Read Shadows At Sunset for Free Online

times. He suspected in the case of Jackson Meyer it wouldn’t require much effort. He hated him that much.
    But death ended things. And he wanted an everlasting torment for the man who murdered his mother. Once he had proof. He wanted Meyer to know who destroyed him, and why.
    Destroying his business and reputation would be merely a start, and he’d been working on that since he’d come to L.A. Destroying his family would be even better, an eye for an eye. Coltrane had grown up in the grinding, soulless poverty of the icy Midwest, with a father too drunk to even notice him since they’d lost the one thing that mattered to either of them. The least Coltrane could do was return the favor, no matter what that made him.
    The problem was, finding someone Jackson Meyer cared about other than his own sleek, artificially tanned, fitness-center-buffed hide was no easy task. He treated his trophy wife like an impatient parent, his two young children like puppies who hadn’t been housebroken. As far as Coltrane could tell he didn’t even remember their names. And his daughter Jilly might as well not exist for all the mention that had been made of her.
    But Rachel-Ann was different. Rachel-Ann was Meyer’s one weak spot, and that was who Coltrane intended to work on. He’d already managed to put enough pressure on Dean to get him out of the way—Meyer’s only son had conceded the battle without firing a single shot, retiring to his computers and an impressive case of the sulks. As for Jilly, she was simply a casualty of war—if he had time he’d take her, but she was merely a sideline.
    From all reports Rachel-Ann had been hovering on the brink of destruction for most of her life. It seemed only fitting that he’d help push her over the edge, and then stand back and watch while Meyer went flailing after her. And he refused to think about what kind of man that made him.
    He poured himself a Scotch, straight up, carrying it out onto the patio as he slowly sipped it. It was the best Scotch he could find, a single malt from a tiny distillery in the Hebrides, and it had become part of a ritual—a silent toast to the father who drank his life away. An arrogant daring of fate to try to do the same to him. After a decade he still hadn’t learned to like the taste of it, but he drank it, anyway, a small spit in the eye of the vengeful gods.
    His plan was simple. He’d use Jilly to get to her fragile older sister, then go from there. He was a patient man, but he’d waited long enough. Time to up the ante. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to harm innocents. But if Dean was anything to go by then Meyer’s grown children were far from innocent.
    The Los Angeles night was settling down around him, and he stared out over the city, his back to the perfectly decorated apartment that was nothing more than a stage setting. He could feel the cool tingle of anticipation in his veins, a headier drug than the whiskey. By tomorrow night he’d be in the legendary Casa de Sombras, well on his way to the answers he’d spent years of his life looking for. And if he felt even a faint twinge of regret that Jilly Meyer was going to be one of the casualties of war, he dismissed it with a stray grimace.
    He answered the phone on the third ring, just before the answering service would get it, knowing who it was.
    â€œDid you get rid of her?” Jackson Dean Meyer barked into the phone.
    â€œFor now. You didn’t tell me you wanted me to do anything permanent,” he said lazily.
    There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. “Is there something permanent you could do?”
    â€œI suppose I could find a hit man if you think it’s necessary….”
    â€œI don’t find that amusing, Coltrane,” Meyer said icily. “I’m not in the habit of murdering my children.”
    No, only your lovers, he thought calmly, eyeing his drink.