"Coughlin, Patricia - Love In The First Degree" - читать интересную книгу автора (Coughlin Patricia)

another, hoping for he wasn't sure what. A hint of life? Or proof
that Addison was out of the way for good? Somehow he managed to get
blood on his white shirt and the leg of his pants before convincing
himself that he was indeed dead.

Damn, damn, damn, Luke thought. Maybe he ought to feel sorry Addison
was gone, but he didn't. He was a lot of things, but a hypocrite
wasn't one of them. He was very sorry about how it had come about, and
he cursed himself softly.

Damn, he thought again, staring at the gun in his hand, a beauty of a .
38 registered to him. This wasn't good.

Should he try to get rid of the gun? Change
his clothes? Wipe the room for prints? For a man who dealt with crime
, with the unsavory characters who committed them and with police on a
fairly regular basis, he suddenly had as much of a notion about what he
ought to do next as Mother Teresa would in this situation.

Oh, there's a stretch, Cabrio, he thought disgustedly. This was hardly
the moment to compare himself to a woman as close to a saint as he
could imagine.

He still couldn't decide what to do, only that he needed time to think.
But he wasn't going to get any, he realized, as he heard a sharp rap on
the hotel room door.

"Atlantic City Police," called out a rough voice, just seconds before
the door was shoved open.

Luke recognized the young officer who was first through the door. Frank
Callahan. And his partner, Jim something , a quiet guy with a mustache
like a black caterpillar stretched along his top lip. Naturally they
recognized Luke, as well.

Callahan glanced from him to the body on the floor and whistled through
his teeth. "Looks like you've got yourself a live one, Luke," he
exclaimed, guffawing at his own joke.

Ordinarily Luke would respond with an agreeable smile, having come to
understand the gallows humor some police officers used to shield
themselves from the horror they dealt with on a daily basis. Tonight,
however, he was barely conscious of the remark.

"Surprised to find you already here," Callahan continued , putting away
the gun he'd drawn before entering.

"Why's that?" Luke asked, his throat dry and scratchy. From fear, he
thought. Even his damn palms were sweating , making the gun feel
slippery, When was the last time that had happened?