Free First Kill by Lawrence Kelter Page B

account.”
    I heard sizzling and looked over at the kitchen. Farrell had just placed two immense burger patties on the flat top. He turned to me and smiled as he dropped a basket of fries into hot cooking oil. I may have drooled. Nice! This guy may actually get some. “And you have no idea who owns the Swiss account?”
    “No, Chalice. That’s why the Swiss thing is so popular—the accounts are numbered. They’re anonymous.”
    “Fifty thousand is a big number. Can you dig into that any further?”
    I heard Ambler sigh. “That won’t be easy, but you know I’ll try. I’ll call you if anything turns up.”
    “Thanks, old friend. I owe you.”
    I disconnected and took a sip of wine. The burgers had been flipped, and Farrell was shaking the excess oil off the fries. It was such a maddening case. I was hoping for an epiphany as I walked around the counter to where Farrell was preparing comfort food. I picked up the salt grinder. “Let me season those for you.” I blew on a salted fry to cool it and fed it to him. “Good?”
    “Just right.”
    I put my arms around him and gave him a kiss. It was shaping up to be a perfect date. The river and distant New Jersey shore were in view over his shoulder as I pressed my lips to his again. I could taste the salt from the French fry. Something was going on in the background, but I was in the zone . The background became a blur as I explored his warm, wet mouth. I felt myself melting away, when a chill racked my body. I grabbed Farrell and yanked him down onto the floor. “Oh, Stephanie,” he moaned just as the window shattered and a bullet zinged past his shoulder.

Chapter Twenty
    “Steve, are you all right?”
    It took a moment for Farrell to realize what had happened. He took an account of himself and finally nodded. “I think so.”
    I sprang up from the floor and raced to the shattered window, just in time to see Quinlan race across the opposite rooftop. That’s when it hit me. Fifty thousand bucks. Hartley hired an assassin. But why?
    I had arrived at Farrell’s apartment dressed third-date-appropriate, including a sexy bra and panties, but not including a matching shoulder holster. I sprinted over to the closet, grabbed my coat, and fished in my bag for my automatic. Bewildered, Farrell looked around his apartment. Icy wind whistled through the shattered window. “Call 911,” I yelled as I reached for the door. “That was Quinlan on the rooftop. I saw him.”
    “Quinlan?”
    “Yes! Get on the phone— Now! ”
    Precious seconds were ticking by as I raced to the elevator bank and hit the call button. The display above the door indicated that the elevator car was on the ground floor. I switched gears and charged into the stairwell. Stairs again? Shit! Down is better than up … but in pumps? I clattered down the stairs at break-neck speed in my Christian Louboutin shoes, certain I would lose my balance and go head over heels.
    I hit the lobby and sped out onto the street. It was silent. I raced across the street to the building Quinlan had fired from. Another loft building—no doorman, entranceway locked. I looked in every direction hoping to notice the slightest movement. Nothing. A barge blasted its whistle in the harbor, and when it trailed off, the night was once again quiet. Quinlan was gone.

Chapter Twenty-One
    I was standing in the street looking around aimlessly, disappointed and frustrated, when my cell phone rang. It was Rodriguez. I was unable to contain my frustration. “What?”
    “Chalice, easy—what the hell?”
    I saw Farrell emerge from the elevator in the lobby. He was hurrying toward me. “He got away?” he called to me. I nodded. Farrell was still completely wired, understandably.
    “Sorry,” I said to Rodriguez. “What’s up?”
    “We found Blick’s car.”
    Oh thank God . “Anything?”
    “His last burner was still in the car, hidden in the tire-change kit. Lots of calls, most to the same number.”
    “Did you check the