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

quick kiss on the lips. Then I led Phoenix, Bobby, Kayla, Sam, and Betty to the table they would occupy in the back room. Bishop followed and put a reserved sign on a place for Drea. Sliding her own chair nearer the closed back door, she sat. Beneath her mint green pantsuit was the overnighted armor sheath her husband had brought to the hotel at five-thirty. Her jacket hid the Colt on her hip.

There would be no seat for me or Pete. Once everyone was inside and the door was locked, Ramos would remain in front to secure the bin that held whatever we confiscated as Bishop watched the back. Pete and I would float, keeping an eye on the audience as well as both doors and the front windows.

I moved into the corridor between the two halves of the storefront, pressed the power pack button, and called for a comms check while I could watch everyone respond. Pete and Ramos acknowledged in sequence, and Bishop finished the loop. “Drea’s power pack is off,” she said.

“Copy that,” I said.

“G, your lady friend from the News is here,” Pete said.

Lady friend? “Copy that,” I said, glad Phoenix had no earbud.

I returned to the front and saw Amanda Corso at one of the windows, holding up her press card. Beside her was the big bearded photographer Buddy Dobbins with two cameras around his neck and a folded tripod in hand. In the diverse cluster of people behind them, I noticed Randall Torrance and Chelsea Carpenter talking to Rory and Edie Gramm. Everyone outside was dressed for a night in the high seventies—short sleeves, short pants, lightweight slacks and skirts. I was already hot in my jacket and vest. I opened the door and stepped out long enough to motion Corso and Dobbins past me and call Rory and Randall. When all six were inside, I closed and locked the door.

“Thanks, Gideon,” Rory said. “We would have waited in line with the others.”

“There wasn’t a line yet,” I said. “Besides, it would be a shame if two conference planners couldn’t get a seat.”

After Ramos scanned each with a wand—for practice, I assured them—I asked if a corner back table would give Dobbins a good enough view of the room for pictures. He said it would. I seated all six together, selling the idea by suggesting Corso interview Rory and Randall to enhance her feature. She agreed but wanted to say hi to Drea first. As Dobbins set up his tripod in the corner and Randall sat whispering something that made Carpenter laugh, Corso started toward the front table. Phoenix looked up and saw her coming. Both their mouths tightened. So much for whether they would recognize each other. But Rory and his wife were right behind Corso. He introduced Edie to Phoenix and Bobby, unaware he was lessening the tension.

By seven the cluster had become a double-file line. We opened the front door to begin admitting people. I stood near the bar, directing things enough to establish I was in charge. My jacket was open enough for my holster to be visible. Some were surprised when Pete or Ramos wanded them. Others took the security measure in stride, emptying their pockets of metal without objection. Pete handed out claim stubs for every item Ramos tagged, labeled, and put into the plastic bin on the floor. They collected a few pocket knives, a spring baton, three pepper spray cylinders, a butterfly knife, a spike-tipped ring, a mini-stun gun, and a working pen that concealed a two-inch stiletto blade. Meanwhile, the lines that formed at the book display table and the bar grew long enough to make most people head straight for the back room, where they rearranged chairs to squeeze in. By seven-twenty PAUSA had exceeded capacity, with every seat filled front and back. I followed Zulema and Johannes outside, where she apologized that no one else could be admitted but said anyone who wished to remain was welcome to listen to the program on the outside speaker. Johannes reminded everyone Drea would do another reading and signing at his Elmwood bookstore tomorrow afternoon.

Then we went back inside and locked the door. Pete remained in the front room, where speakers guaranteed those who couldn’t see Drea could hear her. I sidled to the point where the corridor opened onto the back room. That way I could see the front and back doors as well as keep an eye on the people closest to Drea.

Twenty minutes later, after a mike check, Zulema thanked everyone for coming and promised food orders would come out shortly. She read a brief bio to introduce the speaker. Amid applause, Drea, in a loose white top and tan slacks, took a copy of her book to the lectern and thanked everyone again. Then she read her account of the night her life changed. After the first few paragraphs, the only sounds in the room—the whirring of the ceiling fan, the occasional vibration of a plate set on a table, slight bodily shifts—were overpowered by the gentle but firm voice flowing through the speakers. The crowd was transfixed, drawn into the horror in spite of the pain. Drea’s eyes filled before she finished, and other eyes glistened as well. Dragging a bare forearm across the bridge of her nose, she steadied herself with a long breath and closed the book. Her beat was echoed by the silence in the room. Then, as if in relief, applause erupted, accompanied by cheers, and continued for a full minute.

Wiping her own eyes, Zulema returned to the lectern and took a deep breath before saying that after Drea took a moment to collect herself, she’d answer questions. “Meanwhile, finish your food! I haven’t seen you pick up a fork for at least five minutes!” The scattered laughter that followed sounded almost grateful.

“Comms check,” I said softly. “By name.”

“Kim,” Pete said. “Lotta people out here got tears rolling down their cheeks, G. Even the bookstore guy