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

about people and society. How much I admired her strength and persistence in the face of hatred. This conference will give me—give us—a chance to do that.”

Marlo stood as if on cue and smiled as she looked down at Drea. “After your speech at the awards brunch, Drea, James will come to the stage and present you with the first Willa Winters Endurance Award, which comes with a million-dollar donation to the charity or social welfare organization of your choice.”

21

The scream was brief but sharp enough to knife through my sleep and bring me to my feet, gun in hand. Moving through the glow of the surveillance monitors, I glanced at the door to the suite for any sign of intrusion. Pete and I reached Drea’s bedroom at the same moment. He too was in a T-shirt and shorts, carrying his gun and not wearing his glasses.

“The Brink’s bar is still in place,” I said, opening the bedroom door and hitting the light switch.

Covers down to her waist, Drea Wingard lay flat on her back, shaking uncontrollably, eyes wide and wet and fixed on the ceiling but seemingly unaware of her surroundings or the light from the corner floor lamp. Her lips were moving but she said nothing aloud. Her chest heaved against her damp white nightgown as if struggling against a weight placed upon her. She looked terrified.

“Jesus!” Pete said as I moved to the bed. “Her eyes are open. Is this some kind of seizure?”

“I don’t think so.” Putting my gun on the nightstand, I sat on the edge of the bed and waved my hand above her face. Her eyes registered nothing. I touched her shoulder. “Drea, it’s G. Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.” Again, no response. I squeezed her shoulder and shook her, gently. “It’s only a nightmare.”

Beside me now, Pete leaned above her and brought his hands together in a single loud clap that startled me as much as it was supposed to startle her.

As Pete stepped aside, Drea snapped her face toward me, blinked, and gasped. I saw recognition spark in her eyes, followed by a realization of where she was and two or three hard swallows. Then came tears that might have signaled relief or embarrassment. Unable to tell, I pulled her up into a sitting position. She squeezed her eyes shut, almost as if afraid she might open them to a different reality. I slipped an arm around her, resting her head against my shoulder.

“It’s all right,” I said, rocking her as she wept. “It was a bad dream.”

She shuddered. “A hell of a dream,” she said, hoarsely.

“If talking about it would help—”

She wiped her closed eyes, and I felt her shrug.

“Same old dream. Same old piece of hell. That night. My husband. Those horrible skulls. Sometimes I scream at them to leave us alone. Sometimes that works and they go away and I feel this great relief, like the real dream is the life I’ve lived since—” Her voice cracked. “Since Grant died. Then I wake up and it feels like I dragged a straight razor back and forth through old scar tissue. It always comes back when something rattles me,” she said.

“What rattled you tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe hearing Krieger again. I haven’t heard his robotic bullshit since I finished my book. But his voice was in the dream this time, kind of narrating things as they happened, telling the skulls what to do. Which is weird because I never heard of him until long after that night.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “But there was something different about him. In the dream and what we heard tonight.”

“Different how?”

“I’m not sure. Just different. Like somebody new.”

“A new Morgan Krieger?”

“Something about him always felt old. Like behind the electronic voice spouting Bible verses to justify racism was a get-off-my-lawn guy whose real issue was his resistance to change. Tonight his phrasing and word choice sounded different. Maybe that’s what it was. He felt younger, if that makes sense.”

“Doesn’t matter. He won’t get any closer than the old Krieger or Wally Ray Tucker.”

“You’ll take care of them?” At that point the flutter in her voice made her seem both childlike and exhausted. Or maybe she was so tired of being afraid she wanted to hand off every burden to someone else. “Krieger and Wally Ray?”

“Yes. Your safety is all that matters.”

“Would you kill them?”

“If necessary.”

“Have you ever had to kill someone?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s something we have in common.” She paused and nestled deeper into my chest. “Did it feel strange to you too? Killing somebody?”

“It’s supposed to feel strange, or we’d make a habit of it.”

“What if they kill you?”

“I’ll do my best to take them with me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Pete said. “They won’t get both of us.”

Blinking, Drea lifted her head and looked past me. She saw Pete for the first time and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, God! I woke you both? I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Pete said. “It was snack time anyway. I was about to look for something in the fridge.”

“Snack time?” Drea said.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand told me it was 3:07. I looked up at Pete and narrowed my eyes in an unasked question. He grinned at us. She half-grinned back.

“Sure. I was lying there thinking about nuking one of those frozen tacos. It’s been a while since I had one of those things but it’s also been a long time since I had a good case of heartburn. So maybe now I should heat some water and make tea for all of us. My mother packed me a variety of Korean tea blends she says will help settle my nerves. She likes to tell people how nervous I was as a child but never realizes she was the one who made me so nervous. She and my father. You see, I was their only child and even though they hid it, I knew how sad