Sins of the Undead Patriot Read Free

out of the car and strode toward her. He tapped on her window with his knuckles. Credentials flashed–Homeland Security. She didn’t catch the name, as he flipped it closed. Good-looking, young, professional. His skin was quite a few shades darker than hers. Reflective sunglasses covered his eyes.
    Leera pressed the button, lowering her car window.
    “Step out of the vehicle, Ms. Waltz.” His tone was smooth with a hint of a British accent. One of his upper front teeth had a gold cap at the edge. He stepped back.
    After unfastening her seatbelt, she opened the door and rose. The frosty air chilled her exposed legs. She pressed her thighs together for warmth and held her jacket closed.
    He had broad shoulders and a few inches on her, and the man had something sweet, even innocent, about his smile. Those were the men a woman had to be wary of...much like her father.
    “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” His mirror-shaded gaze traveled up her figure. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. He licked his full lips.
    What? He was going to arrest her. On what grounds? “Have I done something illegal, sir?”
    He grabbed her forearm and twisted.
    “Ouch.” Pain shot up her arm, causing her to flip around. If he was trying to scare her, he’d succeeded. Cold metal snapped onto her wrist and pinched her skin. “That hurt.” She jerked back, right into him.
    “Resisting arrest?” He forced her against the vehicle, crushing her.
    “No, sir.” She wasn’t about to give him legal grounds to arrest her if he didn’t have any yet.
    He cuffed her other hand, opened the door, pulled the key out and locked her car. “You and I are going to take a ride together.”
    A ride? That didn’t sound official. “Am I under arrest?”
    He pressed his lips to her ear. “Maybe. Depends on my mood when I’m done with you.”
    After he’d done what with her? There was nothing more that could be done to her. Losing her husband had already killed her.
    The hatch of the armored vehicles opened. A blond man in a CPD uniform with a crew cut and light eyes popped up from the one closest to them. A real military jarhead. “Feisty little thing. Need a hand?” He signaled to his twin in the other vehicle.
    “Thanks, Reid, but I can take it from here.” The man who’d cuffed her tilted his face toward her, eyes fixed on the soldier. “You don’t want to find out what he’d do to a pretty thing like you.”
    Wasn’t he the one taking her for some type of ride ?
    With a roar, the military rovers rotated and headed in the opposite direction.
    What on earth was going on? Just wait until she called Peter. “I have rights. My brother is a lawyer.”
    “I’m aware, Ms. Waltz.” His eyebrows shot up. A deep rumble rose from him as he grabbed her arm and shoved her toward his vehicle.
    Taking side streets didn’t seem as clever now, did it? Not a car or civilian in sight to witness her mistreatment.
    “You had rights. You see, when national security is at risk, the rights of the many outweigh the rights of the individual.”
    National security? “You must have me confused with someone else.” She was a chef, for crying out loud. Her skills were in the kitchen where she could make a mean souffle, creme brulee and coq au vin.
    “I definitely do not. You are Leera Waltz, widow of Jean Denoix. Daughter of Jerome and Eliza Waltz. The late senator, your father, managed to become the first elected official to the senate from DC and maintain the only area not under martial law. His wife, your mother suffered a great deal of depression, bouts of emotional breakdowns, hospitalization, all written up as mental illness. I suspect it was all the lying your father did, or was it the beatings? I heard he was a vile man with a stern hand, but what do I know.” He smirked. “Poor little Leera didn’t do much better. You were diagnosed with depersonalization disorder. Who do you blame for that? Your father’s rampages or your