Night Thunder Read Online Free PDF Page A

minute and get the hell out of there!” Ricky roared into the phone.
    “But I can’t leave—”
    “Yes, you can. For me, Josy. I can’t let the cops get that package, you see? Get outta there. If he’s going to make it, the paramedics will save him. All you can do is get the hell out!”
    She was still frozen, still staring at Archie, who hadn’t moved a muscle, when she heard something else.
    The front door, squeaking open. Low voices.
    Pure instinct had her surging to her feet, trembling, edging out of sight of the front part of the house. She held her breath, clutching the cell phone, fear rushing at her.
    “Josy, do you hear—” She hit the
end
button to blot out Ricky’s shout and turned off the phone. Whoever was out there, it sure wasn’t the paramedics. Maybe whoever had shot Archie had come back to finish him off. Though from the looks of it, there was no need, she thought, her gaze shifting to him and then quickly away.
    She’d never seen a dead man before, but she was pretty sure she’d seen one now.
    She wanted to scream, but she clenched all her muscles tight, took a deep breath, and leaned forward ever so slightly so that she could peek around the doorway and down the hall. She just caught a glimpse of a man with dark blond hair dressed all in black—black blazer, black slacks, and a black gun in his hand.
Now, there’s a fashion
accessory I can do without,
she thought, jerking back out of sight.
    Ricky was right. She had to get out of here.
    There was a side door off the kitchen. She edged toward it, praying the floor wouldn’t creak. She took one last look back at Archie, who hadn’t moved or spoken a word, and opened the door.
    It led outside into a small unfenced yard. Carefully, she stepped out and closed the door after her.
    It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the hot darkness, but the moon riding high overhead helped and she saw a maze of backyards on either side of her.
    She ran toward the left and glanced at the street, praying the cab was still there, knowing it was her best chance.
    It was gone.
    Choking down panic, she veered away from the street, clutching her tote close, running faster than she’d ever thought she could in sandals with two-inch heels.
    She dashed through yards, past swing sets and fig trees and marigold gardens, running, running. She nearly ran over a couple of teenagers drinking beer on a beach towel spread across the grass and slowed down long enough to ask them where the nearest subway station was.
    They pointed her toward the Fort Hamilton stop, and she stumbled on. She had no idea how long she ran before she reached it. Every so often, she twisted her head around, trying to see if she was being followed. She wasn’t—yet. But even when she reached the F train and sank onto a seat in the back, she couldn’t believe she’d gotten away.
    “Faster,” she urged the train silently, as she slumped back, clutching her sides. Her head was pounding with the vision of a dead man on a linoleum floor, and another man with a gun, searching the house, looking for . . . what?
    The answer was obvious. For her. Or the package.
    Possibly both.
    I know I owe you, Ricky,
she thought miserably,
and I’ll
always be grateful—but what the hell have you gotten me
into?
A shudder racked her shoulders, and serious nausea clogged her throat.
    She pulled the tote closer and peered inside at the dark shape of the package. She needed to know what was inside it. And more important, she thought, fear eating through the inner lining of her stomach, how the hell was she going to get rid of it?
    By the time she reached the door of her apartment and had to try three times to fit her key in the lock because her hand was shaking so badly, she’d decided that things couldn’t get any worse.
    But then they did. She opened the door at last and gasped.
    Her lovely, tidy, chic, and comfortable apartment, the one place that felt more like home to her than any place she’d lived in