Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

He nodded. “But even then she was lookin’ over her shoulder everywhere we went.”

I put a hand on his forearm. “We’ll keep her safe, Sam. Pete’s a good cop, not afraid to do what he has to. We got extra help—”

“That lady’s okay, but the boy’s a little shaky, least to me.”

“He’s new at this. He’ll come around.” I paused. “Also, the hotel suite is secure. The woman who set up the security system—”

“LJ’s girlfriend.”

“Yes. She’s almost as good as LJ himself.”

He snorted. “Nobody’s that good but I’ll trust her if you trust her.”

“I trust her.”

We were quiet for a time. Sam seemed lost in thought as he finished his water in sips, and I left him alone. He went to drop the bottle in the recycle. On the way back to his seat, he stopped before he could sit and looked past me. His face brightened. He began to smile and moved toward the exit end of the glass wall.

I turned and saw Drea Wingard among the passengers coming toward the partition, a large brown purse over one shoulder and a lavender roller carry-on in tow. She waved when she saw Sam and started walking faster, her smile widening. She wore a pale yellow pantsuit, with a burnt orange blouse and matching heels that failed to make her look as tall as she had appeared on television. As she drew nearer, her short black hair shone under the overhead lights and large gold earrings jiggled.

By the time I got to my feet, Sam was already waiting at the exit, grinning broadly, arms outstretched. When she reached the TSA officer seated on a stool to keep people from coming in through the exit, Drea broke into a slow trot and within seconds was in Sam’s arms, her carry-on toppling over as she let go of it to embrace him. They stood there a long time, eyes closed, neither speaking nor moving as other passengers streamed around them and other reunions happened nearby. Having reached them, I sent Pete a text message and waited for the hug to end.

Finally, Sam blinked and wiped his eyes as he turned to me. “Drea, this is Gideon, the young fella I told you about. If anybody can watch your back in Buffalo, it’s him.”

At least a foot shorter than I, Drea Wingard extended her hand and smiled up at me. To my surprise, her brown eyes were more riveting than they had appeared on television. “After so many emails and phone calls, it’s nice to meet you in person, Mr. Rimes.”

“Call me, G, Ms. Wingard.” I took her hand. “Everyone does. Nice to meet you too.”

“If I call you G, you have to call me Drea.”

“Deal, Drea.” I let go of her hand and did a quick scan of the surroundings. No media. No special interest in Drea or Sam. Good. “Only we knew when you would arrive. But I’d still like to grab your luggage and get to the van ASAP.” I gestured toward the elevator and touched her elbow to nudge her forward.

“You look good,” Sam said. “Like the more famous you get, the younger you seem.”

Lowering her eyes, Drea said nothing.

“Sam, why don’t you get the carry-on.” I paused as he did so, my heightened level of tension telling me to move. “Drea, one of my colleagues will meet us at baggage claim.”

“All right,” she said.

Sam pulled her roller bag with his right hand and kept his left arm around her as we walked to the compact elevator. My sports jacket unbuttoned but my right hand holding it closed, I gazed about until the doors slid open and we stepped inside behind a woman with white hair. I didn’t expect her or other passengers on the stairs and the down escalator to have weapons right after leaving a plane, though a tempered glass nail file in a pocket or purse could kill, quickly, if used the right way. But in an elevator car during a ride down one floor to the baggage claim area, I could control the tight space.

To my surprise, Bishop and Ramos were both waiting for us. After a quick introduction, we went to Carousel Two, where Bishop and I stood behind Drea and surveyed the crowd. Sam and Ramos stood on either side of her, with Ramos designated to take her luggage off the carousel when it came round and get it to the van. Moments later, the alarm sounded and the red in-motion light flashed. The carousel belt lurched forward. Ten or twelve minutes passed before Drea pointed to two roller suitcases, large and mid-size siblings to her lavender carry-on. Ramos pulled them off the carousel, and before long we were all back in the van.

“I know how Betty and my mother pack,” Pete said after I had helped Drea inside and introduced her. “Like they’re going away for a whole calendar season. I sent both newbies because I figured you needed extra hands and wouldn’t mind extra eyes.”

“Good call,” I said.

17

Cissy was twenty and the same complexion as her sister Yvonne. In jeans and an oversized pink Cardi B tee, she was shorter and a bit heavier but sported a head of thick black hair and no trace of lipstick or makeup. Having watched us step off the elevator on a monitor, she threw open the hotel suite door before we reached it and locked it behind us before emitting a squeal.

“Oh, Ms. Wingard, it’s really you!” Cissy grabbed Drea’s hand and pumped it hard, pulling her into the living room as the rest of us clustered in the entryway. “I read your book three times, once for my English class at Villa, once for my book club, and once again when Vonnie told me we would be working with you. I’m so happy to meet you!”

“I’m happy to meet you too, Ms. Brewster.” Drea flexed her fingers when Cissy let go and looked past her toward Yvonne, seated at the monitors