Read Online Liver Let Die by Liz Lipperman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liz Lipperman
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investigated. Having already checked out Jordan McAllister, he knew this was where she lived. Now all he needed to do was make the connection.
He’d driven by the apartment early the next day on a hunch and had seen Ray Varga hurrying from the building with something in his hands.
Since he’d checked out all Jordan’s friends, he knew Varga was a retired cop. Something about the way he’d acted made him forget about watching Jordan and he’d followed Varga instead. He’d been surprised at how easy it had been, thinking either the guy knew he was being followed—any ex-cop worth his salt could spot a tail—or the old man’s skills had seriously deteriorated with age.
Maybe he’d been so intent on hiding whatever it was in his hands he hadn’t paid attention. And what was important enough to take to a storage unit at ten in the morning?
Getting his hands on the video from the storage security cameras had been tricky, but he hoped it was worth the effort. He leaned in for a closer look, which clearly showed Ray looking over his shoulder before opening the unit. He’d been around long enough to recognize this as a red flag that something shady or illegal was about to happen.
A coincidence that Ray was hiding something only a few hours after a dead body had been found at his apartment building?
Alex thought not. Even if he believed in coincidences—which he didn’t—this one was too obvious.
He thought back to earlier today when he’d followed Jordan to the Mexican restaurant. Sitting across the room from her at the steak house, he’d had no idea her eyes were that green or that her hair sparkled like diamonds dancing across a calm lake on a moonlit night.
Not until he’d stood behind her and she’d turned to make fun of his pickup line. He’d almost gotten tonguetied himself watching her perfectly shaped lips forming the words meant to put him in his place.
Lavender. He’d never smell the flower again without thinking of the way the fragrance had drifted from her hair and tickled his nose even before she spoke to him.
Under different circumstances, Jordan McAllister was the kind of girl he gravitated toward. Not too skinny, and from the way she’d chowed down on the Mexican food, not the least bit concerned about being paper thin. Guessing she was athletic, he remembered her calves, the muscles perfectly honed.
For a second, an image of her five-eightish frame in stilettos took over his brain until he quickly wiped that visual away. The last thing he needed was to get distracted from the real reason he was in Ranchero.
Yes, the girl was definitely a runner, he decided. The only thing fighting that wholesome, girl-next-door persona was the mass of wild red hair that fell into her face when she laughed. Another picture, this time a wild animal complete with reddish coat and glow-in-the-dark eyes, flashed in his mind, and he wondered which Jordan McAllister she really was.
Secretly, he hoped for the animal.
Exhaling noisily, he enlarged the picture on his computer screen, but that only distorted it. Grabbing a magnifying lens from the desk drawer and moving it over the screen, he concentrated on what Ray Varga had in his hands. Was that a block of something?
Son of a . . .
The retired cop was carrying a knife rack, and it looked like at least one knife was missing. The police had questioned everyone at Empire Apartments, but they’d concentrated mainly on the girl since the dead guy was found with her name in his shirt pocket. This photo of Varga didn’t make sense unless he was the killer and was hiding evidence.
Alex moved the mouse and another image filled the screen. A picture of Jason Spencer sprawled on the tilecovered floor. Suddenly, it hit him like a two-ton brick building.
What if Ray Varga wasn’t hiding evidence for himself? As if someone had just sucker punched him in the stomach, Alex doubled over. What if he was hiding it for the girl?
Now he had his
He’d driven by the apartment early the next day on a hunch and had seen Ray Varga hurrying from the building with something in his hands.
Since he’d checked out all Jordan’s friends, he knew Varga was a retired cop. Something about the way he’d acted made him forget about watching Jordan and he’d followed Varga instead. He’d been surprised at how easy it had been, thinking either the guy knew he was being followed—any ex-cop worth his salt could spot a tail—or the old man’s skills had seriously deteriorated with age.
Maybe he’d been so intent on hiding whatever it was in his hands he hadn’t paid attention. And what was important enough to take to a storage unit at ten in the morning?
Getting his hands on the video from the storage security cameras had been tricky, but he hoped it was worth the effort. He leaned in for a closer look, which clearly showed Ray looking over his shoulder before opening the unit. He’d been around long enough to recognize this as a red flag that something shady or illegal was about to happen.
A coincidence that Ray was hiding something only a few hours after a dead body had been found at his apartment building?
Alex thought not. Even if he believed in coincidences—which he didn’t—this one was too obvious.
He thought back to earlier today when he’d followed Jordan to the Mexican restaurant. Sitting across the room from her at the steak house, he’d had no idea her eyes were that green or that her hair sparkled like diamonds dancing across a calm lake on a moonlit night.
Not until he’d stood behind her and she’d turned to make fun of his pickup line. He’d almost gotten tonguetied himself watching her perfectly shaped lips forming the words meant to put him in his place.
Lavender. He’d never smell the flower again without thinking of the way the fragrance had drifted from her hair and tickled his nose even before she spoke to him.
Under different circumstances, Jordan McAllister was the kind of girl he gravitated toward. Not too skinny, and from the way she’d chowed down on the Mexican food, not the least bit concerned about being paper thin. Guessing she was athletic, he remembered her calves, the muscles perfectly honed.
For a second, an image of her five-eightish frame in stilettos took over his brain until he quickly wiped that visual away. The last thing he needed was to get distracted from the real reason he was in Ranchero.
Yes, the girl was definitely a runner, he decided. The only thing fighting that wholesome, girl-next-door persona was the mass of wild red hair that fell into her face when she laughed. Another picture, this time a wild animal complete with reddish coat and glow-in-the-dark eyes, flashed in his mind, and he wondered which Jordan McAllister she really was.
Secretly, he hoped for the animal.
Exhaling noisily, he enlarged the picture on his computer screen, but that only distorted it. Grabbing a magnifying lens from the desk drawer and moving it over the screen, he concentrated on what Ray Varga had in his hands. Was that a block of something?
Son of a . . .
The retired cop was carrying a knife rack, and it looked like at least one knife was missing. The police had questioned everyone at Empire Apartments, but they’d concentrated mainly on the girl since the dead guy was found with her name in his shirt pocket. This photo of Varga didn’t make sense unless he was the killer and was hiding evidence.
Alex moved the mouse and another image filled the screen. A picture of Jason Spencer sprawled on the tilecovered floor. Suddenly, it hit him like a two-ton brick building.
What if Ray Varga wasn’t hiding evidence for himself? As if someone had just sucker punched him in the stomach, Alex doubled over. What if he was hiding it for the girl?
Now he had his
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