Free Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers by J. F. Penn, Cheryl Bradshaw, Diane Capri, J. Carson Black, Aaron Patterson, Vincent Zandri, M A Comley, Carol Davis Luce, Joshua Graham, Michele Scott, Allan Leverone, Linda S Prather Page B
Black.”
“What about her?” The connection was lost again. Kim tried four times before it reestablished.
“Way too hot for that house. And way, way, way too hot for that dude.”
Kim laughed for the first time since Officer Leach had pointed his shotgun at her. “Leave it to you to notice.”
He looked over, raised his right eyebrow, and adopted a fake Spanish accent. “The phrase ‘Latin Lover’ mean anything to you, Helga? Did I mention that I have four daughters, and a pregnant wife?”
“I got that, Casanova.”
“Damn straight.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re irresistible, even to the murderously hot babes. What else?” The long list of entries for her search terms was organized by the LIFO method: last in, first out. The articles at the top were shorter pieces with very little useful content. She flipped through the pages as quickly as the intermittent connection allowed.
“Besides the obvious, you mean?”
“One man’s obvious is another woman’s obtuse.” She was on page ten of the list. Nothing helpful so far, but she kept reading, hoping for a glimmer of something.
Kim felt the Traverse’s speed slow. Flashing lights proclaimed road construction ahead. Outbound traffic from Atlanta was barely moving. Inbound traffic moved slightly faster.
Then it stopped altogether.
“Okay, including the obvious, then.” Gaspar slid the transmission into park and moved his right leg as if cramping had returned. Again, Kim would have asked about the leg, but she didn’t want to go down another contentious road.
Gaspar said, “Whoever shot Mr. Black knew where to put the bullets. The two shots to the head would have done the job. The other five were pure vengeance.”
She looked up from the screen. “For what?”
He considered the question for a while. Finally he said, “Now that’s the sixty-four dollar question, isn’t it?”
“That, and why the Leach brothers ran us out of town.”
“You think the two are related?”
“The Leach brothers?”
He shot her the Oh please look he’d learned from his teenagers. “Black’s murder and our close encounter with the Leach brothers.”
“You think they’re not?”
“I see what you mean about being obtuse,” he said.
Traffic began to move again, but barely. Kim’s internet connection remained strong for five miles. Long enough to download four large articles before she lost the signal again. She scanned the pieces quickly, seeking new facts.
When the construction zone ended, the road widened to four lanes again, and Gaspar punched the Traverse back to eighty miles an hour. The cell signal cut out. Kim barely noticed, so engrossed was she in the Atlanta Constitution article she’d pulled up.
“Are you reading a novel over there or what?”
“Strictly non-fiction,” she said.
“Interesting?”
“Well, I think I know why Mary the waitress freaked out when you gave her that hundred dollar bill.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They headed for Hartsfield Airport, south of the city. Gaspar chose a Renaissance Hotel and parked the Traverse within easy sprinting distance of a side entrance. He said, “Is this OK? They’ve got a bar and a restaurant, which most of these airport racks don’t have. We wouldn’t need to go out again tonight.”
The rain had stopped about fifteen miles earlier, but the air was still heavy with moisture and small lakes had collected in every low spot. The temperature had dropped after the storm, too. Kim was exhausted. Gaspar looked as bad as she felt.
“Sure,” she said. “Perfect.”
He got out of the Traverse and limped to the back and lifted the hatch. They pulled out their bags. She wheeled hers inside, but he carried his. Macho man. She sighed, too tired to deal with him.
They registered, and they requested and received second floor billets close to the emergency stairwell nearest the Traverse. Then they went up in the elevator to adjacent rooms.
“Let’s meet for dinner,” Kim said. She checked her
“What about her?” The connection was lost again. Kim tried four times before it reestablished.
“Way too hot for that house. And way, way, way too hot for that dude.”
Kim laughed for the first time since Officer Leach had pointed his shotgun at her. “Leave it to you to notice.”
He looked over, raised his right eyebrow, and adopted a fake Spanish accent. “The phrase ‘Latin Lover’ mean anything to you, Helga? Did I mention that I have four daughters, and a pregnant wife?”
“I got that, Casanova.”
“Damn straight.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re irresistible, even to the murderously hot babes. What else?” The long list of entries for her search terms was organized by the LIFO method: last in, first out. The articles at the top were shorter pieces with very little useful content. She flipped through the pages as quickly as the intermittent connection allowed.
“Besides the obvious, you mean?”
“One man’s obvious is another woman’s obtuse.” She was on page ten of the list. Nothing helpful so far, but she kept reading, hoping for a glimmer of something.
Kim felt the Traverse’s speed slow. Flashing lights proclaimed road construction ahead. Outbound traffic from Atlanta was barely moving. Inbound traffic moved slightly faster.
Then it stopped altogether.
“Okay, including the obvious, then.” Gaspar slid the transmission into park and moved his right leg as if cramping had returned. Again, Kim would have asked about the leg, but she didn’t want to go down another contentious road.
Gaspar said, “Whoever shot Mr. Black knew where to put the bullets. The two shots to the head would have done the job. The other five were pure vengeance.”
She looked up from the screen. “For what?”
He considered the question for a while. Finally he said, “Now that’s the sixty-four dollar question, isn’t it?”
“That, and why the Leach brothers ran us out of town.”
“You think the two are related?”
“The Leach brothers?”
He shot her the Oh please look he’d learned from his teenagers. “Black’s murder and our close encounter with the Leach brothers.”
“You think they’re not?”
“I see what you mean about being obtuse,” he said.
Traffic began to move again, but barely. Kim’s internet connection remained strong for five miles. Long enough to download four large articles before she lost the signal again. She scanned the pieces quickly, seeking new facts.
When the construction zone ended, the road widened to four lanes again, and Gaspar punched the Traverse back to eighty miles an hour. The cell signal cut out. Kim barely noticed, so engrossed was she in the Atlanta Constitution article she’d pulled up.
“Are you reading a novel over there or what?”
“Strictly non-fiction,” she said.
“Interesting?”
“Well, I think I know why Mary the waitress freaked out when you gave her that hundred dollar bill.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
They headed for Hartsfield Airport, south of the city. Gaspar chose a Renaissance Hotel and parked the Traverse within easy sprinting distance of a side entrance. He said, “Is this OK? They’ve got a bar and a restaurant, which most of these airport racks don’t have. We wouldn’t need to go out again tonight.”
The rain had stopped about fifteen miles earlier, but the air was still heavy with moisture and small lakes had collected in every low spot. The temperature had dropped after the storm, too. Kim was exhausted. Gaspar looked as bad as she felt.
“Sure,” she said. “Perfect.”
He got out of the Traverse and limped to the back and lifted the hatch. They pulled out their bags. She wheeled hers inside, but he carried his. Macho man. She sighed, too tired to deal with him.
They registered, and they requested and received second floor billets close to the emergency stairwell nearest the Traverse. Then they went up in the elevator to adjacent rooms.
“Let’s meet for dinner,” Kim said. She checked her
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