Black Ghosts Read Online Free Page A

open.” He stood with his back to the wall, the gun cocked.
    The fact that it was a woman behind the door and not some gorilla made no difference to him. During his career, he had witnessed more than one incident when a tough, well-trained combat grunt had been blown to bits by a small, innocent-looking girl. Aside from that, saying “Larry sent me” didn’t necessarily make it so. For now he had only her word for it.
    It took her a moment to push the door open, as it had frozen to the jamb. A burst of cold air carrying her gentle scent reached him almost the instant she entered.
    â€œHi,” she said, closing the door behind her, a brief apologetic smile touching her pale face. She seemed to be in a hurry, restless, catching her breath. She stamped her feet to get the slush off her boots and then dusted the melting snow from her shoulders. By the time she pulled off her black cap, releasing a splash of disheveled blond hair, she was standing in a small puddle of melted snow.
    â€œWhat can I do for you?” He lowered the gun slightly.
    â€œAre you Edward?” She stared at the menacing Magnum bore. The smile was gone. Even in her big, bulky coat, she seemed graceful, fragile. Edward thought she was very beautiful, and very tense, as though she expected something terrible to happen.
    â€œYes. And you are—?”
    â€œNatalie,” she responded quickly. “I work with Larry.” She stepped forward, extending her hand.
    Edward raised the gun. “Let’s not be hasty,” he said.
    She froze, her hand hanging in midair. “Right. Listen—”
    â€œWhere’s Larry?”
    â€œHe’s wounded, he’s in the van. We must hurry,” she pleaded.
    Edward felt a knot form in his gut. A friend was in peril, but he didn’t let it show.
    â€œHow do I know this isn’t a trick to get me out there?”
    â€œLarry said you owed him a bottle of scotch—Navy Cut.”
    â€œThat’s rum. Navy Cut’s a rum, not a scotch.”
    â€œHe said you’d say that. Now can we go?” She pulled her cap back on and turned to leave.
    It was a joke between Larry and him, having to do with payment for a shot of illicit booze they had enjoyed together in Saudi Arabia, after a successful incursion into Iraq. Edward reached for a brown leather coat on the rack by the door and stuck the gun into his belt. “What happened?”
    â€œHe’s been shot.” She opened the door. “The van’s a couple of blocks from here.”
    â€œWho shot him?” Edward followed her out, closing the door behind him.
    â€œLook, mister,” she said coldly and impatiently, “what goddamn difference does it make who shot him? He said you’d help.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you park here?”
    â€œI wanted to be sure the place was safe before I brought him here. Things are not what they appear to be lately.”
    It stopped snowing, but the day was still very cold. By the time they had reached the end of the alley and turned onto Main Street, Edward could feel the chill penetrating his coat, and his ears were smarting. He put his hands deeper into his coat pockets, envying the woman in her black cap.
    At the corner of Apple and Hale he saw the dark blue van parked across the street from the small town hall building. The exhaust was emitting a white cloud, indicating the engine was running.
    â€œYou drive,” she said as she entered the back seat.
    Edward moved fast. Grantsville was not a place with a night life, but that was not to say everybody was asleep. A parked van with its engine running at this hour of the morning was bound to draw attention. This was a place where people would sit up and complain if a bird was chirping out of tune. He opened the driver’s-side door and looked into the back seat. Larry was wrapped in a gray blanket soaked in blood. His head was slumped to one side, leaning against the fogged-up