Night Kills Read Free Page B

hell was something over there in the shadows.
    Fedderman took a quick practice swing, then hurried his shot.
    He really nailed this one. Solid. It felt great.
    The ball flew about ten feet, bounced off a palm trunk, and rocketed straight back and hit Fedderman in the head.
    He threw down his club and clutched his skull, then staggered out into the searing sunlight. His cleated golf shoes snagged in the tall grass and he almost fell. Chet was yelling something, maybe laughing.
    Damn Chet!
    Damn golf!
    Damn Florida!
    He had to get out of here! Had to!
    Fedderman’s cell phone chirped.

4
    Two months earlier
    Shellie Marston paced in the vast glass and marble atrium of the CitiGroup Building at Third Avenue and Fifty-third Street. She walked again past a display window and tried to glance at her reflection without attracting attention. She saw a woman in her late twenties with medium-cut blond hair, a definitely filled-out but not too fat figure in a new maroon Avanti sweat suit and startlingly white New Balance jogging shoes. She wore a white scarf around her neck. Too much? Not considering that she was wearing no jewelry other than small gold hoop earrings, and her very practical-looking wristwatch with its black Velcro band. This was supposed to be a casual first meeting with…David Adams. It took her a second to recall his name. A meeting in a public place arranged by E-Bliss.org.
    The atrium wasn’t very crowded, but all the hard surfaces created an echoing effect that made it seem that way. Voices and shuffling soles created a constant background buzz. New Yorkers and tourists alike were strolling along the lines of shops or hurrying to and from the escalators.
    As she looked away from the display window, Shellie saw that one of the small round tables set outside the shops was available. She’d bought an egg cream in a foam cup so she’d have something to do with her hands. Carrying it carefully so it wouldn’t spill, she quickly laid claim to the tiny table and sat down. She placed the cup just so on the napkin she’d been provided.
    His first impression would be of her seated. Was that okay?
    If she sat gracefully enough. She made sure her thighs were together and placed one New Balance jogger slightly in front of the other, rested her left hand in her lap. That should present a reasonably graceful picture.
    She raised her left hand briefly to glance at the watch on her wrist. He was five minutes late. She nervously took a sip of egg cream. Was he actually going to show up? Or was she going to sit here another—how long—fifteen minutes? The two old men playing chess at the nearest table had stolen looks at her; they knew she was waiting for someone.
    Shellie tried not to feel embarrassed. It didn’t matter if she was stood up, she told herself, not in New York. This city was full of improbable and unpredictable characters.
    None of whom she knew more than casually, however. Shellie had been in the city a little more than a month. She was still operating on the inheritance she’d brought with her from Bluebonnet, Nebraska. All her mother had in the world, plus her mother’s life insurance money. Shellie’s dad had died ten years ago. A distant aunt had died only a few months ago, and Shellie had no siblings. She was on her own in the world, which was one reason why she’d decided to start a new life in New York.
    Why not the biggest, most interesting city in the country? Shellie had her nerve, and her college degree in general education. Always a loner, there was no one she was particularly friendly with in Bluebonnet. There was nothing in the romance area, certainly, now that she’d broken off her affair with Mark Drucker. Hulking and ever-smiling Mark. Big high school football hero, college dropout, and TV addict. All Mark wanted to do was have sex and watch movies and shows on TV. Old The Dukes of Hazzard episodes. My God! Well, Shellie hoped that by now