Read Online Kill Me If You Can by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
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I saw him. He’s cute,” she said, toying with Prince.
“He won’t be so cute when I’m finished with him.”
“Don’t be jealous,” she said. “I think you’re cuter.” She dropped the picture to the floor and kissed him lightly on the mouth, letting her lips linger.
He kissed her in return. Not so lightly.
She unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, button by button.
He unbuttoned her black silk blouse the same way. Then he cupped her breasts.
It was a ritual they had performed many times before. Undressing one another slowly, tantalizing and teasing each other. But this time Nathaniel couldn’t wait.
He pulled down her slacks, then her panties and got behind Natalia as she leaned forward over his heavy oak desk. He dropped his trousers, planted his hands on her ass, angled her into position, and entered her.
It had been twenty years since the taxi mowed down his wife and son and left his little girl for dead. They had forged a bond since that tragedy. And as Natalia grew into a beautiful girl, the bond became a physical and emotional union, a fierce, unstoppable love that had erupted the summer she was seventeen. For the next decade their love had flourished without guilt, without regret, and without shame. If it was forbidden and wrong, then so be it. It was their lives, their choice to make.
It was a give-and-take relationship, but tonight Nathaniel Prince needed to take more than he could give. His body was racing to climax and he couldn’t wait for Natalia. He came violently, repeatedly, panting, exhaling her name like a prayer.
She called out to him in Russian—just as she had called out to him every day and every night as he sat by her in the hospital, watching her fight for her life.
“Papa, Papa.”
Chapter 25
Marta Krall was as beautiful as she was intelligent, as intelligent as she was deadly. She was nearly six feet tall, with white-blond hair, a former model who could make a man’s heart beat faster just by walking into a room. But for the right amount of money she could make a man’s heart stop. Permanently.
Chukov had tracked Krall down in Los Angeles. Eight hours later, she entered his apartment, wearing Marc Jacobs pleated black leather jodhpurs and a Derek Lam dark gray cashmere cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was cropped close to her face, framing perfect features and flawless skin that most men and many women longed to touch.
She sat down and stared at Chukov.
An ice sculpture, he thought. Cold to the very core. The perfect killer.
“I read in the New York Times that Walter Zelvas was found dead in the Grand Central fiasco,” she said.
“Yes,” Chukov said. “He decided to take early retirement.”
“You should have called me,” she said. “Then his retirement party might not have been front-page news.”
“It was a rush job. He was planning to leave town.”
“More likely he was planning to leave the hemisphere,” Krall said. “Why was he running?”
“He was stealing from the Syndicate, and we found out about it.”
“I see. And since you’re in the diamond business, I’m guessing he wasn’t pilfering office supplies.”
“Very observant,” Chukov said. “And now I want to recover everything he stole.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I don’t do lost and found. Call me when you have something more challenging and interesting. Wet work is best for me.”
“Here,” Chukov said, handing her a photo of a preppy-looking young man standing next to a locker. “Get this guy as wet as you want.”
Marta studied the picture. “Sexy guy,” she said. “I almost hate to kill him. Not really, but a little. I’d prefer to play with him first, though.”
“Just find out what he did with my diamonds. Can you do that?”
“With one hand tied behind my back,” she said, staring at the Russian with sea-green eyes. “And both hands tied behind his.”
They negotiated her price, a high one.
“One question,” Marta said. “Who am I in competition
“He won’t be so cute when I’m finished with him.”
“Don’t be jealous,” she said. “I think you’re cuter.” She dropped the picture to the floor and kissed him lightly on the mouth, letting her lips linger.
He kissed her in return. Not so lightly.
She unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, button by button.
He unbuttoned her black silk blouse the same way. Then he cupped her breasts.
It was a ritual they had performed many times before. Undressing one another slowly, tantalizing and teasing each other. But this time Nathaniel couldn’t wait.
He pulled down her slacks, then her panties and got behind Natalia as she leaned forward over his heavy oak desk. He dropped his trousers, planted his hands on her ass, angled her into position, and entered her.
It had been twenty years since the taxi mowed down his wife and son and left his little girl for dead. They had forged a bond since that tragedy. And as Natalia grew into a beautiful girl, the bond became a physical and emotional union, a fierce, unstoppable love that had erupted the summer she was seventeen. For the next decade their love had flourished without guilt, without regret, and without shame. If it was forbidden and wrong, then so be it. It was their lives, their choice to make.
It was a give-and-take relationship, but tonight Nathaniel Prince needed to take more than he could give. His body was racing to climax and he couldn’t wait for Natalia. He came violently, repeatedly, panting, exhaling her name like a prayer.
She called out to him in Russian—just as she had called out to him every day and every night as he sat by her in the hospital, watching her fight for her life.
“Papa, Papa.”
Chapter 25
Marta Krall was as beautiful as she was intelligent, as intelligent as she was deadly. She was nearly six feet tall, with white-blond hair, a former model who could make a man’s heart beat faster just by walking into a room. But for the right amount of money she could make a man’s heart stop. Permanently.
Chukov had tracked Krall down in Los Angeles. Eight hours later, she entered his apartment, wearing Marc Jacobs pleated black leather jodhpurs and a Derek Lam dark gray cashmere cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was cropped close to her face, framing perfect features and flawless skin that most men and many women longed to touch.
She sat down and stared at Chukov.
An ice sculpture, he thought. Cold to the very core. The perfect killer.
“I read in the New York Times that Walter Zelvas was found dead in the Grand Central fiasco,” she said.
“Yes,” Chukov said. “He decided to take early retirement.”
“You should have called me,” she said. “Then his retirement party might not have been front-page news.”
“It was a rush job. He was planning to leave town.”
“More likely he was planning to leave the hemisphere,” Krall said. “Why was he running?”
“He was stealing from the Syndicate, and we found out about it.”
“I see. And since you’re in the diamond business, I’m guessing he wasn’t pilfering office supplies.”
“Very observant,” Chukov said. “And now I want to recover everything he stole.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I don’t do lost and found. Call me when you have something more challenging and interesting. Wet work is best for me.”
“Here,” Chukov said, handing her a photo of a preppy-looking young man standing next to a locker. “Get this guy as wet as you want.”
Marta studied the picture. “Sexy guy,” she said. “I almost hate to kill him. Not really, but a little. I’d prefer to play with him first, though.”
“Just find out what he did with my diamonds. Can you do that?”
“With one hand tied behind my back,” she said, staring at the Russian with sea-green eyes. “And both hands tied behind his.”
They negotiated her price, a high one.
“One question,” Marta said. “Who am I in competition
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