Read Online T*Witches: Don’t Think Twice by Randi Reisfeld, H.B. Gilmour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randi Reisfeld, H.B. Gilmour
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be some connection between the ID badge in her hand and the terrible sounds of an accident? She sat back in Edwards’s chair and checked out the mug shot. A thick-necked man in a backwards baseball cap. The name tag said …
“Alexandra DuBaer, I presume.”
Alex froze — and looked straight up into the beady eyes of a man so mountainous he filled the door frame. She hadn’t heard him coming: The car crash had obscured all other sounds. This dude was mammoth. And snarling. She was so busted.
Lamely, she went for a quip. “And you would be … um … Madonna?”
Edwards was ferociously unamused. His eyes bored into her. “You’ve got some nerve,” he growled. “You little punk. Think you can just break in here and go through my stuff?”
Alex calculated the distance between herself and the doorway. Edwards was about to pop a vein. If he took three steps toward her, she’d be toast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Helping.” Pathetic much? It was all she could think of to buy time.
“Helping yourself straight into juvie — by the looks of you, exactly where your kind belongs!” he barked at her. “Breaking and entering, trespassing, stealing. I’d call security, but it’s going to be much more satisfying to haul you out myself.”
He came at her. So did an idea.
Alex pictured the rotten banana in the desk drawer. Could she act quickly enough to send the squishy, revolting thing, sliding across the floor? It wasn’t much, but …
“Whoa … Ow! What the …?!” The big man slid into a skid, then went down hard. But he wasn’t down to stay — and, unlike the bowling alley bozo, Edwards seemed intent on causing major bodily harm.
From his flat-out position on the floor, he glared at her. “You little freak! You’re gonna be sorry you ever set foot in this office.”
Time was so not on Alex’s side. Edwards would be up in a minute. Other people would be here soon —
She could run — but … nah.
She needed to know the photographer’s name.
Where was Cam? Her sister could stun people, fasten them to the floor with a stare, dazzle them into confessing what they didn’t want to. If there was ever a time Alex needed those skills, this was it.
But she was alone, helpless … except for her wits, her necklace … and the crystal and herb flakes Cam had given her!
Alex took them out of her pocket and tossed what was left of the mugwort at Edwards.
The photo editor laughed. “That’s your weapon? Parsley?”
Clutching her half-moon necklace in one fist and the crystal in the other, Alex recited the Truth Inducer incantation:
“Free him,”
she said, feeling her half-moon charm begin to warm.
“Free Alvin Edwards … from doubt and shame.”
The laughter caught in his throat. He stared at her as though she were crazy.
“Let us win his trust … And lift his blame.”
“Girlie, Ms. DuBaer, or whatever your name is,” Edwards said with no trace of anger, “you’re barking up the wrong guy. That picture came in by e-mail from a freelancer.”
McCracken — the name on the ID badge. Alex remembered the one she’d been holding when she heard the phantom car crash.
“We published the picture,” the editor went on, “saved it in our cyber files. And it’s gone. Believe me, only a big-time computer hacker — a guy like your uncle— could have cracked our system and deleted it — but someone did. That picture you’re looking for is history.”
Edwards lay back on the floor of his office. He put his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling.
“I tried to find McCracken after you called,” he finally said. “He must have changed his screen name like he changed his address. The check we mailed him came back stamped ‘Moved. No Forwarding Address.’ And get this, it was his biggest score yet,” Edwards said admiringly. “Something must’ve spooked him.”
Or someone, Alex thought.
This whole trip had been a failure. Her heart sank. No
“Alexandra DuBaer, I presume.”
Alex froze — and looked straight up into the beady eyes of a man so mountainous he filled the door frame. She hadn’t heard him coming: The car crash had obscured all other sounds. This dude was mammoth. And snarling. She was so busted.
Lamely, she went for a quip. “And you would be … um … Madonna?”
Edwards was ferociously unamused. His eyes bored into her. “You’ve got some nerve,” he growled. “You little punk. Think you can just break in here and go through my stuff?”
Alex calculated the distance between herself and the doorway. Edwards was about to pop a vein. If he took three steps toward her, she’d be toast.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Helping.” Pathetic much? It was all she could think of to buy time.
“Helping yourself straight into juvie — by the looks of you, exactly where your kind belongs!” he barked at her. “Breaking and entering, trespassing, stealing. I’d call security, but it’s going to be much more satisfying to haul you out myself.”
He came at her. So did an idea.
Alex pictured the rotten banana in the desk drawer. Could she act quickly enough to send the squishy, revolting thing, sliding across the floor? It wasn’t much, but …
“Whoa … Ow! What the …?!” The big man slid into a skid, then went down hard. But he wasn’t down to stay — and, unlike the bowling alley bozo, Edwards seemed intent on causing major bodily harm.
From his flat-out position on the floor, he glared at her. “You little freak! You’re gonna be sorry you ever set foot in this office.”
Time was so not on Alex’s side. Edwards would be up in a minute. Other people would be here soon —
She could run — but … nah.
She needed to know the photographer’s name.
Where was Cam? Her sister could stun people, fasten them to the floor with a stare, dazzle them into confessing what they didn’t want to. If there was ever a time Alex needed those skills, this was it.
But she was alone, helpless … except for her wits, her necklace … and the crystal and herb flakes Cam had given her!
Alex took them out of her pocket and tossed what was left of the mugwort at Edwards.
The photo editor laughed. “That’s your weapon? Parsley?”
Clutching her half-moon necklace in one fist and the crystal in the other, Alex recited the Truth Inducer incantation:
“Free him,”
she said, feeling her half-moon charm begin to warm.
“Free Alvin Edwards … from doubt and shame.”
The laughter caught in his throat. He stared at her as though she were crazy.
“Let us win his trust … And lift his blame.”
“Girlie, Ms. DuBaer, or whatever your name is,” Edwards said with no trace of anger, “you’re barking up the wrong guy. That picture came in by e-mail from a freelancer.”
McCracken — the name on the ID badge. Alex remembered the one she’d been holding when she heard the phantom car crash.
“We published the picture,” the editor went on, “saved it in our cyber files. And it’s gone. Believe me, only a big-time computer hacker — a guy like your uncle— could have cracked our system and deleted it — but someone did. That picture you’re looking for is history.”
Edwards lay back on the floor of his office. He put his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling.
“I tried to find McCracken after you called,” he finally said. “He must have changed his screen name like he changed his address. The check we mailed him came back stamped ‘Moved. No Forwarding Address.’ And get this, it was his biggest score yet,” Edwards said admiringly. “Something must’ve spooked him.”
Or someone, Alex thought.
This whole trip had been a failure. Her heart sank. No
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