Devil's Inferno (Blacksteel Bandits Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Evelyn Glass
the air. The lights dimmed, emergency lights flickered, and an automated voice mechanically sputtered across the intercom.
“That's the fire alarm,” gasped Mr. Cross, eyebrows furrowed and concern dotting his brow. His gaze swung to the red box clinging to the wall, close to the ceiling. He shook his head and motioned back toward the stairs, “We'll need to return to the ground floor. I'm so sorry, Ms. Groves.”
“Don't be sorry, Mr. Cross. These things happen.” Miranda tried to hide her relief as she followed the bank manager up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Upstairs, the bank tellers were calmly instructing the patrons out of the bank. Customers lined out the door, a child cried, verbal worries lit through the air. As they crested the stairs, Miranda watched the older man from the corner of her gaze. His attention flickered around the lobby, obviously attempting to spot the disastrous flames or telltale signs of smoke. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That didn't erase the danger. A fire in the bathroom, a burning electrical wire, a trashcan in a bathroom. Any number of things could cause the bank, and the valuables inside, to go up in flames.
For the moment, he forgot her presence and bustled toward the concerned, exiting patrons. Miranda didn't mind. His worries for his customers gave her the split second she needed to peel away from his awareness. In the mild chaos, no one noticed as she sneaked behind the teller desks in a half-bent crouch. She carefully picked her way around abandoned office chairs, intent to not make any noticeable sounds. Though, with the blare of the fire alarm, it would be immensely unlikely anyone would hear her drop a piece of paper or step on a fallen pen.
Finally, she made her way to the end of the desks. A wall stretched before her, hung with neutral decor. Her eyes flickered to Mr. Cross's office, his door wide open and his nameplate shiny in the flashing lights. She glanced to the front door. Tellers peered around the bank, making sure everyone was out. She ducked down just as the bank manager glanced across the tellers' desks.
“Hey,” a hiss caught her attention. She looked around, wildly seeking the source. Finally, her gaze fell on her partner in crime. Tyler squatted down inside Mr. Cross's office, out of sight of the tellers and manager. He peered to the front door before his gaze whipped back to Miranda. He motioned for her to cross, “C'mon, c'mon. We don't have a lot of time!”
Miranda, in a half-crouch, jogged across the bare expanse of floor, feeling more vulnerable than ever. The overhead flashing lights and alarm were drilling into her head, coaxing a migraine from the darker synapses of her head. She couldn't bother to concentrate on that, though. She had a job to do.
As soon as she ducked into the office, Tyler – after checking the lobby of the bank – shut and locked the door when the last people filed out. She wasted no time, trudging over to the bank manager's computer. The monitor whirred to life as soon as her fingers touched the mouse.
The screensaver flickered and the desktop sprawled before her. Mr. Cross, despite all of his gold star security measures, didn't use a password. Well, that was quite a few points off the overall inspection, figured Miranda, as she point-and-clicked.
By the office's window, which peered into the depths of the bank, Tyler squinted through the blinds. Though far off in the distance, he heard the scream of fire engines roaring closer. The empty bank felt eerie, especially with the lights flashing. He tried to ignore it, though his own headache nibbled at the sides of his brain. Joining the cacophony of sounds, Miranda's keystrokes clattered through the air. It set his teeth on edge and irritated his nerves, but little could be done. They needed information on Pete and this was their best bet.
He couldn't still the anxiety gnawing away at his thoughts. The increasingly
“That's the fire alarm,” gasped Mr. Cross, eyebrows furrowed and concern dotting his brow. His gaze swung to the red box clinging to the wall, close to the ceiling. He shook his head and motioned back toward the stairs, “We'll need to return to the ground floor. I'm so sorry, Ms. Groves.”
“Don't be sorry, Mr. Cross. These things happen.” Miranda tried to hide her relief as she followed the bank manager up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Upstairs, the bank tellers were calmly instructing the patrons out of the bank. Customers lined out the door, a child cried, verbal worries lit through the air. As they crested the stairs, Miranda watched the older man from the corner of her gaze. His attention flickered around the lobby, obviously attempting to spot the disastrous flames or telltale signs of smoke. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That didn't erase the danger. A fire in the bathroom, a burning electrical wire, a trashcan in a bathroom. Any number of things could cause the bank, and the valuables inside, to go up in flames.
For the moment, he forgot her presence and bustled toward the concerned, exiting patrons. Miranda didn't mind. His worries for his customers gave her the split second she needed to peel away from his awareness. In the mild chaos, no one noticed as she sneaked behind the teller desks in a half-bent crouch. She carefully picked her way around abandoned office chairs, intent to not make any noticeable sounds. Though, with the blare of the fire alarm, it would be immensely unlikely anyone would hear her drop a piece of paper or step on a fallen pen.
Finally, she made her way to the end of the desks. A wall stretched before her, hung with neutral decor. Her eyes flickered to Mr. Cross's office, his door wide open and his nameplate shiny in the flashing lights. She glanced to the front door. Tellers peered around the bank, making sure everyone was out. She ducked down just as the bank manager glanced across the tellers' desks.
“Hey,” a hiss caught her attention. She looked around, wildly seeking the source. Finally, her gaze fell on her partner in crime. Tyler squatted down inside Mr. Cross's office, out of sight of the tellers and manager. He peered to the front door before his gaze whipped back to Miranda. He motioned for her to cross, “C'mon, c'mon. We don't have a lot of time!”
Miranda, in a half-crouch, jogged across the bare expanse of floor, feeling more vulnerable than ever. The overhead flashing lights and alarm were drilling into her head, coaxing a migraine from the darker synapses of her head. She couldn't bother to concentrate on that, though. She had a job to do.
As soon as she ducked into the office, Tyler – after checking the lobby of the bank – shut and locked the door when the last people filed out. She wasted no time, trudging over to the bank manager's computer. The monitor whirred to life as soon as her fingers touched the mouse.
The screensaver flickered and the desktop sprawled before her. Mr. Cross, despite all of his gold star security measures, didn't use a password. Well, that was quite a few points off the overall inspection, figured Miranda, as she point-and-clicked.
By the office's window, which peered into the depths of the bank, Tyler squinted through the blinds. Though far off in the distance, he heard the scream of fire engines roaring closer. The empty bank felt eerie, especially with the lights flashing. He tried to ignore it, though his own headache nibbled at the sides of his brain. Joining the cacophony of sounds, Miranda's keystrokes clattered through the air. It set his teeth on edge and irritated his nerves, but little could be done. They needed information on Pete and this was their best bet.
He couldn't still the anxiety gnawing away at his thoughts. The increasingly
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