An Eye for Danger Read Online Free Page B
and squeezed through the breach. Which landed me in a veil of woods.
I picked up speed and kept running down the steep grade, following the sounds of Max's crunching feet. Pent-up adrenaline pressed me to escape the whole damn scene of authority and arrogance and corpses.
I whistled, I yelled, but no Max. By now I'd ventured way off path and into the rough terrain of the north park woods, far from cops, though I could make out Stone's calls in the distance. They must have searched this area already.
Continuing down to the base of the ravine, I slipped under Huddlestone Arch, where slick, mossy rock canvassed the bridge's underbelly. The echo of trickling water drowned out the voice demanding my return and Max's growls ahead of me.
When I emerged on the other side, I paused. Branches snapped, leaves shuffled. Yellow flashed in the distance and I followed, my feet dancing along the steep ravine bank above the creek, my hands clutching damp trees for balance. Progress came in inches.
Max's butt wiggled near a giant maple at the mouth of the ravine, so I jumped over the creek and climbed the opposite embankment, the ripe earth and detritus seeping under my nails and smearing my legs with new residues. I'd catch hell for destroying Stone's precious evidence, but anything was better than blood.
Max's wiry tail stiffened, signaling he'd found prey.
"Max, come. Leave the poor squirrel alone." I slipped down the slope and caught my balance by grabbing an overhead branch.
Then I saw this wasn't another squirrel Max ensnared, but an oatmeal-colored sweater. Scrambling backwards on his thin legs, Max writhed and growled, stretching the knitted sleeve like a sausage casing.
"Drop it!" I had to stop him from attacking a homeless man before the cops caught Max and threw him on death row.
Darting forward, I arrived at the base of the maple tree within reach of my dog.
And stared down the eye of a gun.
"Call off the mutt, lady." Same peacoat, same orange pants, same brassy hair. Same underdog thug.
CHAPTER 2
"Don't got all day," said the man in a raspy voice, blood dripping from his lip and nose. I recalled his name was Sam, like that would humanize the bastard as he wagged his gun, implying he'd shoot Max if I didn't hurry up and comply. And here I'd thought he'd saved my life.
"Miss Larson." Stone's voice echoed from the top of the ravine. "Where the hell are you?" Then he came into view on the ledge above us, hooking his arm around a tree trunk so he didn't slide down the embankment. "If you're done with your sightseeing tour, my men and I would like to move on with this investigation. Today, please."
From the detective's vantage he couldn't see the thug hiding at the base of the maple tree. Likewise, Sam was protected from Stone's view—and his gun aim—by a tree trunk larger than my closet.
But nothing stood between me and the thug's gun except Max. And Max was the only family I had left in this world.
"Get him off me. Now," snapped Sam, cutting through my stupor. He pulled his over-stretched sleeve back inside his peacoat, but Max was pulling with gusto, making Sam lean hard, unable to flee the scene.
"Leave it." I hooked my fingers inside Max's collar and yanked, despite wanting him to gnaw off the man's arm. Max twisted and ripped the knitting, growling with delight. Let go, damn it, or he'll shoot us both. What the thug didn't know was Max was playing tug of war, not attacking as he ought to be.
"Off!" I gave another tug and Max released, while I fell on my ass, legs splayed. I could barely hold onto Max's collar as I got my bearings.
"Help me up," said Sam, grabbing my ankle so I lost what little balance I'd recovered.
"Miss Larson, do you mind?" Stone waved my blue booties in the air. They'd obviously been torn from my feet during my run from his precious crime scene.
Sam squeezed my ankle. "Make a choice, lady."
Kicking free of the thug could get me shot. Or Max. Or the detective. Not much
I picked up speed and kept running down the steep grade, following the sounds of Max's crunching feet. Pent-up adrenaline pressed me to escape the whole damn scene of authority and arrogance and corpses.
I whistled, I yelled, but no Max. By now I'd ventured way off path and into the rough terrain of the north park woods, far from cops, though I could make out Stone's calls in the distance. They must have searched this area already.
Continuing down to the base of the ravine, I slipped under Huddlestone Arch, where slick, mossy rock canvassed the bridge's underbelly. The echo of trickling water drowned out the voice demanding my return and Max's growls ahead of me.
When I emerged on the other side, I paused. Branches snapped, leaves shuffled. Yellow flashed in the distance and I followed, my feet dancing along the steep ravine bank above the creek, my hands clutching damp trees for balance. Progress came in inches.
Max's butt wiggled near a giant maple at the mouth of the ravine, so I jumped over the creek and climbed the opposite embankment, the ripe earth and detritus seeping under my nails and smearing my legs with new residues. I'd catch hell for destroying Stone's precious evidence, but anything was better than blood.
Max's wiry tail stiffened, signaling he'd found prey.
"Max, come. Leave the poor squirrel alone." I slipped down the slope and caught my balance by grabbing an overhead branch.
Then I saw this wasn't another squirrel Max ensnared, but an oatmeal-colored sweater. Scrambling backwards on his thin legs, Max writhed and growled, stretching the knitted sleeve like a sausage casing.
"Drop it!" I had to stop him from attacking a homeless man before the cops caught Max and threw him on death row.
Darting forward, I arrived at the base of the maple tree within reach of my dog.
And stared down the eye of a gun.
"Call off the mutt, lady." Same peacoat, same orange pants, same brassy hair. Same underdog thug.
CHAPTER 2
"Don't got all day," said the man in a raspy voice, blood dripping from his lip and nose. I recalled his name was Sam, like that would humanize the bastard as he wagged his gun, implying he'd shoot Max if I didn't hurry up and comply. And here I'd thought he'd saved my life.
"Miss Larson." Stone's voice echoed from the top of the ravine. "Where the hell are you?" Then he came into view on the ledge above us, hooking his arm around a tree trunk so he didn't slide down the embankment. "If you're done with your sightseeing tour, my men and I would like to move on with this investigation. Today, please."
From the detective's vantage he couldn't see the thug hiding at the base of the maple tree. Likewise, Sam was protected from Stone's view—and his gun aim—by a tree trunk larger than my closet.
But nothing stood between me and the thug's gun except Max. And Max was the only family I had left in this world.
"Get him off me. Now," snapped Sam, cutting through my stupor. He pulled his over-stretched sleeve back inside his peacoat, but Max was pulling with gusto, making Sam lean hard, unable to flee the scene.
"Leave it." I hooked my fingers inside Max's collar and yanked, despite wanting him to gnaw off the man's arm. Max twisted and ripped the knitting, growling with delight. Let go, damn it, or he'll shoot us both. What the thug didn't know was Max was playing tug of war, not attacking as he ought to be.
"Off!" I gave another tug and Max released, while I fell on my ass, legs splayed. I could barely hold onto Max's collar as I got my bearings.
"Help me up," said Sam, grabbing my ankle so I lost what little balance I'd recovered.
"Miss Larson, do you mind?" Stone waved my blue booties in the air. They'd obviously been torn from my feet during my run from his precious crime scene.
Sam squeezed my ankle. "Make a choice, lady."
Kicking free of the thug could get me shot. Or Max. Or the detective. Not much
Readers choose
Zoe Dawson
Aliyah Burke
Carole Lanham
Amelia Atwater-Rhodes
Veronica Heley
Jamie Begley
E. L. Doctorow
Eve Ensler
A. Bertram Chandler