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

safe there and hoped to go back at the end of the year for the birth of her first grandchild, who would be named for her husband—Grant Michael if a boy, Michaela Grant if a girl. If the book continued to sell and Hulu made a series, she might even relocate to London.

“I hope you won’t find this question prying,” Marlo said after a brief silence. “If it’s none of my business, say so. Are you still seeing your therapist?”

“Yes. He’s so grateful I didn’t use his real name in the book, he makes a house call every week. He’s amazing and so helpful. In fact, he’s the only guest I ever have.” She giggled. “One of the doormen thinks he’s my lover.”

Marlo threw back her head and laughed. “No finer cover story.” Then she paused, growing serious. “How do you do it? If I were in your place, I’d cower in a corner like a child.”

“It helps to have a loaded gun in your purse,” Drea said. “I’m licensed now in DC, partly because of the attention the case got and the repeated death threats. I carry outside DC too, even where I’m not supposed to. I’d never say this in a book or interview, but if I ever see Wally Ray Tucker anywhere, I will empty my gun into him and call the cops myself.”

Marlo let a few seconds pass. “The police have no idea where he is?”

Drea shook her head. “Not the last time I talked to them. Not Maryland police, not Virginia, not DC. I told them all what I’ll do if I see him. They think I’m venting. Of course, I couldn’t bring my gun on the plane so I’m counting on Gideon to keep me safe.”

“To the extent that I know him, he’s a good choice.” The judge flashed me a knowing grin I knew I’d have to explain to Drea later. “Gideon, are you carrying a gun right now?”

“I am.”

“Because you’re working and you’ll escort Drea elsewhere in this hotel.”

“Yes.”

“And you would never pull your gun unless it’s necessary.”

“Absolutely necessary,” I said. “It stays holstered until it’s my last resort to prevent something bad.” I couldn’t help smiling at her. “I’ll use my pocket baton first.”

For a time no one spoke. Then Marlo cleared her throat and turned to Drea again. “I admire your strength, the example you set for all of us. To survive what you did and come out a fully empowered woman is nothing short of remarkable. I’m honored to meet you.”

Drea let out a long breath. “I have more money and attention than ever before, more of what I never wanted.” She swallowed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her purse. “I’d trade every dime to hold hands with Grant for one more walk in the park.”

There was a light tap on the door.

“Come in,” Marlo called, wiping her own eyes with the back of her hand.

James Torrance stepped into the room, his linen suit white and his open-collared shirt black. He smiled as he drew near. “Sorry my call took so long. Business, you know.”

I stood. “I understand, sir.” I took his outstretched hand. “Good to see you again.”

His expression took on a concern that seemed genuine. “Mr. Rimes, is everything to your satisfaction? With the suite, I mean, now that you’re in it.”

“Yes, sir, it is. Mark Donatello has been very helpful.”

“Good.” Then he turned to the women, who also had got to their feet. “Miss Wingard, I’m Jim Torrance. I’m so—” He studied her for a heartbeat. Then he looked at Marlo. “Have you been crying, honey? Both of you? Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Drea said, sniffing one last time.

“It’s my fault, Jim,” Marlo said. “I asked some questions I shouldn’t have, painful questions, and she answered.”

“That’s what I’m here to do,” Drea said. “In Buffalo, I mean. To tell the truth.”

James took one of her hands in both of his. “I want you to feel safe and welcome in our home. In this hotel.”

“Thank you, sir. I do.”

Still holding Drea’s hand, he looked past her to Marlo and said, “Everyone is here, including Randall and Chelsea.”

Eleven and twelve, I thought.

20

“I haven’t read your book yet, Ms. Wingard, but I’m told it’s quite good.”

“Thank you,” Drea said.

But I couldn’t help doubting the woman who offered the gratuitous compliment would ever read the book.

Statuesque, copper-haired, and sheathed in a tan cocktail dress, Chelsea Carpenter was about the same height and age as the man beside her, Randall Torrance. White wine glass in her left hand, she traded Drea’s hand for mine when James Torrance gave her my name. Her skin was cool to the touch, her fiercely intelligent eyes an iridescent green, her cheeks lightly freckled, and her full-lipped smile devastating. I wondered whether they were a true partnership or casual lovers and found myself envying and pitying Randall at the same time. Millionaire or not, he was so far out of her orbit he might as well have been in another star system. As were I and every other man in the room.

“So you’re the PI Randy’s been telling me about,” she said before sipping her wine.

“Whatever he told you, don’t believe a word of it,” I replied. “I’m much worse.”

“Somebody’s incorrigible.” After a moment she laughed and nudged Randall with an elbow. “You never said he was so intense.”

He chuckled awkwardly, one hand in the side pocket of his blue blazer, JFK-style. “I told her you were a war hero, Rimes, and an ex-cop. Kind of an old woman the way you worry about things but over all good at what you do. Matt thinks so. Mark too.” He grinned at me as if we were long-time friends. “They’re not easy to impress.”

“Neither am I,” she said, gazing at me intently. Convinced Carpenter would never skim a page of In the Mouth of the Wolf, I excused myself and followed Drea to another couple who were holding glasses and sipping.

Alvin