Nickel City Crossfire by Gary Ross (children's books read aloud TXT) 📕

person with the keys was gone. While it was not impossible that whoever was after Keisha would lock the doors on the way out, I thought it unlikely they had grown more brain matter so soon after shooting Mona in broad daylight and fleeing.

I left the garage and went to the side door. Once I picked the lock and turned on my flashlight, I held my breath and began to ease the door open. There was no siren shriek, only the musical beep of the entry delay.

Thirty to forty-five seconds.

The hallway had a single panel but no video camera. Nor was there a door to the flower shop workroom, which showed no sign of intrusion. I knew there were cameras in front, and I didn’t have much time, so I continued upstairs, the beeping of the alarm timer followed me to a locked door on the second floor. I decided to chance picking the lock, even as I counted off the seconds in my head. Thirty-four. No alarm yet. Holding the light and the tension tool in my left hand, I got the door open, darted through the kitchen to the living room, and saw nothing to suggest a struggle or violence. The alarm blew just as I opened the door to the undisturbed second bedroom. Having found nothing in the first either, I skipped the third and raced through the kitchen to the stairs.

At the moment of the first blast, I had forced the count in my head to reset. Now I tried to focus past the rhythmic banshee wail that proclaimed a B&E to the neighborhood. Five, six, seven. Ten to fifteen seconds after the alarm started, the security company would call the first number on the contact list, likely the flower shop landline, to make sure the siren hadn’t been triggered in error. Getting no answer, they would attempt to reach the property owner’s cell phone, or they would dispatch the police, and then try the secondary contact number. Either way, I had very little time. I reached the outside door at the count of twenty-one and charged through the yard to the vinyl fence that led to the next street. As I pulled myself up and over, I figured I had at least three minutes before the police arrived.

I tumbled into crusted-over snow in a large back yard that held an old steel-sided above-ground pool covered for the winter. I scrambled to my feet, cursing because snow had found its way inside my boots and pools were supposed to be surrounded, which meant I’d probably have to go over another fence. But as I rounded the corner of the house, I saw that the gate at the end of the driveway was open. I tucked my hood back inside my jacket and slowed to a walk as I neared the gate. Passing through, I turned south and walked a long block till I got to Collingwood. Then I turned left, continued on a short distance, and turned left again to emerge onto Bailey.

The first sirens sounded in the distance.

My car was half a block away. Moving toward it at a normal pace, I went straight to the liftgate in back and raised the wheel well cover. Once the small leather case with my lock pick gun was under the edge of the compact spare tire, I closed the back, climbed into the driver’s seat, and pushed the START button.

An Avenue Pizza shop was a couple of blocks ahead. I decided to go there, to order a cold sub and a bottle of iced tea to take to the hospital later. While I waited, I would use my phone to log onto IntelliChexx. Once I knew the make and plate number of Ike Kelly’s car, my trip to Buffalo General would be leisurely and circuitous. I would need time to drive past the flower shop at least twice on the chance that the alarm provider had reached Ike and he had come home to inspect the damage.

I knew it was a longshot, but if he did come, I might be able to follow him back to wherever his family and Keisha were hiding.

Before I pulled away from the curb, however, my ring tone sounded through the car’s audio system. The number on the screen was blocked but I pushed the TALK button anyway. The soft, mannered baritone that came through the speakers chilled me.

“Mr. Rimes, there is no reason my employer should know you are accomplished at breaking and entering, so I will say nothing of it. But I felt the need to express my personal admiration. Your speed and professionalism—”

“Not like you to stroke another man’s ego,” I said. “What do you want, Lester? To let me know you’re still back there?”

“I’m so glad you didn’t insult me by suggesting I wanted to blackmail you, sir. I am confident you left nothing to support such an effort.” He laughed. “As I have told you, my interest in your current situation is entirely personal. I will find my way to your vicinity whenever I have the time. Today I had the time.” He paused, perhaps to let the idea of my vulnerability sink in. “But I mean you no harm. Who knows, I may even end up being your guardian angel.”

27

When I got back to the hospital, about six-thirty, Mona was asleep, a nasal oxygen tube and an IV in place. Bobby sat at her bedside, reading an old O Magazine with a cover that featured a smiling Oprah Winfrey seated in a white wicker chair. On the bedside tray were a Vanity Fair and a People I expected he had already ripped through. A court reality show was on the TV angled toward the bed but the volume had been muted.

“Want half my sub?” I said softly. “Turkey, cheese, spinach, tomato, oil, no onions.”

He shook his head and kept his own voice low. “If you’re gonna be here all night, you’ll need the whole thing.