Goddess of Justice Dwayne Clayden (i read book .TXT) 📖

Coulter?

“Now.”

She sprinted around the front of the truck to the passenger side. She was barely inside when the truck jerked away. The momentum forced the door shut. She grabbed the dash.

The vehicle continued down the alley, hit the ice on Sixth Avenue, and slid sideways. Brad regained control, then kept to a normal speed.

“Brad.” Sadie swung in her seat to face him, but her back was jammed into the corner. “What the hell is going on?”

He glanced at her. “We need to talk.”

She pushed farther away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure, now you want to talk.” She gazed out the window and watched the night activity of the city. Midnight. The streets were nearly empty. She shivered at the icy air leaking through rust spots in the floorboards. She sighed. “Fine. What are we talking about? The fact I’m in a truck with a serial killer taking me who knows where to do who knows what to me.”

“You wish.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Do you believe I’m the killer?”

Sadie scrutinized Brad. Her eyes narrowed and her chin quivered. Finally, she spoke. “Of course not.”

“I’m being framed for the murders.”

Sadie laughed, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. But that was funny coming from you. How many times have your suspects said that to you?”

Brad’s cheek twitched. “Yeah. I knew you’d pick up on that.”

“Why did you kidnap me?”

Brad’s head swung to face her. “I offered you a ride. You accepted.”

“Why are we talking? You haven’t said it yet, but I’m sure you consider this conversation ‘off the record.’ What about your cop buddies, Steele and Zerr?”

“I can’t get them involved and put their careers at risk.” Brad veered south on Fifth Street. “You know they were at my farm. Archer will make sure everyone I’m close to is under surveillance. I’ll bet they even checked Maggie’s grave.”

Sadie nodded. “But not me. I’m not one of your friends. Other than another ‘scoop of the century’ for me, what do you want?”

“I need a place to hide.”

Sadie’s eyes grew wide. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Someplace no one will search.”

“Gee. Any place you have in mind?”

He glanced at her and grinned. “As a matter of fact—”

Brad parked in front of a forty-year-old sandstone apartment building on Royal Avenue. When it was first built, the rich and famous of the city lived there. They had a doorman and an elevator operator. Eventually, the doorman was replaced with a high-tech security system and the elevator operator, the only one they ever had, died five years ago, so the tenants operated the elevator themselves.

“I suppose I should be pissed you know where I live.” Sadie opened the door and exited the truck.

“At one point, I worried the snipers would attack the media. So, yes, I know where you live.”

“Are you sure you’re not a stalker?”

“I accused you of that.”

“Imagine that, two stalkers finding each other.” Sadie punched in a code and a buzzer sounded. Brad opened the door and followed Sadie to the elevator. They exited on the fourth floor and headed to a corner apartment. Sadie unlocked the door and opened a sliding closet door where she hung up her parka, tossed her knit beanie onto the top shelf, and unlaced her boots. Brad eased out of his camouflage parka and boots.

Sadie prepared a pot of coffee. “I’m going to change. Make yourself at home. Not that you’d wait for my permission.” She headed down a short hall. A door closed.

Brad stood at the kitchen island and surveyed the apartment. It still had its forties atmosphere. The walls were solid oak, as was the window trim. The floor was hardwood and polished to a glossy shine with several area rugs. Rather than decorate with modern furniture, Sadie had kept with the period. Two walls in the living room had enormous windows with incredible views of downtown. A third wall was covered with a full oak bookcase. The first section was filled with world history books. The second held textbooks on journalism, biographies of journalists, and a complete shelf on fashion. He grinned when he reached the third section. He recognized many of the authors’ names—a shelf of Danielle Steele, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume, Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi, and—Brad’s eyes widened—The Joy of Sex by Alex Comfort.

Most notably, and certainly required reading by a journalist, All The President’s Men by Bernstein and Woodward.

Brad sat at the kitchen table, leaned back and closed his eyes. It felt good to relax, even for a moment.

The door down the hall opened and a light patter of feet headed to the kitchen wearing extra-large Calgary Stampeders T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Sadie poured coffee into two white mugs with the CFCN logo and set them on the kitchen table. Sadie headed to the fridge and returned with cream and sugar. She scooped two spoons of sugar and two dollops of cream into her mug and stirred.

They drank in silence.

Sadie slid one leg under her and set the other foot onto the chair seat, cradling the coffee in both hands. “Lovely outfit. You getting your clothes tailored for you?”

Brad sipped the coffee and stared at Sadie. “It’s a new fashion I thought I’d try.”

“Don’t get too used to army camouflage.” She slid a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “I hear prison orange is in.”

Brad’s eyebrows raised. “Thanks for your support.”

Sadie set down her cup. “Most of the time you won’t tell me diddly squat. That’s fine, it’s a game we play, and I accept the rules. Then today, I’m your best friend, maybe your only friend, and I’m supposed to say, ‘Oh sure, Brad. Stay at my house. I trust you.’” She leaned over the table, eyes ablaze. “You have five minutes to tell me what is going on. Don’t bullshit me, leave nothing out. Five minutes. If you don’t convince me in five