Maternal Harbor Read Online Free PDF Page B

mumbled.
    Behind Erica, the door opened.  Instinctively, her hand sought the flap of her purse as she assessed this newcomer: male, early twenties, dirty baggy jeans, Mariner’s windbreaker and ragged sneakers.  Dumping him in a tank of cleaning solvent wouldn’t be a bad idea.  He carried no clothes; that and his rancid odor confirmed he had no business in a laundry.
    Adrenaline pumping, Erica eased around him to the door and stepped outside.
    He looked through the plate glass.
    She moved from view to wait, knowing what was going down−a hopped-up crack head desperate for money and the cleaners looked like an easy target.  She rubbed both hands across her protruding abdomen.  Was there a risk of injury?  Derek might as well get started cleaning up the world.
    Erica counted to ten and peeked in the window.  Sure enough, the scumbag pointed a weapon at Mrs. Steinberg.  Erica slipped her Glock from her purse and stepped back inside.  “Police officer!  Put it down!  Down!”  She aimed dead center between his eyes and deepened her tone.  “One blink and you’re dead.”
    His gray skin turned chalky, and he slowly lowered a zip gun away from Mrs. Steinberg, who appeared shaken, but unhurt.
    “ Place your weapon on the floor.”  Erica’s voice grated authority.
    The gun clattered on the red tile.
    Quickly, Erica kicked it out of reach.  “Face on the floor.  Do it!  Do it!”
    “ You got no right!”
    Erica took up the slack on the trigger.
    He sprawled.
    She jabbed her foot against the back of his neck and sank the heel of her loafer into his flesh, deep, but not enough to snap his spine.  Left-handed, she snaked handcuffs from her purse, grabbed one of his hands, and snapped the bracelet tight.  She yanked his arm behind his back and twisted it high, then higher.
    His shoulder socket bulged outward.  He screamed.
    “ Bring your other hand back or I’ll break it.”
    He did and she secured him.  “Don’t move.”  Holding his cuffed fists, she patted his right pocket, then the left.  “What’s in here?”
    “My lighter.”
    Erica pulled out a crack pipe.  “Odd looking lighter.”
    “Ain’t mine.  I’m keeping it for some guy.”
    “ That’s original.  Why were you pointing a weapon at Mrs. Steinberg?”
    He sucked in snot.  “I never touched her money.”
    “But you were going to.”  Erica glanced up at Mrs. Steinberg.  “Call 911.  An officer will take care of this gross piece of crap.”
    Mrs. Steinberg shoved her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, grabbed the phone, and jabbed 911.  “There’s a robber handcuffed on the floor of my shop!” she yelled into the receiver like everyone in the world knew her shop.
    “Tell them it’s under control,” Erica ordered softly.
    Mrs. Steinberg licked her bottom lip, explained that Erica was a cop, confirmed her address, and hung up.  She hurried around the counter and laid her hand on Erica’s shoulder.  “Is the baby okay?” she asked as if that was the only thing that mattered.
    Erica liked the tenderness of Mrs. Steinberg’s pudgy, caring hand, firm enough to know it was there, not grasping like Grandma’s.  Erica shuddered from the snapshot in her mind and blinked it away.  She smiled at Mrs. Steinberg.  “We’re quite all right.”  And it was true.  Derek handled the risk just fine.  “In fact, keeping you safe made us both happy.”
    “ You shouldn’t be doing such a thing in your condition.”
    Oh yes, I should, Erica thought and relaxed against the counter, looking down at the drug-addicted dirt bag huddled on the floor.  God, she was tired of seeing idiot people do bad things to good people.  Never would her son be like that.  Triumphal laughter welled in her soul, but she contained it inside.
    Mrs. Steinberg muttered, “This is just too much excitement for my bladder.”  She quickly shuffled to the doorway leading into the heart of the dry cleaners.
    Hardly aware of Mrs.