Carlie Simmons (Book 1): Until Morning Comes Read Online Free PDF

him down. Mr. Rock-and-Roll had just finished radioing in their position
and turned to peer through the bars at Jared, who was sitting in the right rear
seat. “So, why Tucson, hillbilly? That’s what I want to know. Your MO has you
hitting homes along the Midwest and East Coast for years. Now you wanna crap in
our backyard—what gives, tough guy?”
    Jared studied the man’s rugged features—his
square jaw and the squint lines around the eyes. He had seen dozens of guys
like this one before when he had been called into lineups at police stations,
and even in younger days while in juvey. He knew the type well—self-righteous Bible-quoters
who sat at their computers poring over America’s Most Wanted photos while dreaming
of the big fish and that magical call to come in so they could rush out the door
in their shiny tactical vest carrying the assault rifle with the big banana
clip on it.
    Jared stared back at the man. “I heard
the dry air here was supposed to be good for my allergies—same reason as Doc
Holliday going to Tombstone, you know, for his bronchial issues.”
    “Holliday had TB,” said Q-Tip.
    “Yeah, that’s just one of many bronchial
afflictions that you can get, professor,” said Jared, glancing out the window
at several students sprinting across the sidewalks on either side.
    The man grabbed the bars and slightly
bared his teeth. “It’s Agent Raines, you shit-nugget. You should mind your
manners—we’re not some beer-swigging country cops like you’re used to dealing
with, you fucking mongrel.”
    “Man, I bet the federal government must
have passed up a lot of good applicants to get to you two.”
    “Shut your piehole, hillbilly. If you’re
not a good boy, you might accidentally slip going up the stairs to our
processing center,” said Rock-and-Roll.
    “Is that where you guys stroke your
shiny rifles while drooling over centerfold pinups, wondering if your neglected
wives back home are doin’ the deed with the neighbor across the street?” said
Jared as he watched two black SUVs race through a red light in the opposite
direction.
    “Gimme the two-block warning before we
get to headquarters,” said Q-Tip to the other marshal, “so I can Taser his ass.
We’ll just say he had a seizure from the intense heat.” The marshal unbuckled
and pulled out the Taser from his belt.
    “Whoa, there—take it easy…you know, you
guys should really get into an anger-management program. I mean, don’t they
have therapists on staff to help wring out those Neanderthal brains of yours so
you don’t blow a gasket?”
    “The only thing I’m gonna blow is…” The
man’s head slammed against the metal bars separating the seats as a pickup
truck crashed into the passenger’s side of the Crown-Vic. The vehicle spun
sideways, reeling into a mailbox and a row of bicycles outside a coffee shop. Jared
looked up and saw the streets filled with panicked people fleeing in every
direction while yellow-faced attackers pursued them.
    “Good Lord, what the hell are those
things?” yelped Jared, who sat frozen in his handcuffs.
    The marshal in the driver’s seat slowly lifted
his head from the front airbag and checked on his partner, whose neck was
contorted and his face ashen. “Son of a bitch, he ain’t got no pulse.” As he
frantically unbuckled himself, a pock-marked man in his thirties with a jaundiced
face smashed his fists against the driver’s window. The man was gnashing his
jaws wildly as a trickle of fresh blood ran down his lips He kept squeegeeing
his wrinkled face against the window, trying to get inside.
    “These goddamned meth-heads think they
can take over my city—not a chance,” yelled the marshal. He slammed the unlock control,
accidentally hitting all the buttons, which caused the rear-door security latch
to open. Jared half-smiled, manipulating his cuffed hands behind him and around
his legs until they were before his chest, then he unbuckled his seatbelt. As
he readied his