were emptied often, so evidence quickly disappeared. She made a practice to divide up the trash from a job—wig, wipes she cleaned evidence with, used condom if there was one in a zip lock with bleach—between several dumpsters over a span of two or three hundred miles.
    Tonight, as the adrenaline drained, the familiar queasy feeling started, worse than usual. She’d learned early on to avoid eating before a job if she could help it, but this evening she’d played the part of a call girl, and the senator had wanted her on his arm at dinner.
    She sipped bottled water, swallowing carefully; hoping the food threatening to come up would stay down. Normally, she followed a pattern. First, she found a Jack-In-the Box. Then McDonalds. Last Wendy’s. But tonight she didn’t have time to stick with her routine. Any fast food place would suffice.
    At last she found one.
    With the late hour, only the drive through was open, which didn’t matter one way or another. She was only interested in the dumpster at the back of the thankfully deserted parking lot. She slid her car into a parking place, her stomach roiling. No bathroom here, no time to make it if there was one. She opened the door, stumbled out. Half walking, half crawling, using her hands for balance, she made it behind the dumpster before she lost the gourmet food she’d eaten.
    More water would be nice; at least to rinse out her mouth and soothe her raw throat, but to get back to her car would take too much effort. At the moment, she could only hang her head, her stomach still jumping, but empty now.
    As her senses came back into working order she noticed the night sounds. A lone car swooshed by on the road in front of the restaurant. A