Dead Wrong Read Online Free PDF Page B

toward the bedroom where he kept the loaded gun in his bedside table. He didn’t slam the door, but jumped on the bed and scrambled toward the other side.
    One of the boys grabbed his right ankle and pulled. Carl couldn’t reach the table. A hand grabbed his left ankle from the other side. Carl grabbed for the lamp cord, but failed. The punks jerked him backward so hard his knees popped. They tried to cross his legs, but Carl lunged for the headboard and fought to remain face down. He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to see what they were going to do.
    One of the boys wrenched Carl’s hand from the headboard. With a heave, they rolled him onto his back.
    The first boy sauntered from the doorway to the bed. He waved a paring knife back and forth. The boys released Carl’s ankles. He struggled to sit up. Something pricked at the left side of his throat. He closed his eyes. He smelled jalapeño and old sweat. He felt the wetness grow chill as it spread down his pant legs.
    Carl wished he and his partner had left the Puerto Ricans alone. He wished he could stop crying and begging them not to kill him. And he wished he’d die quickly, that it wouldn’t hurt.
    None of Carl’s wishes came true.

C HAPTER 7
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    In the air
Wednesday, January 22
    “Miss, please bring your seat back forward and stow your purse. Miss. Wake up, please.”
    Lynnette heard the voice, felt the hand shaking her shoulder, but the voice and hand seemed far away, on the other side of a dense fog. She couldn’t fathom what they had to do with her. Her persistent attempts to ignore them, however, were sabotaged when her seatback abruptly snapped straight up. She opened her eyes and found the flight attendant trying to stuff Lynnette’s purse under the seat.
    The airplane hit turbulence. The flight attendant lost her balance, toppling across the empty aisle seat and elbowing Lynnette hard in the ribs.
    “Sorry,” she said as she struggled to her feet. “Sorry I had to wake you, but we’re having trouble. We need all the seats—”
    “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
    “Something mechanical. I don’t know.” The flight attendant brushed off her skirt with her hand and smiled. “It’ll be fine.” But she didn’t look Lynnette in the eye, and Lynnette felt another surge of anxiety. She thought she smelled burning rubber. The flight attendant started down the aisle, wobbled again when another pocket of turbulence sent the plane into a series of bumps and bounces.
    Lynnette clasped her hands in her lap.
God, please don’t let this plane crash. I swear I’ll do everything right this time if you please, please, please don’t let this plane go down. Amen.
    “Miss.”
    The hand pressed her shoulder again. Lynnette sat up straight and opened her eyes. Had she spoken her frantic prayer aloud?
    “Miss, this child is traveling alone. She’s frightened. The adults sitting in her row don’t speak English.” The flight attendant waved her arm around the first-class cabin. “You’re the only woman up here. I’m putting her next to you. Would you talk to her? Put her at ease?”
    The girl who stood in the aisle looked about ten, maybe eleven. Ordinary-looking kid. Straight brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Jeans, hiking boots, a pink and purple striped shirt. The girl’s eyes were wide, her face pale, her bottom lip trembling.
    “Sure. Have a seat,” Lynnette said.
    The girl accepted the flight attendant’s help with her seatbelt without acknowledging Lynnette’s presence. Once buckled in, however, and given a granola bar—apparently the flight attendant’s idea of comfort food—the girl turned to Lynnette and stared. Lynnette returned the girl’s gaze, making no attempt to hide her bruised face.
    “How’d you get the black eyes?”
    Taken aback, Lynnette didn’t answer.
    “Probably ran into a door, right?”
    “No. Car accident.”
    “Oh, sure. My mom has those too. Doors and cars. Also fell down the stairs and broke her