The Beginning by J. A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson

Author:J. A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson [Konrath, J. A. & Peterson, Ann Voss]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, espionage, hard-boiled., SSC, thriller, women warriors
Amazon: B00HGX2CIC
Published: 2013-05-20T00:00:00+00:00

Fog filled my head, my thoughts slow and sluggish. My mouth felt dry, my head starting to throb behind my eyes, my stomach queasy.

I imagined the most disgusting thing I could. A toasted maggot sandwich, slathered in curdled mayonnaise, with cigar butts in it and a side of raw, rotten beef liver being fed to—

The tequila came up, along with the roofies. I hacked, spit a few times, and then got angry.

How had I let him fool me?

Not only had I ignored signs that he was an operative, I’d let him use my own drug against me. I was lucky I wasn’t dead. I was also lucky I hadn’t had more of the tainted tequila than I did.

I worked my wrist back and forth against the neck tie, the silk loosening until I could slip free. Unfortunately escaping the handcuff wasn’t going to be so easy.

I shifted my legs to the side, angling my body until my feet were off the bed. Using my toes, I groped the carpet, my arms stretching to their limit, the cuff cutting into my wrist. My heel hit something near the bed’s edge. There it was. I gripped the fabric with my toes, then using my stomach muscles, I scissored my body and brought the panties to my free hand.

Sitting up on the bed, I brought the garment to my bound hand and skimmed my fingers along the elastic band until I felt a hard piece of wire sewn into the fabric.

When I’d bought the jeans and blouse from the boutique in the Canal Shoppes, I’d thought about buying sexy underwear to go with it. Fortunately for me, I hadn’t. As the only garment that wasn’t new, the panties were properly prepared, two lengths of wire sewn into the seam between elastic and lace, along with a rolled up hundred dollar bill.

I worked the wire free. Seconds later, I had the cuffs unlocked.

Heath’s wallet remained wedged between the chair cushions, and before I took time to pull on a stitch of clothing, I checked inside.

Not Heath’s wallet at all. The driver’s license of Dominic Bratton stared up at me. And inserted next to a collection of credit cards and wad of hundreds was a key card for the Venetian.

This wasn’t over yet.

My heart rate accelerating, I opened my purse and pulled out the bikini I had also purchased on my newest shopping expedition. Far from a fun vacation buy, the swimsuit was my insurance. If I found myself in a tough spot, I could always take off my street clothes, slip into one of the many pool areas along the Strip, and fit right in. I put the suit on instead of underwear, and then dressed in the jeans and blouse. Slipping the rolled hundred from the seam in my panties, I stuck the cash, the wires, and the lingerie in my pockets, stuffing my phone and Bratton’s wallet in my purse. Later I’d ditch the underwear in a public trash can.

My head throbbed,

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