Read Online The Given by Vicki Pettersson - Free Book Online

front.
    â€œJust gimme a door,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. He headed around the corner, pausing there for a moment.
    It was Saturday night, but this neighborhood purposely lacked a thoroughfare, making the depths of it quiet, a stillness enhanced by the evening’s chill. Yet the high-rise was in the foreground, and there a steady stream of limousines and taxis were ferrying couples along the complex’s circular drive. The men were in tuxes, the women in furs, and all were greeted by the doorman or the security guard before disappearing inside.
    Grif glanced down at his classic suit, smiled, and buffed his wingtips on the back of his pant legs. Then he straightened his skinny tie and decided to take a little stroll.
    He timed his approach as a powder-blue Bentley rolled into the drive. The sleek, humming ride had the doorman jumping to attention, and Grif waited until the man had his hands full with fur pelts and perfumed wrists, assisting a woman wearing heels so stacked they resembled hooves. The doorman steadied her on her pins as she tried to find purchase on the faux cobblestone, and Grif slipped behind him . . . then plowed directly into a most inflexible chest.
    â€œGood evening, sir,” rumbled the security guard. “Can I help you.”
    It wasn’t a question.
    â€œNo, I’m fine.” Grif rubbed his chin and made to move around the guard.
    The guard— HOWARD , said the name tag—intercepted like a linebacker. But not before Grif spotted the placard directing guests to the pool house.
    â€œI’m afraid all visitors must check in with me, sir. Which resident may I call for you?”
    Grif wasn’t about to say Barbara McCoy, not with her pending murder, so he motioned in the direction of the pool house. “I’m here for the Hastings’ vow renewals.”
    He sidestepped the guard again, but Howard countered by widening his stance. Apparently, this was a full-on scrimmage. “Your invitation?”
    Grif turned up his hands and motioned down his body. “I’m the entertainment.”
    Howard’s brow remained low for a moment longer. Then a slow smile bloomed across his weathered face. “Of course! The funny hat should have tipped me off—”
    Grif crossed his arms. He suddenly felt like scrimmaging.
    But Howard motioned him inside, even holding the door wide as he pointed to the left. “Mr. Hasting loves all those old crooner tunes. Go on in. I think your band is already setting up.”
    He was being so helpful that Grif forgave the hat remark. “Warming up,” he said, shooting Howard a wink. “They need more practice than me.”
    The pool house lay tucked to the rear of the giant property, where a pert hostess in black silk cradled a clipboard, cheerily checking off guests’ names while a swing band was indeed setting up behind her. A normal enough scene, except that the band was suspended directly atop the pool. Vegas had to do everything bigger. He bet even the lemonade stands sported strobes and sequins.
    Grif strolled over to the twin elevators leading to the residential towers, and bent to tie his shoe. When he rose, he sent a warm pulse of energy into his hand, and flashed his palm over the security card reader. The doors slid open with a soft ding.
    Grif caught one last glimpse of the woman wearing furs and glittering hooves before the elevator doors slid shut, and he began his ascent. At least the paper had mentioned that Barbara lived on the fifteenth floor. When he stepped out again, it was into a hallway carpeted in elegant grays. A soft chime seemed to greet his arrival, but no . . . it was just the second set of elevator doors sliding shut, heading down. Good timing.
    Moving quickly, Grif waved his hand in front of a smoky, half-domed camera. A sizzling sound slithered through the air before smoke began trailing from beneath the dome. The celestial powers left to