Read Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson for Free Online Page B

wide.
    “I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me,
or you’re confused, or the drugs are clouding your head. These are
dangerous men, Julianne. You’re in trouble, and if you don’t do
exactly what I say, when I say it, I’ll knock out every one of your
teeth, and then any chance you might have at a modeling career will
be gone. Got it?”
    She nodded quickly. “I … I …”
    “Shut up and come with me.”
    I took her by the hand and led her into an
overpriced gift shop in the beach parking lot. After spending a
minute working the rolled up fifty dollar bill out of my purse
lining, I bought each of us a Red Bull and ordered Julianne to
drink hers. They didn’t have first aid kits, and the bandages they
sold were too small for my wound, but they had the next best
thing—super glue. I dripped half a tube onto the bullet burn,
effectively stopping the bleeding. It was ugly, but effective.
    The limo pulled up just as we walked back
outside.
    Morrissey lowered the window. “I think
everyone east of Oyster Bay saw you jump out of the helicopter.
Cops will be here any second.” He eyed my shoulder. “Are you
bleeding?”
    “I was. I took care of it.”
    “Is she?”
    “No.”
    “You sure?”
    I pulled on the door handle. It was
locked.
    “Open the goddamn door, Morrissey.”
    “Are you sure she isn’t hurt?”
    “I’m fine,” Julianne mumbled.
    The door unlocked. I pushed Julianne into the
back seat of the car and slipped in beside her. Morrissey hit the
gas, flattening us against leather. I fastened my safety belt and
made sure Julianne did the same. The air conditioning raised goose
bumps on my nearly naked skin.
    We wound along twisting, tree-lined streets
dotted with quaint Victorians that probably cost half as much as my
apartment building back in Chicago. I spotted a dark blue van turn
onto the street behind us and caught a glimpse of Hawk Nose behind
the wheel.
    They had automatic weapons. If we got stuck
in traffic, we were dead.
    “You spot ‘em?” I asked Morrissey.
    “Yeah. See the bar back there?”
    I glanced at a leather-covered compartment
just to the right of Julianne’s footspace.
    “I stashed something in the ice bucket for
you.”
    I opened the little cubicle. Tucked into the
insulated bin was a Glock 22. Fifteen .40 rounds in the magazine,
one in the chamber.
    Julianne made a mewing sound in the back of
her throat.
    “Hold on.” Morrissey swerved across traffic
and onto a ramp leading to the expressway. Tires squealed and horns
honked.
    I glanced out the back window in time to see
the van complete the same risky maneuver.
    “You didn’t shake them.”
    “I see that.” Morrissey’s tone was dry, as
calm and still as I’d noted when I’d first seen him outside the
hotel.
    He drove on, a mile, two, five humming by
under the tires, Hawk Nose and his boys still following.
    I held the gun in my lap, my index finger
stretched along the side of the trigger guard, thinking. So many
parts of this assignment didn’t add up. So many details didn’t make
sense. A whole house on Long Island Sound and only one girl loaded
into the helicopter? At least five highly-trained and armed men to
watch over her? Pornocopia central but no one laying a finger on
her?
    After I’d jumped with Julianne, things must
have gotten immeasurably messy for The Bradford and Sims Modeling
Agency. They had no idea who I was, who I worked for. The smart
move would be to cut their losses, wipe down their rented house and
disappear, not go on a high speed chase to … do what? Recover one
girl? Or erase three witnesses while potentially creating many
more?
    The whole thing seemed foolhardy.
    “Who are these guys?” I asked Morrissey.
    He shrugged a shoulder. “I know as much as
you.”
    “Haven’t you been on this case for a
while?”
    “Working for the car service, not the
modeling agency.” He accelerated, weaving through a caravan of
slower moving cars. “I do what I’m asked, just like