Silent Witness Read Online Free PDF Page B

Rex Stallworth, their quickest linebacker. Tony heard the crunch of Stallworth’s helmet into the side of his face before the shock shivered his body and dropped him into darkness.
    The next sensation that came to him was the smell of dirt and grass. Tony rose to his knees, time lost to him.
    â€˜Tony!’ Sam cried out.
    By instinct, Tony looked up at the clock.
    Sixteen seconds, fifteen, fourteen. Tony staggered to his feet and loped to the center of the field. ‘Spike,’ he shouted. ‘On one.’
    Raggedly, the line took its position. ‘ Ten ,’ the Riverwood fans started chanting. ‘ Nine  . . .’
    â€˜ One ,’ Tony screamed. The ball was only a second in his hands before he spiked it to the ground. An incomplete pass, stopping the clock.
    Five seconds left.
    Tony backed from the line of scrimmage, taking deep breaths. He was nauseous, dizzy. His head rang.
    Sam was the first one to reach him. ‘You okay?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜Gotta pass to me, Tony. Please .’
    The team circled him again. Tony shook his head to clear it, then said to no one in particular, ‘Screwed that play up, didn’t I? Sonofabitch rang my bell for Parham.’
    Tony felt their quiet relief. Only Sam seemed too tight.
    â€˜Okay,’ Tony said. ‘We’ve got five seconds, twenty yards, no time-outs. Time to put this game away.’ He paused, looking at everyone but Sam. ‘Thirty-five reverse pass.’
    The huddle broke. Under his breath, Tony said to Sam, ‘It’s ours now, pal.’
    Sam nodded, ready. For the last time, they walked to the line with their team.
    Tony paused, taking it all in – the crowd, the light and darkness, the blue line of team-mates, the red formation across from them shouting jeers and insults. And then he shut out everything but what he meant to do.
    Time slowed for him. The cadence of his own voice seemed to come from somewhere else. But there was no other place that Tony wished to be.
    â€˜Hut two . . .’
    The ball popped into his hand.
    Tony slid the ball into Ernie Nixon’s stomach. Bent forward, Ernie plowed into the line in feigned determination as Tony pulled back the ball, spun, and slapped it into Johnny D’Abruzzi’s chest.
    But only for an instant.
    Johnny stood upright, crashing shoulder-first into a blitzing linebacker who was headed straight for Tony. And then Tony was alone, sprinting with the ball along the right side of the line.
    In front of him, he saw bodies scrambling – two linebackers running parallel to block his path, believing he would run for the end zone, his own blockers forming in front of him.
    Without seeming to look, Tony saw Sam break to the left sideline. Sam looked irrelevant, a decoy, so far was he from the sweep of the play.
    Abruptly, Sam broke back across the center of the field, three feet ahead of the back who covered him.
    Perfect, Tony thought.
    All at once he stopped, cocking the ball to throw. The crowd cried out in warning.
    From Tony’s blind side Stallworth charged for him, head down.
    Tony jerked back the ball, scrambling forward. As Stallworth swept, by, his outstretched arm grasped Tony’s ankle.
    Tony stumbled, losing his balance. Then he caught his fall, left hand digging into the grass.
    Ahead of him, two more linemen charged forward. Tony had nowhere to go. He could not see Sam; if he tried to pass, he would be defenseless against the onrushing tacklers.
    Tony stood straight, cocked his arm, and threw, with his weight on his front foot, toward where he thought Sam’s speed would take him. The ball left his hand an instant before the first defender hit Tony’s unprotected ribs.
    Tony felt his insides shift; the pain went through him as he hit the ground. By instinct he rolled on his side, sat up.
    The ball arched above the players who turned to watch it, helpless. Its flight seemed to slow, a sphere sailing through