a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) Read Free Page A

lives.
    Except for Mitch. We touch. And we still haven’t faced the resultant security issues, which was a big part of the reason I was nervous about seeing him. As soon as I touched him I’d know where he’d been and what he’d been doing. We had to talk about it, and it could mean the end of our relationship if he insisted that I get a security clearance. No way could I do that. The government keeping track of my fingers—no way. I shuddered and shoved the thought aside. Mitch later, Jacobson now.
    I took a minute, just standing there, to adjust to the crystal clarity of the heat waves and how the birdsong sparkled in the air. And then I tossed my handbag over my shoulder and casually circled the building a couple times, observing entrances and exits while I worked on my cover story—a hopelessly lost, somewhat ditzy redhead.
    By the time I entered the building, I’d managed to convince myself that finding Calvin Jacobson would be my salvation. Hey, whatever works.
    The lobby was spacious with skylights that allowed sunlight to filter through and nourish the potted ficus trees. They cast leafy patterns against the walls and the pale marble floor that looked a lot like modern art.
    I wove through several conversation areas with sofas and chairs—all done in muted shades of mauve that reeked of boring—until I reached the far wall. According to the directory that was mounted between the elevator and stairway, C.J. Builders was located in suite 207.
    The elevator dinged open, and a line of cold ran up my spine. Apparently my spidey sense didn’t think it was a good idea to get on the elevator. I ducked into the stairway and slowly made my way to the second floor.
    I pushed open a heavy wooden door and peeked around the edge. A long parquet hall that screamed Expensive Building opened in front of me. The marble in the lobby was normal, but most businesses went for cheaper carpeting on the upper levels.
    The numbers on the doors indicated that Jacobson’s office was at the far end. I strolled along the corridor, noting the impressive glass doors that showed off busy receptionists and plush waiting rooms.
    Not so, C.J. Builders. The door to Jacobson’s office was tucked into an alcove at the end of the hall and was made from solid wood that left me guessing whether to knock or try the knob. He needed a decorating consultant to upgrade his curb appeal. I leaned around the edge of the alcove wall for a quick look into the hall. The muted sound of telephones and conversations blended into silence. No one was around.
    My hand hovered an inch from the knob. I jerked back and sucked in a couple deep breaths. Energy had licked at my fingers, strong enough to feel without touching. Odd. Inanimate objects didn’t usually have such a strong field. People, yes. Things, almost never. Unless…
    My curiosity on overdrive, I reached for the doorknob again.
    Footsteps sounded from down the hall.
    I jumped back, listening to the bits of soft conversation that disturbed the silence. I had three choices: knock, open the door, or leave. I didn’t want to be caught loitering in the hall. Too hard to explain.
    I curled my hand into a fist, rapped against the wood, and the door clicked open.
    The metallic scent of blood assaulted my nostrils.
    Panic clawed at my belly and a rush of adrenaline scraped along my nerves.
    Damn it all to perdition.
    I sucked in another breath and forced my fingers to touch the doorknob again—held them there until a single image slammed into my head—a gloved hand turning the knob.
    Dead.
    Body.
    Sure as anything there was one on the other side of the door because whoever had touched the knob had been intent on murder. No doubt about it. The picture was sharp in my mind—no cloudy edges—but more importantly, the passionate need to kill was razor sharp in my brain.
    I started to sink down, to sit before I collapsed, but the voices from down the hall grew louder. Laughter. Probably not the killer. A door