Free A Perfect Evil by Alex Kava Page A

flight in the morning.”
    Silence. One, two, three…
    “Damn it, Maggie. It’s our anniversary. This was supposed to be our weekend together.”
    “No, that was last weekend, only you forgot and played in the golf tournament.”
    “Oh, I see,” he snorted. “So this is payback.”
    “No, it’s not payback.” She maintained her calm though she was tired of these little tantrums. It was fine for him to ruin their plans with only half an apology and that charming, smug “I’ll make it up to you, babe.”
    “If it’s not payback, what do you call it?”
    “Work.”
    “Work, right. That’s convenient. Call it what you want. It’s payback.”
    “A little boy has been murdered, and I might be able to help find the psycho who did it.” The anger bubbled close to the surface, but her voice remained amazingly calm. “Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.” The sarcasm slipped out, but he didn’t seem to notice. She took the fax and started past him to the door. He grabbed her wrist and spun her toward him.
    “Tell them to send someone else, Maggie. We need this weekend together,” he pleaded, his voice now soft.
    She looked into his gray eyes and wondered when they had lost their color. She searched for a flicker of the intelligent, compassionate man she had married nine years ago when they were both college seniors ready to make their marks on the world. She would track down the criminals, and he would defend the helpless victims. Then he took the job in Washington at Brackman, Harvey and Lowe, and his helpless victims became billion-dollar corporations. Still, in just a moment of silence, she thought she recognized a flicker of sincerity. She was on the verge of giving in to him when his grip tightened and his teeth clenched.
    “Tell them to send someone else, or we’re finished.”
    She wrenched her wrist free. He grabbed for it again, and she slammed a fist into his chest. His eyes widened in surprise.
    “Don’t you ever grab me like that again. And if this one trip means we’re finished, then maybe we’ve been finished for a long time.”
    She brushed past him and headed for the bedroom, hoping her knees would carry her and the sting behind her eyes would wait.

CHAPTER 7
    M aggie O’Dell kicked off her muddy running shoes in the foyer before her husband, Greg, reminded her to do so. She missed their tiny, cluttered apartment in Richmond, despite surrendering to the much-needed convenience of living between Quantico and Washington. But ever since they had bought the pricey condo in the expensive Crest Ridge area, Greg had developed an absurd obsession with image. He liked their condo spotless, an easy task since both their jobs kept them away. Yet, she resented coming home to a place that swallowed her monthly paycheck but felt like one of the hotels to which she had grown accustomed.
    She peeled off the damp sweatshirt and immediately felt a pleasant chill. Though it was a crisp fall day, she had managed to work up a sweat after another night of tossing and turning. She balled up the sweatshirt and shot it into the laundry room as she passed on her way to the kitchen. How careless of her to miss the laundry basket.
    She stood in front of the open refrigerator. A look inside revealed a pathetic view of their lack of domestic talents—a box of leftover Chinese food, half a bagel twisted in plastic wrap, a foam take-out container with unidentified gooey stuff. She grabbed a bottle of water and slammed the door, now shivering in only running shorts, a sweat-drenched T-shirt and sports bra that stuck to her like an extra layer of skin.
    The phone rang. She searched the spotless counters and grabbed it off the unused microwave before the fourth ring.
    “Hello.”
    “O’Dell, it’s Cunningham.”
    She ran her fingers through her wet mass of short, dark hair and stood up straight, his voice setting her at attention.
    “Hi. What’s up?”
    “I just received a phone call from the Omaha field office. They