Read Online The Innocent: A Vanessa Michael Munroe Novel by Taylor Stevens - Free Book Online

else.
    Miles nodded and Logan continued frozen for a half-second before turning speechless toward the television, then to Munroe, back to the TV, and to Munroe again.
    Tiring of his indecision, Munroe said, “What is it, Logan?”
    In a disjointed movement he motioned toward the television, which, now muted, flashed pictures of the local news. “An NYPD officer was murdered night before last,” he said. “This morning someone pulled the body out of a Dumpster.”
    He stared at Munroe’s hands and arms, long since washed clean, and whispered, “Was that your doing?”
    Mental dissonance filled her head. She couldn’t reconcile what Logan said with what she’d experienced.
Police officer
. Wordless, she turned her back to him and, with the world moving in slow motion, joined Miles in front of the TV.
    The sound was still off and a breaking news banner streamed beneath a looped clip. She watched in silence, and after a moment Logan asked again, this time his question an accusing hiss. Munroe shifted away from the flat screen to face him and then, without a word, leaving him bewildered and panicked, turned and strode to her bedroom and closed the door.
    She stood by the window, morning light reflecting onto her hands, and she gazed at the invisible macula of death that marked them. There was a quiet knock and the door opened. Bradford stuck his head inside the room and then, without waiting for a response, entered fully. He closed the door and walked over to her, staring out over the city.
    “Did you leave evidence behind?” he asked.
    She turned her eyes slowly to him and said, “Not that I know of.”
    Bradford reached forward, touched his thumb to her chin, and said, “Maybe taking this assignment would be a good thing.”
    She leaned her head into his hand. “If those men really were police, there’s sure to be fallout, and I won’t run from my mistakes.”
    “That would only be a side bonus,” he said. “God knows you’ve needed a break, and I’m sure you’ve kept busy, but have you considered that the extended downtime might be part of your problem?”
    She turned again toward the window, to the ants and toys that crawled along the city streets. There was no doubt that she needed to work; it had been almost eight months since Mongomo, and the internal pressure was steadily building—a violent tension that could only be eased by the pure focus of an assignment. But this thing that Logan offered? This was a form of madness.
    “Death follows me,” she said. “I can get the girl out, but I can’t guarantee that others won’t die, and one way or another, those people are all connected to Logan.” She turned again toward the window and the city streets. “Logan is blinded by desire and need, so much so that he’s ignoring the possibilities, ignoring the potential for”—she found Bradford’s eyes—“the potential for savagery.
    “There’s something he’s not telling me,” she said. “He wants this far too badly for it to be as simple as what he’s explained.”
    “But still, you go.”
    She nodded. “I’m bracing for it and the many repercussions.”
    Muted sounds of laughter filtered in from beyond the door, and they both turned toward it. “The rest of them are awake,” she said. “It’s time to play the game.”
    She pulled an ankle-length dress off a hanger in the closet and said, “Excuse me for a moment,” and then stripped down, not caring if Bradford stared or averted his eyes, knowing he would want to do the former but do the latter.
    Having shed the fatigues of the night and reverted once more to harmless and demure, she paused with her hand on the door handle.
    “Coming?” she said.
    Seeing her manner of dress, Bradford raised an eyebrow, and she grinned in reply, then closed her eyes, a brief flash in time while she shifted from one mode to the next. When she opened her eyes, she had become the girl who would walk out the door.
    The four who had stayed the night had