3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

“Sshhh.” He put a finger to my lips. Then he bent and kissed me right there in the skyway. I was so caught up in trying to be open for once, I swallowed my own words. My spine went rigid, and God, it felt so natural, so right for him to be holding me. I wrapped my fingers around his arms, holding on as tightly as I could.

When we let go, Molinari curled a grin at me. “So, you got an invitation to the White House, huh? I always wondered what it’d be like to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom.”

“Keep dreaming.” I laughed into those blue eyes of his. Then I locked my arm around his and led him back toward the terminal. “Now your desk at the Capitol, Mr. Deputy Director. That sounds a bit more interesting….”

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Prologue

Things aren’t always as they appear.

One minute, I’m totally fine.

The next, I’m hunched over and clutching my stomach in sheer agony. What the hell is happening to me?

I have no idea. All I know is what I feel, and what I feel I can’t believe. It’s as if the interior lining of my stomach is suddenly peeling away with a corrosive burn. I’m screaming and moaning, but most of all, I’m praying—praying for this to stop.

It doesn’t.

The burning continues, a blistering hole forms, and the bile trickles out of my stomach w

ith a sizzling… drip… drip… drip… over my entrails. The smell of my own melting flesh fills the air.

I’m dying, I tell myself.

But no, it’s worse than that. Much worse. I’m being skinned alive—from the inside out.

And it’s only just beginning.

Like a firework, the pain shoots up and explodes into my throat. It cuts off all air and I struggle to breathe.

Then I collapse. My arms prove useless, unable to break the fall. Headfirst I hit the hardwood floor and bust open my skull. Blood, plum red and thick, oozes from above my right eyebrow. I blink a few times, but that’s all. The gash doesn’t even factor in. Needing a dozen stitches is the least of my current problems.

The pain gets worse, continues to spread.

Through my nose. Out to my ears. Right smack into my eyes where I can feel the vessels popping like bubble wrap.

I try to stand. I can’t. When I finally manage to, I try to run, but all I can do is stumble forward. My legs are leaden. The bathroom is ten feet away. It might as well be ten miles.

Somehow I make it. I get there, lock the door behind me. My knees buckle and, again, I collapse to the floor. The cold tile greets my cheek with a horrific crack! as my back molar splits in two.

I can see the toilet but like everything else in the bathroom, it’s moving. Everything is spinning and I reach for the sink, arms flailing, to try and hold on. No chance. My body begins to thrash as if a thousand volts are coursing through my veins.