Predator Read Free Page A

Carmichael’s GrapeVyne page yesterday?”
    “Yesterday? She died over two weeks ago, didn’t she?”
    “Yes. They’re saying her sister posted this note to her killer.”
    Now he was interested. He swept the hair out of his eyes and leaned forward on the mahogany table. “What did it say?”
    Jim tossed a printout of the message to him.
You think you got away with this, but I’ll find you. I’ll hunt you down like the animal you are.
    You’ll wish you’d never heard the name Ella Carmichael, and you’ll suffer the way she suffered.
    Krista Carmichael
    Ryan sighed. “Oh, man.”
    “It’s been on the twenty-four-hour news cycle since she posted it after the funeral yesterday. The FBI is working with us to find the killer. We’ve taken a snapshot of her account so none of her Friends can delete.”
    Yes, that could be a problem, Ryan thought. If the killer deleted his account, all of his past posts would disappear. “If the guy does delete, that would be a major clue.”
    “Frankly, he’s probably too smart for that,” Jim said. “He’s no doubt feeding on the drama on her site.”
    Ryan had never believed it was possible, but sometimes he hated his job. “Give the FBI whatever they want. We don’t need them breathing down our necks.” He stacked his papers and shoved them into the soft briefcase on the floor. He picked it up and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Have we sent condolences to the family?”
    “Bad idea,” Jim said. “If we start that, we’ll play into the idea that GrapeVyne is to blame. We’re not responsible for this.”
    “Guess you’re right.” That was why he had attorneys and former law enforcement people on his staff. “I have a meeting. Gotta go.”
    He pushed through the mahogany doors and stepped out onto the conference floor of Willow Entertainment, the company that owned GrapeVyne. He always felt out of place here, like a trespasser who’d walked in off the street. There was a strict dress code in this part of the company, whereas the GrapeVyne building housed people who wore jeans and sweats to work.
    Bypassing the elevator, Ryan trotted down the stairs and out into the cool air. Crossing the soft lawn, he went into the GrapeVyne building.
    By most people’s standards, GrapeVyne was still in itsinfancy. What had begun as a dorm-room idea had turned into a billion-dollar company in a matter of five years. Who would have thought?
    “Ryan, look alive!”
    He turned, saw a basketball flying over the rail of the second floor, caught it, and looked up. Ian Lombardi, his best friend and chief nerd of GrapeVyne, had a hole in the knee of his jeans and was wearing the same green threadbare T-shirt for the third day in a row.
    “What are you, sleeping here?” he called up.
    Ian rubbed the bags under his eyes. “Lots to do on the upgrade before deadline. Hey, thanks for not making me go to that meeting. I’d rather be shot and thrown over a cliff, then torn to pieces by a rabid leopard.”
    “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” Ryan grinned and tossed the ball back to him and headed for the stairwell. Ian joined him on the second-floor landing and trotted with him to the eighth floor, where the real talent of the company worked.
    “I was thinking of getting a pizza. Want to share it while I go over the upgrade with you?”
    “Can’t. I have to meet with Geico.”
    “You’re meeting with the lizard?”
    “No, the advertising executive.”
    “Bummer.”
    “No kidding.” They got to Ian’s office area, their rubber soles squeaking on the floor.
    “Hey, remember what it was like before the suits took over?”
    Boy, did he ever. Those were GrapeVyne’s best days. But he couldn’t complain. Not with a hundred-million-dollar nest egg sitting in the bank and a seven-figure salary for staying on as CEO. And he was only twenty-five.
    He walked through the maze of cubicles on the floor he called the Rumpus Room. His inner circle—the twelve most