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

other car. All three huddled outside the tape with Moss, who did most of the talking. He showed them the picture I had given him and pointed at the dead man. Then he gestured at the ramp, the plaza, the Reading Park, various evidence markers, and us.

“They gonna cover him up?” Bishop asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “They have to process the scene.”

“There’s still kids out there.”

“More cops will come. They’ll make the gawkers and kids move along.”

“Am I gonna need a lawyer?”

“Even if you don’t, it’s a good idea to have one when they question you,” I said. “My better half is a lawyer. I’ll call her when things settle down a bit. I’ve never met the supervisor in that ugly-ass sports jacket but he’s strapped under his left arm and he’s looking at us right now. If I reach into my pocket for my phone, he might overreact.”

“I can do it,” Pete said in my ear. “People are crowding into the vestibule to see what’s going on but we’re secure in this office and it’s quiet. What’s her number?”

I recited it for him. “Make sure she knows we’re all okay.”

“Copy that.”

Both in short sleeves and wearing badges on their belts, Rafael and Travis moved along the perimeter of the crime scene tape until they got to the bench. Ducking under it, they came to us.

“Hey, Raf,” I said. “Detective Travis.”

“Terry is pissed.” Chewing a toothpick, Rafael pushed up his straw fedora and shook his head. “He gets you backup as a courtesy and it’s one of your ops who drops the hammer on somebody in broad daylight, outside the damn library. People are playing chess, reading to their children, and blowing bubbles at a play table. Happy fucking summer vacation.”

“This is Lucy Bishop,” I said. “The guy grabbed her throat and squeezed. Open and shut self-defense.”

“That’s what Moss told us. Still a shit storm, G. We gotta walk the scene, get witness statements, tie up a CS unit for hours, interview all of you.” Rafael sighed. “Where’s Pete?”

“Inside covering our client, Drea Wingard.”

“You talking to Raf?” Pete said. “Tell him I said hi.”

“Pete says hi.” I pointed to my ear to indicate my communicator.

“The head of the library is with us,” Pete added. “I’m not sure if she’s annoyed or scared but she assumes the talk is off.”

“Correct.” I looked at Rafael. “When it’s time, he’ll take Ms. Wingard out the back entrance and put her in your car. You’ll want to talk to her.”

“Guess that means the bookstore is off too,” Pete said.

“Correct again.” I let go of Bishop’s hand and pointed at the purse. “The gun’s in there. Lucy has a concealed carry permit.”

“I hope that’s in here too,” Travis said, taking the purse and hefting it.

Bishop nodded as Travis unfolded a large evidence bag and put the purse inside.

I gestured toward the body. “Your corpse is a white supremacist named Carter John. He was part of the crew that killed my client’s husband.”

“Yeah. Moss said his handle was Mars. Said he musta thought he was the God of War.”

I shook my head. “The leader of a group called Liberty Storm gave his members codenames. I’m pretty sure he tagged Carter John as Mars because of the John Carter books by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the same guy who wrote Tarzan.”

“A super white man who ruled all of Africa.” Travis scowled. “Never could understand why my otherwise intelligent grandfather liked those old movies so much.”

I shrugged. “Well, Burroughs did write science fiction.” After Travis chuckled, I added, “You think Tarzan was a supremacist’s wet dream? John Carter was a confederate soldier who traveled to Mars after the Civil War, got super strength in the lesser gravity, and became a warlord.”

“Seriously?” Travis said. “Almost like Superman.”

“Long before Superman.”

“Wow,” Pete said in my ear. “No surprise a guy like him was on Wally Ray’s radar.”

Excerpt Six

In the Mouth of the Wolf by Drea Wingard, with Grant Gibbons (6)

The Sunday after your meeting with Cropper, you are sitting on the couch in early evening, watching HBO. The phone on Grant’s desk rings. You stand and step over your purse to the desk, picking up the handset at the start of the third ring.

“Hello.”

“Is that you, Andrea?”

The gravel voice on the other end drags your central nervous system through ground glass. Spinning toward the front door, you let go of the phone and drop to your knees. You pull your purse over and fumble to open it.

The handset is on the carpet. “You there, Andrea? Sounds like you dropped the phone.”

You snatch it up. “I’m here.”

“Good. Been thinking about you. We got some unfinished business.”

“That we do, Wally Ray,” you say, pulling the gun from your purse.

“Ain’t no more Wally Ray.” He laughs. “Wally Ray’s gone. Changed. Had to shed his cocoon and fly away quick, ‘cause he was feeling outnumbered. Lotta hungry crows in Maryland these days.”

You take a deep breath. “Then why don’t you come to Virginia, butterfly?” Your eyes shift back and forth from the front entryway to the hallway that leads to the back door. “Ring the bell if you’re outside. We can settle our business tonight.”

“Careful what you wish for, licorice lips. Might be punching above your weight class.”

“My weight class is .357. What’s yours?”

“You couldn’t pull the trigger last time.”

“This time it’s loaded, and I’ve been smoking up the range in Fairfax.”

“You mean—shit!” Pause. “It was too dark to tell that night. I’ll be damned.”

“One way or another.”

More raspy laughter. “I like this tough-ass bitch thing you got going on. New Year’s resolution?”

“Guess you weren’t paying attention last time.” Pausing for a reaction that doesn’t come, you wonder if he is close enough to try something or just trying to get inside your head. “Give me the chance, I’ll see to it you say hi to Brick.”

“And your husband too.”

“I’m pretty sure he won’t be where you’re going.”

A few more seconds pass. “Don’t start thinking you can’t be reached.”

Now it’s your turn to