The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) Read Free

the icy floor biting at his feet. “You remember, fifteenth of June, nineteen thirty? You wore a white dress as a joke.”
    Francesca buried her head beneath the pillow. “Just answer the damn phone!” she shouted, her voice muffled.
    Rubbing his eyes, he picked up the receiver and muttered,” his better be good.”
    “ Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum! ” the strong yet soft-spoken voice echoed through the phone line.
    Caraway sighed. “Jesus. Do you sleep, Lama? I mean, ever?” Normally, he wouldn’t mind hearing from the Green Lama, but then again, Francesca wasn’t normally sleeping in his bed and he wasn’t normally this hung over. “And how in the hell did you get my home number?”
    “I beg your pardon for waking you, Lieutenant, but your assistance is needed.”
    “Who is it?” Francesca murmured through the pillow.
    “Just the Green Lama, sweetness. Go back to sleep,” Caraway said over his shoulder. “You’re gonna get me killed here, Lama.”
    “Again, my apologies,” the Green Lama said, sounding less than sincere, “But time is of the essence.”
    Caraway glanced mournfully over to Francesca. They never got a break, did they? “What is it this time? Did someone take out the Italian consulate now?”
    “Please meet me at Three-fifty Fifth Avenue, hundred-and-second floor, in one hour. I would recommend bringing some travel clothes,” the Green Lama said without responding to Caraway’s question.
    “Three-fifty Fifth Avenue,” Caraway repeated as he jotted down the address on a piece of scrap paper. It wasn’t until he read it over that he realized where he was going. “Wait. You want me to go where and bring what?”
    The Green Lama’s reply was the audible click of the phone disengaging.
    • • • 
    Caraway took another sip of coffee, watching the numbers increase as he rode the elevator up to the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building. His arm was still smarting from the bruise Francesca had given him as he left the apartment. She didn’t scream. Hell, she didn’t even speak. Just socked him on the shoulder and gave him the “you’re-in-trouble” look, which he found more frightening than the rampaging golem he had faced several months back.
    The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. Shifting the small duffel over his shoulder, he walked out onto the 102nd floor, the wind howling and dawn light hinting morning on the horizon. It had been a little over four years since he last set foot in this building, a hundred story firefight against the terrorist group known as the Medusa Council. His knees ached at the memory.
    A lone man stood waiting on the observation deck, nursing a cup of coffee as he watched the sunrise. He had a handsome face, blond hair and a chiseled chin. He was the sort they painted on movie posters with titles like His Lady Luck or Distant Dreamers . The women swooned and the men rolled their eyes, but there was no denying the fact that he was the kind of man that would forever have his name in lights. His wrinkled suit matched the black pockets and red rims around his movie-star blue eyes, the smell of alcohol floating around him like a cloud. Wherever he had come from, it had been a lot of fun.
    “Morning, Ken.”
    Ken Clayton raised his cup as Caraway approached. “John. Let me guess,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Green Lama?”
    Caraway shrugged, as if there were any other answer. “He call you too?”
    “Something like that.” Ken shrugged. “I was at this amazing party until I found a little note at the bottom of my drink telling me to get here,” he said, swirling his finger over the cardboard cup. “Told me to pack a bag too, but I… uh… I forgot.” He gave Caraway a sheepish smile. “I’m not even sure how the hell he did that, putting the note at the bottom of my drink. How do you think he did that?”
    Caraway sighed. “Wish I knew, buddy. I’ve known the guy a few years now. …Well, as best as one can know a ‘masked