Read Online Shadowkiller by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page A

of every attractive young female who passed. She’d never spotted Allison, though so many of those women seemed to look like her: tall, blond, pretty. But because they all wore large sunglasses, even on stormy days in the dead of winter, Carrie might have missed her.
    Meanwhile, she was working her way through the city’s massive telephone directories, going through the residential listings for every borough. There were pages upon pages of Taylors. None had the first name Allison—though there was an Alison, one L. Carrie called it, and the line had been disconnected. She wasn’t really disappointed. She doubted that a young woman in this day and age would be naïve enough to put her first name in the phone book, which would undoubtedly invite a host of calls from anonymous heavy breathers.
    Most females would know enough to use just a first initial, and so Carrie methodically called every “Taylor, A” in the book. When that didn’t pan out, she called designers’ showrooms or offices and asked for Allison Taylor, only to be informed that no one by that name worked there.
    She wasn’t sure what she’d have done if a receptionist had said, “I’ll put you through.”
    Would she hang up?
    No—she needed to actually hear her voice. Then, after Allison picked up, she would simply claim that she’d dialed a wrong number, or, if she wasn’t ready yet to sever the connection, she could just make up some reason she was calling, something that would keep the voice talking . . .
    Not, of course, about anything meaningful. There would be time enough for that down the road.
    What if Allison recognized her voice, though?
    It wasn’t likely, but—
    Caught up in her reverie, she walked squarely into someone.
    â€œOh! Sorry!” a male voice exclaimed.
    She looked up to see a businessman standing there looking apologetic, as though it had been his fault. It hadn’t—Carrie wasn’t watching where she was going—but if he wanted to take the blame, why stop him?
    She took a step back and studied him more closely. He was tall, with nice green eyes and dark, barber-buzzed hair. He carried a leather briefcase-like bag over his shoulder and a trench coat over his arm, and wore a charcoal pinstripe, well-cut suit with a white shirt and green tie that matched his eyes.
    Yes, she noticed his eyes. Noticed that they were deep green with flecks of bluish-black. Noticed his dark lashes and the manly straight slashes of brow, with a furrow of concern between.
    There was something about him that captured her interest in a way that no one had in a very long time. The men she’d met at work were mostly brokers: brash and busy, men who worked hard and played harder, married or not. She wasn’t interested in anyone like that.
    She wasn’t interested in anyone, period.
    Well, anyone other than Allison Taylor.
    â€œThat was a major head-on collision,” the guy said. “Are you okay?”
    She noticed that both his hands were on her upper arms—and that she liked it.
    That was unusual, because she wasn’t big on being touched. Especially by strangers.
    He was just trying to steady her, but it was almost as if he were holding her. It had been a long time since anyone had done that.
    â€œI’m okay,” she said, but it wasn’t true. She didn’t like liking the sensation of being held by him. And she didn’t like not liking it when he took his hands off her arms.
    There was something about him—about the way he’d held her steady—that made her feel safe, for the first time since . . .
    Well, in years.
    Daddy .
    â€œHere,” he said, sort of pulling her over to a vacant bench just a few feet away, “sit down for a second. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    â€œI am. I’m okay.” She sat and was disappointed when he let go of her again and took a step back.
    â€œSo