Plain Jane Read Online Free Page B

expression held a respect that almost bordered on fascination. He had felt it earlier this evening, huddled in that storefront, waiting for Joann to pass.
    “Wow, this is my most favorite corpse to date.” He opened the bag and passed his finger along her slit throat.
    As perverse as it sounded, Kent felt a dagger of jealousy. No one should touch Joann like that. No one.
    “Don’t worry, babe. You are first on the hit parade.”
    “You are one sick bastard.” With that, the driver got back into the van, leaving the attendant to wheel the body back toward the morgue.
    Kent’s muscles tensed.
    The long wait was forgotten.
    Soon he would be with Joann.

CHAPTER 8
    With the wagon gone and the kid heading inside, Kent made his move. Keeping between the stucco wall of the morgue and the thick foliage, he made sure the security cameras could only register his shoulder.
    Then Kent’s luck changed for the good. The heavy-metal- loving attendant pushed two Shure noise-canceling earbuds into his ears. Kent knew because he owned three pairs of the same brand. They were the only things that kept his neighbor’s late-night amorous adventures to a reasonable level. Now Kent just needed to keep out of view of the cameras.
    As the attendant keyed in the door’s security code, he began air-guitaring. With this guy’s ADD, breaking into the morgue was like stealing candy from a preemie. Timing it perfectly, Kent crept in alongside the gurney as the attendant half pulled the body behind him and half stomped to some unheard beat.
    As the rich air of the rainstorm met the acrid odor of death, Kent’s nostrils clamped down. The stench of formaldehyde vied for supremacy over bitter antiseptics.
    His masterful break-in almost complete, Harbinger felt his trench coat catch in the closing doors. He jerked the garment, but it was stuck. If he delayed any longer, even the head-banger was going to notice his very unauthorized presence. Trusting the kid’s iPod to mask the sound, Kent ripped the edge of his coat off.
    Kent slunk forward. He had to keep the gurney between him and the camera positioned above the intake desk. Another few feet and he could take the first sharp right and be free of the attendant.
    “Boy, what are you dragging in here?”
    Freezing, the profiler knew that voice. O’Fallon. The world’s oldest security guard. Kent and the gaunt gentleman had locked horns before.
    O’Fallon jerked the plugs from the kid’s ears. Kent had to scramble to stay out of the old man’s line of sight, which brought him dangerously close to the camera’s view.
    The kid nearly shouted his answer. “Just rolling in another satisfied customer, O’Fallon.”
    Kent kept low under the gurney. O’Fallon might have been hard of hearing but for an octogenarian, he had surprisingly good eyesight.
    “Then what’s that in the door, boy ?”
    “Just some crap kicked up by the storm, old man .”
    Tensing as the security guard’s heavy footsteps approached, Kent glanced around for an escape route. A hiding place. A nook. A cranny. Anything. He did not need much wiggle room.
    Kent had won plenty of bets back at Quantico by nearly disappearing into thin air.
    Unfortunately, this morgue’s tile floors and stainless steel-lined walls were all sharp angles and open space. Even the nearest air vent was a good ten feet away.
    “I’ll have no cursing, boy,” O’Fallon warned as he made his way around the gurney.
    Kent cursed as he shoved the gurney into the attendant, forcing the kid to stumble into the aged guard. Head down and tilted away from the camera, the profiler sprinted the length of the hallway as the two untangled themselves.
    “Harbinger!” The guard shouted. “You just violated your TRO!”
    It appeared the old man’s memory was as sharp as his eyesight. Fortunately, Kent had an even better sense of recall. Without hesitation, the profiler took a left, then a fast right for eight paces, then another quick left to a door that led