Read Online Never Kiss a Bad Boy by Nora Flite - Free Book Online Page A

shirt, I scowled. “Of course I changed.”
    “But you didn't sleep.”
    I allowed a cracked smile to spread. “No, I didn't sleep. Come inside.”
    He started to, then froze on the threshold. “Actually, I was going to suggest something.”
    That was when I saw the bloodshot stains in his eyes. “You didn't sleep either.”
    “Not a wink,” he admitted.
    Lifting my chin, I squeezed my car keys tight. “Tell me where we need to go. I'll drive.”
    Kite shook his head, moving so I could enter the silent hallway. “No,” he whispered. “Where I want to go, your car has already been in the recent hours. Taking mine will be less suspicious.”
    And then I knew. “Her apartment. Is she sleeping right now?”
    “She was when I checked on her. I think we can risk a brief excursion without her wondering where I am, if she does wake up.”
    We took the stairs, jogging down without speaking. It wasn't until we were safely in the confines of Kite's Mercedes that I resumed the conversation. “You went there last night with her. Did you see anything?”
    He sped through the relatively quiet streets of the city. “No. I couldn't check much, she was right there. I didn't see her pack anything suspicious.”
    “Hopefully we find it in her apartment, then.” My sigh was loud. “Otherwise we have to accept she hid it somewhere. Maybe with a friend.”
    Kite pushed the gas harder. “I don't think so. I checked her phone, Jacob. She had no one in there.”
    I sat up straighter, glancing at him and his subtle frown. “That's strange. Good for us, though. Makes the chances of someone reporting her missing less likely.”
    He went quiet.
    We pulled down the street from Marina's complex. It was getting light enough out that leaving such an expensive car in the parking lot of a run down apartment was too conspicuous.
    Together, we walked; long strides that carried us to the front door. Our hands wore matching gloves, insuring we'd leave no fingerprints.
    I slid a long metal pin from my pocket. Picking a lock was a simple task. “Hm,” I mumbled. “This one is a little sticky.” I twisted the pick back and forth. Finally, I heard the metallic bang of the bolt shifting. “Bad craftsmanship,” I explained.
    Standing, I turned the knob and let us inside. Something crunched under my foot. Looking down, I saw the sheets of paper and wrinkled magazines. Stacks of empty soda bottles had gathered in a crate by the door.
    “Messier than your place,” I chuckled.
    Kite shut us in, instantly heading into the kitchen. “I'm disorganized, not a hoarder.”
    Bending down, I carefully flipped through the newspapers on the couch. “I don't know if she's a hoarder. Looks like she was collecting things intentionally.” Holding up the top sheet, I tapped the headline. “Obsessed with Frank's murder, it seems.”
    “That fits with her story.” Kite had his head in the cupboards. Meticulously, he went through each of them.
    “You don't think she's lying about wanting revenge, do you?”
    He left the kitchen, staring at me seriously. “No. I don't. We should sit down with her and get her to tell us everything about that massacre, though. I bet there's clues there, like what the other man looks like.”
    Gingerly, I set the newspaper down. My voice was low. “Then the plan is to go forward with trying to find the killer?”
    Kite pulled up short. “The plan is to find the letter.”
    I squinted, hands folding behind my back. “No. You're getting excited at the idea of going through with this, aren't you? You're acting like this is a normal contract for us.”
    “Fuck, I don't think any of this is normal , Jacob.” He wrinkled his nose and bent down, checking the floorboards for movable, hidden spaces.
    Slumping my shoulders, I approached him as if he'd run. “I'm trying to dance around it, but... I want you to realize what you're doing.”
    He rose to his feet, glaring at me, nearly nose to nose. “And what's that?”
    “You're