Read Acquired Motives (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 2) for Free Online Page A

pottery chips made a soft, urgent sound. Wind prowled through the corn and tomato plants like a hungry animal.
          Killer saw the doctor's car parked in front of the trailer, near the front door. The cop's Caprice was gone. Good. That was just the way it should be.
          Words played through Killer's mind on a loop: You see it all behind their eyes—evil thoughts, evil lies .
    S YLVIA PULLED ON her wrinkled skirt and stepped barefoot from the trailer. Outside, the low howl of the wind overlaid the steady hum of traffic from Cerrillos Road. Horns honked in the distance, followed by the screech of brakes and a siren. She walked to her car, opened the door, and began her search.
          Glove compartment. Visors. Ashtray. She turned away empty-handed, but before she closed the door, she remembered to check under the front seat. A lonely Marlboro had rolled around on the floor for weeks. The car lighter glowed red in seconds. She inhaled gratefully, with illicit pleasure. She welcomed the bite the smoke took from her lungs.
          On the trailer steps, she sat and drew the cigarette down to the quick. The wind had picked up, and it slapped her face with a warm, dry palm. In the garden, cornstalks danced and whispered. She felt someone's presence, eyes on her skin, and she looked up at the moon. The fine hairs on her arms stood up. She was edgy as hell.
          With great care, she tapped the cigarette butt against asphalt, then she pressed the tip together with finger and thumb. She slipped the butt under one of the cinder-block supports beneath the trailer skirt and took a last look at the garden. When she was back inside the trailer, she locked the door.
          Sylvia lit three scented candles. Earlier in the evening, she had craved sex as a frenzied antidote to her anger and frustration. Now, she would gladly accept sleep. But her body and mind refused to relax.
          She dimmed the lights and left the first candle burning in the kitchen, the second in the bedroom, and carried the third to the bathroom. The flame sent shadows scurrying up bathroom walls to escape the confining space. She dropped her clothes in a pile, reached into the shower stall, and opened the cold spigot.
          When she stepped in, the water was frigid and goose bumps instantly dimpled her skin. She gasped and dipped her head under the flow. It hurt. She forced herself to stay under the water even after her head began to throb with pain. Finally, she turned on the hot water, full force. The spurt warmed, became hotter. The bathroom overflowed with steam and the scent of jasmine from the candle. Her body polarized, then centered itself. The heat began to work its magic, and a deep sense of relaxation lulled her senses.
    K ILLER HEARD THE message like an internal whisper: You are the wings of vengeance and death, vengeance and death, vengeance and death .
          A three-quarter moon highlighted silky tassels and slender leaves. The earth felt cool and cushioned, and it filled the air with loamy scents.
          Killer skimmed gloved fingers over the white painted surface: siding, vent, drain spout. The exterior of the trailer was home to tiny beetles and spiders; an orb-weaver had spun its complex web in the corner of an air vent beneath a window. The web glistened in the restless night air. A moth struggled in vain to free itself from silken chains. Flickering candlelight escaped through the screened window and danced on the web with the spider.
          Window, siding, door, handle. The dried blood on Killer's hands and arms gleamed dully in the moonlight. The crowbar fit neatly between door and jamb; it took steady pressure—prying the area below the knob—before the lock popped and the door swung open.
    S YLVIA RINSED OFF shampoo suds and reached for soap. The bar was thin and hard—she remembered seeing a bar of Ivory in the sink. If she worked fast, she could reach out and grab the soap and her