The Box by Jeremy Brown (ebook reader play store txt) 📕

not be as trusting.”

She used her forefinger and thumb to lift the compact pistol out of her pocket and let it dangle out at her side.

“I’m coming to take it from you,” Razvan said.

He climbed the steps and stood next to her for a moment, forcing her to crank her neck up to look up at his face.

The Dracula pistol was still pointed at her face.

He took her gun away and stuffed it into a back pocket and stood there, staring down at her.

She looked away and tried to take a step to her left but Razvan hooked her arm with his free hand.

“Do you know why my men are upset?”

“No.”

“We found a truck, north of here. Grigore’s truck.”

“So?”

“Grigore and Pavel were with it. Both of them shot dead.”

She blinked but wouldn’t look up at him.

He said, “And we haven’t heard from Claudiu for hours now. He’s just vanished. What can you tell me about these things?”

“Nothing. I don’t know anything about them.”

“No? You didn’t shoot them with this gun of yours?”

“Of course not.”

Razvan took her gun back out and sniffed the barrel.

“No, not with this one. Maybe another gun you have here?”

“No.”

“You tried to shoot Grigore once already.”

Nora shook her head.

“That’s…no, I didn’t. I was defending myself. I just wanted to leave.”

“Just defending yourself,” Razvan echoed. “You and, who was it…ah, your boyfriend. What’s his name?”

“Adam.”

“Adam. You were defending him, yes? Because he was about to get his ass beaten. Because he was causing trouble.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone,” Nora said.

“Is your boyfriend here now?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“No? Why not? Did he leave you?”

“He’s just not here.”

“Hm.”

Razvan looked at the house, the wooden barn, the front yard.

He studied the fresh tracks and sniffed the air, noting the smell of cut grass and wet leaves.

“He should be here to help with the work.”

“I don’t need any help,” Nora said.

“Then he should be here to make sure you are safe. There are dangerous men on the loose.”

She cast a glance his way.

“I’m fine. I’m safe.”

Razvan said, “Are you?”

Connelly whispered into the mic, “What’s happening?”

No one answered.

“Can anybody see?”

Rison said, “I can’t see shit. Just the doorway. Now shut up.”

He was in the back right corner of the shed, in almost complete darkness, standing behind the cab of a tractor.

Connelly said, “Turkey hunter, what do you see?”

No response.

Connelly was in the front left corner of the shed, tucked under a trailer with an empty fertilizer tank on it. His line of sight paralleled the front door of the shed, so he’d have a good shot at anyone who stepped inside, but other than that he was blind.

It was driving him crazy.

“Turkey hunter, status update.”

He willed Kershaw to answer.

After a moment, he did, and he sounded unhappy about it.

“One guy in the wood barn, AK-47, knit cap, beard. Second truck out on the road. One shooter there, long gun on the hood, possibly an M249, giving overwatch.”

Connelly said, “A fucking machine gun? What about Nora?”

“Front porch. Talking with Razvan, based on his height.”

“She’s okay?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“What’s Razvan doing?”

“She’s fine,” Kershaw repeated. “Now shut the fuck up.”

“What—”

The large hand clamped over Connelly’s and held it while the other hand plucked the mic away from him.

Connelly looked up and saw Bruder kneeling over him, his eyes grim inside the balaclava.

Bruder yanked the mic cord out of the radio, leaving Connelly with just the receiver and earpiece, then disappeared into the gloom of the shed, back to his spot in the rear left corner.

In the earpiece Bruder’s voice said, “No more chatter.”

Connelly fumed in silence, glaring at the patch of sunlight coming through the doorway.

He begged Razvan to step inside and catch half of a magazine from all three shooters inside the shed while Kershaw opened up on the man on the road.

The one in the barn, they’d just shoot him through the cracks when he moved.

Connelly watched the patch on the floor, waiting for a shadow to fall across it.

Rison or Kershaw would let him know if it was Nora coming in first.

Bruder could see as well, but Connelly didn’t think he’d mention it.

The prick.

Connelly wiped the sweat out of his eyes and compelled Razvan into his line of fire.

Then Kershaw’s voice said, “Nora and Razvan are going inside the house.”

Razvan took Nora into the house through the side door and stopped and listened.

The door led into the kitchen, a large square with white cabinets and black countertops.

The light fixture hanging from the middle of the ceiling was low enough to hit Razvan in the face, so he stepped around it and tilted his head like he was feeling the vibrations in the house, the sounds.

The ugly pistol was still in his hand, hanging down by his leg.

Nora watched him, waiting, wondering if Adam—or whatever his real name was—and the others knew they’d gone inside.

The one with the glasses was out in the field somewhere, so he probably knew.

The question was, did he care?

“The house is empty,” Razvan said.

“Yes. Like I told you.”

He nodded.

“I’ll check anyway. Give me a tour.”

Then he grinned at her, his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes making her stomach turn.

“Your parents never offered.”

She grimaced and led the way out of the kitchen into the dining room, then the family room, then the home office with stacks of papers and equipment catalogs that she’d sorted and stacked but really ought to toss out.

She showed him the downstairs bathroom and he checked behind the shower curtain, leading with the pistol.

He asked her, “Have you gotten any good offers?”

“No.”

“A shame. This is a very nice home. When I get my money back, I’ll buy it from you.”

“No,” she said again.

He looked at her, the skin on his face stretched into a concerned frown.

“You shouldn’t hold a grudge about what happened between me and your mother and father. It was business, just like selling a house is business. I make you a good offer, you accept.”

“I’ll burn it down myself before I let you have it.”

He shrugged and walked toward the stairs