Hot Night. Shannon McKennaЧитать онлайн книгу.
SHANNON MCKENNA
HOT NIGHT
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Prologue
Pirate gold. Coins and buttons, golden chains, orders of chivalry, glittering diamonds, glowing rubies, necklaces and rings and reliquaries.
Lucien’s fingers tingled as he leafed through the museum journal. The softly gleaming Spanish gold that had lain at the bottom of the Caribbean for hundreds of years made today’s take, lying in a tangled heap on the bed, look like cheap costume jewelry.
“I’ve found my next project,” he said to the naked woman who stood in front of the window. “Come look at these pictures, Cammy.”
The woman made no move to show that she had heard.
Lucien got up and uncorked the champagne, pouring it into the flutes that he had brought to the remote cabin just for the occasion. He carried one to the woman. “Camilla,” he murmured. “To our success.”
He chose a three-strand pearl collar from the pile of jewelry and fastened it around her neck. She shuddered at the contact.
Lucien kissed the angry marks on her back, where he’d pushed her down against the jewelry during sex.” You’re so quiet. Something wrong?”
She wrapped her arms across her breasts, shivering. “You didn’t tell me you were going to kill her.”
Lucien kissed a scratch on her shoulder blade that still oozed blood. “Is that all?” he crooned. “Gertrude Bingham was a greedy old hag. She overworked you and underpaid you. She deserved what she got.”
“But you shot her in the head.” Camilla’s eyes were haunted.
“I wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t burst in on us,” he said calmly. “These are the risks, when you steal millions’ worth of jewelry.”
Camilla’s chin shook. She put her hands over her mouth.
Lucien hid his impatience. “Come on,” he coaxed. “The woman was over eighty. You saved her from a lingering decline into senility.”
Camilla put her hand to her throat, as if the collar choked her. “So much blood,” she whispered thickly.
“Don’t think about it,” he crooned. “Think about you and me, making love on our yacht.”
Camilla grabbed him and clung to his neck. “I l-l-love you.”
That was his cue. The knife shifted from pocket to hand, stabbed deep under her rib cage. Realization, betrayal, then death, in one brief instant. His ears roared with excitement as he felt life leave her body.
He let her sag onto the rug. Wiped his hands with her blouse. Removed the collar. Rolled the body up like a cigar. There was a tarp under the rug to make things simpler for the cleanup crew.
No muss, no fuss.
He dressed, then tossed the jewels into his suitcase, staring at Camilla’s trussed remains with lingering dissatisfaction. The letdown had descended too soon. He already felt restless and out of sorts.
The only solution was to start planning his next diversion. Now.
He grabbed the museum journal and shoved it into the suitcase on top of the glittering snarl of gems.
Chapter
1
Silver Fork, Oregon
Nine months later
Abby Maitland rummaged through her bag again. And again. No house keys. Not possible. Not tonight. Oh, please.
She leaned her hot forehead against the door of her apartment and tried not to sob. The evening bag yielded up wallet, cell phone, and lipstick. Sheba meowed from inside as if she hadn’t been fed in weeks.
Edgar, the blind date from the bowels of hell, rattled his car keys. “Makes it tough to invite me in for a nightcap, huh?” His voice was an oily ooze of insinuation.
Yeah, jerkwad. I’d only rather be dipped in boiling lead. She stomped on the words only for the sake of Dovey, her well-meaning coworker who had set up this date. She had freely agreed to spend an evening with this puff-toad, and it was classier to keep her mouth shut.
It wasn’t really a blind date. She’d met him at a reception for a new exhibit at the science museum in Portland. He’d seemed promising; i.e., nice-looking and articulate. The flirtatious e-mail exchanges had been fun. The first hour of the date hadn’t been bad.
After some wine, though, the illusion of wit and charm had faded. His face went red, he stopped listening to anything she said, his gaze dropped to her chest and stuck. By the time the food had arrived, she’d been casting around for a polite escape route. She should have called her car service then and there. She hadn’t realized how drunk he was until he was driving her home. He’d scoffed at her offer to drive, of course, macho turd that he was. “I don’t want any more company,” she said, for the eighth time. “And you’ve had enough to drink.”
“I did knock back a few. Can’t drive back to Portland like this. You’ll let me stay, won’t you, dollface? I’ll make it so worth your while.”
Dollface? “In your dreams, Edgar,” she said. “Get a room.”
“Cool idea. Let’s go check into that No-Tell Motel down on the highway.” He swayed toward her. “Cheap, sleazy motels turn me on.”
“Nope.” She swayed back, to minimize the stupefying effects of his garlic-and-wine breath. Her landlady lived on the ground floor, but she was eighty, and would not appreciate being dragged from her bed just because Abby couldn’t keep her purses organized.
“Break the kitchen window,” Edgar suggested. He hefted her doorstop, a swirl of driftwood attached to a chunk of petrified wood.
“No!” Abby grabbed the doorstop, staggering under the momentum of Edgar’s enthusiastic downswing. “Do not help! I’ll deal with this problem myself. In fact, you can go. Now. Please. Feel free.”
She fished out her cell phone