Fugitive Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

shots of the visitor.
    Perhaps everything was on the up and up, but Merrilla had paid him to do exactly what he was doing. And if everything turned out innocently enough, he’d be happy for the distraught woman.
    He reached into the sports bag and removed a carefully wrapped package. The ham sandwiches Annie had put together for him would be a pleasant break. He devoured two of the four, polished off a bottle of water, and decided to save the rest of the food for later.
    Five minutes later, he sprang to a sitting position and listened intently. Unless his ears had fooled him, and he was sure they hadn’t, he’d heard the distinct sound of a gunshot.
    And it had come from inside the Overstone residence.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
     
    Tuesday, 10:46 a.m.
     
    JAKE TOSSED THE binoculars onto the passenger seat and jumped from the vehicle. Something unusual and no doubt lethal was going on inside the Overstones’ house.
    Judging by the dubious appearance of the bedraggled visitor who’d entered the dwelling a few minutes ago, Jake assumed Niles Overstone was in mortal danger. He’d only heard one shot coming from the house, but one was all it took, and Niles might be dead or dying at this very moment.
    He dashed across the street at an angle, leaped over a hedge, and crossed the lawn, approaching the large picture window in the front of the house. The curtains were drawn halfway, the balance of the window covered by sheers, and he couldn’t make out much of anything inside. He leaned closer, squinting through a narrow gap, and gazed around the living room. It was empty. Whatever had happened, it didn’t appear to have taken place in that room.
    With three long-legged leaps, Jake reached the front porch and tested the door. It was unlocked. He eased it open and listened, then pushed it open all the way and stepped into a small foyer.
    The living room was directly to his left, and a glance confirmed no one was in the room. To his right was a small door. He poked at it with his forefinger and it swung open. It was a bathroom, and it was empty.
    The kitchen stood at the end of a short hallway, dead ahead. He could make out some cupboards on the far wall and, from where he stood, nothing appeared amiss.
    To his right and slightly ahead, a set of stairs led upwards, no doubt to the bedrooms.
    Then a soft groan came from the direction of the kitchen. He crept down the hallway toward the room, being cautious not to make a sound. His running shoe made a soft squeak on the hardwood floor and he froze. If someone had been shot, and the shooter was still in the house, he didn’t want to be the next victim.
    The problem he faced was whoever had fired the shot might be getting away, and the gunman would be long gone before the first cruiser could arrive. But he had no choice. He had to notify the police before investigating further, and he hoped the pictures he’d snapped earlier would be enough to identify the fugitive.
    He reached for his cell phone in the holster at his waist and came up empty. It was in the car. He hesitated a moment, then turned to leave. Another groan from the direction of the kitchen spurred him on, and he turned back and crept forward silently, one careful step after another, as the low groaning continued.
    He neared the kitchen, hugging the wall, and peered around the doorway. On the far wall, a door led outside, and it was ajar. The shooter had most likely run out the back way. However, there was a possibility he might still be in the house somewhere, maybe even on the other side of the kitchen, and Jake wasn’t taking any chances.
    He heard a gasp for breath, and he took a step forward, crossed the hallway, and peered into the kitchen. He stopped short in the doorway, and his eyes popped at the sight in front of him.
    The gunman’s victim lay flat, blood pooling on the floor, streams of red filling the cracks between the ceramic tiles.
    It was Merrilla Overstone.
    Jake’s mouth hung open a