Read The Testament of James (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens) for Free Online

borrow some guys in colorful berets. He’s always trying to think two steps ahead, he takes his eye off the ball.”
    “So we’ll get you back there as soon as we can, so Pinky doesn’t spend all that money till you get a look. And don’t think I missed ‘Heather.’ Heather?”
    “I’m not against parenthood, Chantal, although by the time Junior is ready to play catch I may have to shuffle out to the yard with my walker.”
    “You’re young enough to see your children through school, providing you start now, and you know it. But you’ve made it clear you don’t want that and that’s why I’m staying at Mary’s. I did not come here to twist your arm. I came here to see if you need my help because of what happened to Bob. I will gladly help you in the short term, if you need it, for a week. I will do what you tell me needs done but I’m asking you as a favor and as a friend don’t take me to your bed and then break my heart again with this ‘I’ll call you’ bullshit. We’re good friends, at least as far as I’m concerned, who tried the other thing and it didn’t work out and that part is over.”
    “That feels bitter.”
    “Freedom means different things to different people, dear. Love can make you feel free, or it can make you feel trapped. People are wired different, I get that. If you decide different you’ll tell me. Till then, what’s really going on?” She took a step back. “What really happened to Bob, did somebody actually come here that night to deliver a copy of this Testament of James , is there any chance it’s real, and if so where is it? On a scale of one to ten how likely are people to start shooting at us? I need to know because I’ve got this little borrowed pink revolver in my purse but if you expect any real trouble I can make a phone call and get us some bottle-necked backup, I still know people at the War College.”
    “You’ll call in the dolphins?”
    “Not bottle-nosed, bottle-necked. The brass of a high-powered round has a shoulder. Never mind. A few people owe me favors who would seriously outclass some Italian with a pocket pistol.
    “I’ll keep that in mind. Pink?”
    “What?”
    “You have a pink pistol? Like, you’re actually carrying it around?”
    “I told you, dear, it’s borrowed. Wouldn’t do much good in my suitcase. Pink is a marketing gimmick. It has zero effect on wound ballistics.”
    A black blur came shooting up the stairs, made one skidding footfall on the bedroom floor, and vanished under the bed, leaving the bedspread swaying slightly. Only seconds behind came all 20 gray-striped pounds of Tabbyhunter, though he leaped directly onto the bed, turned, and prepared for combat, crouching down, fur fully blown out, keening his battle song.
    “Was that Serafina?” Chantal asked.
    “Something’s up.”
    “Someone downstairs?”
    “Trying to get into the shop, probably.” Matthew grabbed one of his black aluminum baseball bats from behind the door, positioned his right hand about a third of the way up.
    “But the lights are on.”
    “We always leave a few lights on. Probably someone who doesn’t know we live upstairs. Or someone desperate.”
    “I’m coming with you.”
    “OK.”
    “In fact, I’m going first,” said Chantal, producing her Lady Smith revolver from her purse.
    “I know the layout better.”
    “They won’t be hiding in the furnace room. Plus I’ve got the gun.”
    “You’re actually going to use that?”
    “I hope not. But I still go first. That way I don’t have to shoot through you, which could seriously mess up my point of aim. It’s called ‘deflection.’”
    “I knew that.”
    It was indeed never completely dark in the store, barring a power outage. It was traditional to leave one green-shaded desk lamp burning near the front counter, as well as a single 40-watt light back in the kitchen, so if anything did require late-night attention Matthew wouldn’t be stumbling around in complete darkness,