"Robb, J D - In Death 21 - Divided in Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robb J D)

And not just any other woman. A friend. Someone else she'd loved and
trusted, believed in, counted on.
It wasn't just infuriating. It wasn't just painful to know her husband and
her friend were having an affair, and right under her oblivious nose. It was
embarrassing to discover herself a clichщ. The deceived wife, the clueless dolt
who accepted and believed the adulterer every time he said he had to work late,
or had a dinner meeting with a client, or was zipping out of town for a few days
to nail down, or hand-deliver, a commission.
Worse, Reva thought now as traffic whizzed by her car, that she of all
people had been so easily duped. She was a goddamn security expert. She'd spent
five years in the Secret Service and had guarded a president before going into
the private sector. Where were her instincts, her eyes, her ears?
How could Blair have been coming home to her, night after night, fresh from
another woman and she not know?
Because she'd loved him, Reva admitted. Because she'd been happy,
deliriously happy to believe a man like BlairЧwith his sophistication and
amazing looksЧhad loved and wanted her.
He was so handsome, so talented, so smart. The elegant bohemian with his
dark silky hair and emerald-green eyes. She'd been sunk, she thought now, the
minute he'd turned those eyes on her, the instant he'd sent her that killer
smile. And six months later, they'd been married and living in the big, secluded
house in Queens.
Two years, she thought, two years she'd given him everything she had, shared
every piece of herself with him, and had loved him with every cell of her body.
And all the while he'd been playing her for a fool.
Well, now he'd pay. She dashed the tears from her cheeks, dug deep again for
her anger. Now, Blair Bissel was going to find out just what she was made of.
She pulled back into traffic, and drove at a rapid clip to Manhattan's Upper
East Side.
ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧ
The husband-stealing bitch, as Reva now thought of her former friend,
Felicity Kade, lived in a lovely converted brownstone near the north corner of
Central Park. Instead of reminding herself of all the time she'd spent inside,
at parties, casual evenings, at Felicity's famed Sunday brunches, Reva
concentrated on the security.
It was good. Felicity collected art and guarded that collection like a dog
guarded his meaty bone. The fact was, Reva had met her three years before when
she'd helped design and install Felicity's security system.
It would take an expert to gain entrance, and even then, there were backups
and fail-safes that would foil all but the crшme de la crшme of burglars.
But when a woman made her living, her very good living, looking for chinks
in security, she could always find one. She'd come armed, with two jammers, a
beefed-up personal palm computer, an illegal police master code, and a stunner
she intended to slap right against Blair's cheating balls.
After that, well, she wasn't quite sure what she'd do. She'd just play the
rest by ear.
She hefted her bag of tools, shoved the stunner in her back pocket, and
marched through the balmy September evening toward the front entrance.
She keyed in the first jammer as she walked, knowing she'd have thirty
seconds only once she'd locked it on the exterior panel. Numbers began to flash