Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
The breeze whispered again, colder this time, as if something inside had just exhaled.
Every rational instinct screamed to get back up that ladder.
Instead, I leaned closer.
I pulled my gun out, thumb on the safety, and opened the door a fraction at a time. My phone flashlight cut a narrow beam. A tunnel yawned in front of me, the same kind of crude passage that had trapped Aiden and me. Cold air rose from the opening. My skin prickled. All the pieces slid into place.
A strangled cry ripped through the dark. I jolted, gun up, and hurried forward across the distance between Nana’s shop and the optometrist’s building. Another cry, sharper this time. Somebody was hurt. Somebody needed help.
I lifted the phone to my ear to call nine-one-one. No signal. My throat closed. I cursed under my breath and kept moving, scanning with the beam for shapes, for anything that might explain the noise. The cry came again, up in the neighboring building.
I climbed the ladder as quietly as I could, the rungs cold through my palms. When I pushed the trapdoor open, the smell of bleach hit me. I swung the flashlight and found a small closet of frames and eyeglass cases.
The cry came from the room beyond. I shoved the closet door and stepped through into Gloria’s supplement shop, my gun raised. “Stop.”
A woman shrieked. Brooke Walton rolled off Henry Johnston. They lay tangled on the floor, naked and frantic, a towel twisted around them. My mouth went dry.
“Oh God.” I slapped a hand over my eyes for a second and then dropped it. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Anna.” Henry scrambled for his jeans, hands fumbling. “Where did you come from? Have you been in there the whole time?”
I couldn’t breathe. He swung to the left. I didn’t want to know that. “No.”
Brooke yanked one of his dress shirts over her head and buttoned it, the fabric barely covering her thighs. Her hair looked like a hurricane had finished with it. Her eyes cut to me, wide and furious. “Where did you come from?”
“I thought someone was in pain,” I said. My voice sounded small in the flush of the room. I pointed toward the closet. “I came to rescue whoever needed help. With a gun.”
Henry rubbed his belly. “Brooke is a screamer.” Yeah, he looked pleased with himself.
The sight of them registered like a punch. My brain refused to file the image away.
“Are you insane?” Brooke demanded. She yanked the shirt tighter and stood unsteady, legs bare. “Do you do this often? How did you even get in here?”
I gulped, trying to breathe. “Why are you having sex on the floor?” I gasped.
She straightened. “Is that a trapdoor?” she asked, peering down at the opening in the floor.
“Yes.” I blinked. Head spinning, I tried to line up facts. “I found it. I’m sorry. I thought someone needed help.”
Brooke’s chest heaved. “I’m calling the police.” She reached for her phone.
“Don’t,” a voice from the doorway said, flat and low. Gloria stepped in, eyes narrowed, her bag slung over one shoulder. She’d tucked her blondish-gray hair in a hat and wore all black. She had come in from the optometry side and held a matte-finished Glock in one hand. “Drop your weapon, Anna.”
Chapter 34
I backed away from Gloria, watching her hands. They remained steady on the gun. Where had Gloria gotten a Glock?
“What’s going on?” Brooke asked.
Henry pulled her aside and stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Okay,” he said, raising a hand. “There are too many people with too many guns in here. I’m an official process server. I order you both to put the guns down.”
Gloria tilted her head to the left. “Are you serious right now?” Her jowls moved and the lines seemed deeper in her face. Was she on the edge or what?
Henry stepped toward her, his chest bare with a few scratches down it. “I’m an officer of the court. You have to listen to me.”
Gloria pulled the trigger. The sound slammed against the walls, and the air filled with the stench of gunpowder. Blood spurted, and Henry dropped, clutching his leg.
“Henry,” Brooke screamed. She hit her knees beside him, pressing both hands to the wound.
He groaned, face pale. “Oh—” The rest broke off in a grunt.
“I should shoot you too,” Gloria said, eyes locked on her niece. Then she aimed at me.
My stomach tightened.
“Drop the gun, Anna,” she said, her eyes glinting.
I slowly bent down, my hand purposefully shaking on the gun, as I swiped my finger across my phone and shoved it in my back pocket. Glancing up, I confirmed Gloria was watching my gun. I placed it on the floor, stood, and kicked it toward her.
Hopefully my phone called somebody. Anybody.
My pulse thudded in my ears. Outside, a car door slammed, then silence.