Authors: Jack Kilborn
Don was the polar-opposite of me in the looks department; blonde, tan, with deep blue eyes and thick lips that I would kill for. I took after my mother. Not only were we both five feet, six inches tall, with dark brown eyes, dark hair, and high cheekbones, but she was a retired Chicago cop.
When I was twelve, my mother taught me the two skills essential to my adult life; how to use a liner pencil to make my thin lips look fuller, and how group my shots from forty-feet away with a .38.
Unfortunately, Mom relayed very little information when it came to the care and feeding of a boyfriend.
“Don goes out a lot,” I admitted. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”
I closed my eyes, fatigue working slender fingers through my hair and down my back. Maybe going home would be a good idea.
I could pick up some wine, take Don out to a nice lunch. We could try to openly communicate and work out the problems we’d been avoiding. Maybe I’d even score, as Mike Donovan had put it.
“Fine.” My eyes snapped open, and I felt a surge of enthusiasm. “I’m going. You’ll call if anything shakes loose?”
“Of course. When do the Feebies show?”
“Tomorrow, noonish. I’ll be here.”
We nodded our good-byes, and I stretched my cramped body out of my chair and went to go make a sincere effort with the man I was living with.
After all, the day could only get better.
Or so I thought.
Copyright © 2010 Joe Konrath
Cover copyright © Carl Graves
Photo copyright © 2009
Mike Konrath
The cover model is
Lara of St. Petersburg
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joe Konrath.
Edition: March 2010