Hunt the Dawn (Fatal Dreams, #2) by Abbie Roads Read Online (FREE)
Read Hunt the Dawn (Fatal Dreams, #2) by Abbie Roads online for free here.
Minds of Madness and Murder. The glossy poster advertising today’s seminar was taped to the closed auditorium door. Someone had drawn tears of blood dripping from each of the M’s.
Lathaniel Montgomery’s gut gnawed at his backbone, but not because of the poster or the bloody tears.
Holy Jesus. How was he going to manage being in an audience surrounded by hundreds of people, with all their smells, all their memories?
Gill touched his arm like he always did to get Lathan’s attention. “Going in?”
“Yeah.” But Lathan’s feet had grown roots into the floor. He hated how nothing in his life was normal. He hated the fucked-up sequence of genetic code that had enlarged the olfactory regions of his brain. He hated that he smelled everything. And he especially hated the ability to smell the energy imprints of people’s memories. Scent memories. Memories that could overwhelm him and annihilate his reality.
Gill stepped up close and examined Lathan’s left eye—the eye the SMs always invaded first, the eye that would roll around independently of the other one, making him appear in need of an exorcism.
“Quit with the eye exam. I’m all right.” For now. Concentration kept the SMs out of his mind. Vigilance kept them under control.
“Your seat is directly in front of the podium. You won’t have any trouble reading Dr. Jonah’s lips. After the presentation, introduce yourself. He’ll recognize your name.” Gill gave him the don’t-screw-this-up look. “Convince him about the Strategist.”
Lathan’s freakish ability had generated leads for nearly every cold case he worked. Except for the Strategist’s.
“Explain how each person has a scent signature. Explain that you smell the same signature on thirty-eight unsolved murders. Explain that the FBI won’t do anything unless he confirms there is a connection among the kills.”
“Save the lecture. This whole fucking thing was my dumbass idea.” Could he maintain control of the SMs long enough to make it to the end of the presentation? “If I—”
“There is no ‘if.’ You’re not going to lose control.” Gill had read his worries as easily as Lathan read his friend’s lips. “Maybe I should go in with you.”
“I don’t need you holding my hand.” Lathan showed him a raised middle finger—a salute they always used in jest, forced a smile of bravado across his lips, and then pushed through the doors before he made like a chickenshit and bolted from the building. Barely inside, the SMs hit. Millions of memories warred for his attention, tugged at the vision in his left eye. He sucked air through his mouth to diminish the intensity, to maintain control.
Never in his life had he been around so many people at once and been coherent. Maybe he should leave.
He clenched his fists. Knuckles popped, grounding him, giving him an edge over the SMs.
He strode down the steps toward the front of the room. Thank whoever-was-in-charge the presentation hadn’t started yet.