Woman On the Run by Lisa Marie Rice Read Free Book Online

Veuve Clicquot was running at half-mast. Tosca noisily plunged her knife into Scarpia’s treacherous chest and the orchestra swelled as the computer hummed.
    This was getting boring. Still, on the plus side, it looked like the fools in the Department of Justice had actually organized the file containing Julia Devaux’s data in alphabetical order. If that was the case, then Julia Devaux should be coming up soon. The professional contemplated opening another bottle of champagne, then decided against it. Certain triumphs were to be savored with a clear head. The computer beeped.
    The professional sat up, eyes narrowing.
     
    kdsjcnemowjsiwexnjskllspwieuhdksmclsldjkjhfd
    kdiejduenbkclsjdjeudowjdiejdocmdksdldkjdjeiel
    mpnwjcmsmwkcxosapewkrjhvgebsjckgfnghgdsj
    Decryption 60%…70%…80%…90%…
    Decryption completed.
     
    File: 248:
    Witness placed in Witness Security Program: Julia Devaux
    Born: London, England, 03/06/77
     
    Come on, come on. The professional leaned forward, eyes riveted to the screen. I know all that. Tell me something I don’t know.
     
    Last domicile: 4677 Larchmont Street, Boston, MA.
     
    Ah. The thrill of the chase was nothing in comparison to the intellectual thrill of knowing that you were smarter than everyone else.
    Now for the rest of it. The professional gently kept time to the music with an Italian breadstick dipped in the last of the caviar. The letters moved across the screen.
     
    Case: Homicide, Joey Capruzzo, 09/30/04. Last known address: Sitwell Hotel, Boston, MA.
    Proximate cause of death: massive hemorrhaging from .38 caliber bullet wound in left anterior lobe of brain.
    Accused: Dominic Santana.
    Current address: Warwick Correctional Facility. Warwick, Massachusetts.
     
    Placed in Witness Security Program: 10/03/04
    Julia Devaux relocated as:
     
    Yes, that’s it.
    The cursor stopped, blinking on and off, as if patiently waiting for some signal from within the depths of the machine. Tosca fought with the police officer and cursed Scarpia’s name while slowly, very slowly, the letters started blanking out, one by one, until the screen was empty.
    The professional sat, stunned. It was clear what had happened. The files had a time bomb built in. If a code wasn’t entered at predetermined intervals—the professional checked the gold Rolex Oyster that represented the first down payment on the first job—probably every half hour, the files would self-destruct.
    The crystal flute shattered against the far wall, champagne spilling down the wall like bubbly tears. The caviar followed, the eggs leaving a greasy, grey-black trail behind them.
    So close. So damned close.
    After five minutes of enraged pacing, the professional calmed. A month of work down the drain. The Justice Department would change all the access codes and it could take another month to get back in.
    Take a deep breath. Get yourself under control. Control is what took you out of the trailer park. Control.
    File: 248 . Julia Devaux’s data was in a file called 248. Well, no one else hunting for Julia Devaux’s head had as much to go on. A three digit code should be breakable within two weeks at the most. And with S. T. Akers on the case, it would be well into the new year before Santana went to trial, anyway.
    There was still time. File 248…it wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.
    There was still hope, the professional reflected as Tosca threw herself off the parapet.
    There was still hope.

* * * * *
    It was a short walk from the school to Julia’s home.
    It was a short walk to anywhere in Simpson. Julia really didn’t even need the clunky ancient lime green Ford Fairlane Davis had made available. It rattled, devoured gasoline and was old enough to vote.
    She missed her classy Fiat.
    She missed her classy life.
    What was happening back in Boston? Dora had been thinking more and more about going freelance. She’d even hinted that she might welcome Julia on board. Had she made the leap? Andrew and Paul, her gay