Today's Reading
CHAPTER TWO
It took longer for the security team to clear the hotel than she'd expected, and Helen was antsy as she waited for the all clear. She wanted to take a look at the balcony for herself. Check out the shooter's nest. Get a feel for the style of shooter she was up against. Was he a pro? An angry amateur? Sloppy? Obsessively neat?
The press and guests at Mitch's announcement milled around on the floor of the theater, and Constance imperiously signaled Helen to come down from the stage and circulate among the potential supporters and donors.
Ugh. She knew how this game was played, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Now was the moment for damage control. Spinning the narrative away from "a DA so controversial that people were trying to kill him" to something like "courageous young attorney stands up to crime and is willing to risk his life to uphold the law."
She shook hands and answered lame questions, saying modestly that she'd had no intention of being a hero. She added breathlessly that when she'd seen that laser dot land on her son, she'd just jumped for Mitch, acting totally on instinct. It was a mom thing, apparently. She threw in a little hand wringing and pearl clutching for good measure and prayed they bought her act.
For the most part, the reporters seemed to swallow her line of bull. Which privately amused her. Seriously, how many middle-aged housewives knew on sight what a laser designator looked like? Thankfully, nobody thought to ask her that question.
She'd made one full circuit of the theater—thankfully, the positive spin on the shooting seemed to be taking hold—and was girding herself to make another circuit when a hand touched her elbow purposefully from behind.
A low male voice said from the shadows, "Don't turn around. I need you to follow me."
"Why?" she muttered, not moving her lips.
"Someone needs to speak with you. If you want to know what happened here, back up behind the curtain and slip through under the stage access door."
Oh, she bloody well did want to know what had happened. Somebody was going to pay for taking a shot at her kid.
The fingers fell away from her elbow, and the voice fell silent. Moving casually so as not to draw attention to herself, she turned around. Nobody was there. She peered behind the fall of heavy velvet hanging to the floor. Nobody was there. But the faint outline of a hidden door cut into the paneled and painted wall was visible behind the curtain.
Looking around to be sure nobody was watching her, she reached into her purse to grip the pistol inside, pushed on the door, ducked through its low opening, and slipped into the darkness. She shut the door and leaned her back against it, waiting tensely for her eyes to adapt to this inky blackness.
A flashlight lit a circle of grimy floor in front of her. "Follow me," the man murmured.
This was insanity. He could be leading her into a trap. Heck, he could be the shooter. But her instincts weren't sending her any more urgent warnings, and the guy turned away from her, giving her his back.
Worst case, she could shoot this guy through the leather of her purse. Although she hated the idea of destroying another beautiful designer purse so soon after she'd destroyed her last one.
The man pointed his flashlight at the floor behind him, lighting a path for her to pick her way over thick ropes, electrical cables, and a canvas tarp. If he was a would-be killer, he was a polite one.
A second low door opened in front of him, and her guide ducked out into a well-lit, full-height hallway. It looked like a service corridor for the hotel, with a tall rack of folded bath towels parked along a wall.
The man was muscular. Short hair. His suit fit well and was perfectly neat. She knew the type so very well. This guy was government all the way. It only remained to be seen which alphabet agency he worked for. His hair was short enough for the FBI, but the suit—it was expensive enough for the CIA.
He moved swiftly down the hall, and she had to hurry in her stupidly tight skirt and high heels to keep up with him. She would be twice damned if she complained about his speed, however. They reached a steel exit door, and he threw it open. Daylight flooded in. She smoothed her hair as best she could and stepped out into a rather grungy alley.
A sleek black town car was parked only a few feet away, and her escort was already reaching for the back door handle. He swept the door open and gestured for her to get in.
This excerpt is from the ebook edition.
Monday, October 14 we begin the book Deadly Depths by John F. Dobbyn.
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