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Back The Night Bird
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CONTENTS
  5. Start Reading
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. FROM THE AUTHOR
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“Don’t worry, Bellini number two is on the way,” he told Pam. “This drink is for Frankie. Courtesy of a gentleman at the bar.”

Frankie looked up. I see you.

“Who?” she asked. Customers lined up three deep at the bar, and she couldn’t pick out any familiar faces.

“Slicked-back brown hair. Beard. Very tasty.”

Frankie studied the faces again, and this time, she spotted a man staring back at her. Virgil was right. He was attractive. He was younger than she was, but he had a weak-in-the-knees smile that was like a secret weapon. His bearded chin was squared, and his nose made a sharp V, with a pronounced ridge above his lip. He was smart, too. She could always see intelligence in the eyes.

“Take the drink back,” she told Virgil, but then she grabbed the server’s wrist. “Wait, no, I’ll do it myself.”

Frankie stood up. In her heels, she was taller than the man at the bar. She let her coldness soak into her face. She approached him, and he watched her with an amused confidence. As if women always wanted him to buy them a drink. He didn’t look scary, but stalkers knew how to wear a mask. He was whistling, but he stopped as she came closer.

She stood in front of him and drilled into his face with her stare.

“Who are you, and why are you sending me e-mails? How did you get my personal address?”

His blue eyes blinked with surprise. They were attractive eyes, and they latched on to her and didn’t let go. “I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Frost Easton, Dr. Stein. I’m with the San Francisco Police. I’d like to talk to you.”

9

9

Frost sized up Francesca Stein. He’d met plenty of psychiatrists in his investigations, and they hadn’t impressed him. They were happy to pretend they had all the answers, but if one of their patients shot up a movie theater, the finger of blame pointed everywhere except at themselves. He thought of them as gray little Freuds, probing for weaknesses like a child poking the stomach of a fat uncle.

Stein didn’t convey arrogance, but her brown eyes were cool. She had a classy grace about her that kept people at a distance. Her body was paper thin, but she didn’t look fragile. Her sister at the other table—they were obviously sisters—was the bombshell, but Frost found Frankie more interesting. She looked as if you could dig down a long way and never hit bottom.