Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

drawn a weapon, or suddenly remembered he was a champion street fighter or something, but as it is, he did what was natural for almost anyone who is attacked by a crazed, poker-bearing pastor who has just been wakened from his post-adrenaline nap: he ran.
    The triple beep of the alarm system went off again, suggesting another intruder. I shouted as loud as could, whirled, ran to the alarm keypad , and hit the panic button.
    Wild sirens went off while I spun back around looking for the second invader. No one was in sight. Within ten seconds , my phone rang. It was the alarm company.
    “We show that your alarm is going off,” said a calm female voice at the other end. “Is everything OK?”
    I felt like I was on a TV commercial. “No,” I said. “Someone – maybe two people – just tried to break in while I was napping.”
    “The police are on their way,” she said. “ Please stay on the line with me until they get there.”
    In the TV commercials I'd seen, the burglars always ran away when the sirens went off. I could understand why – it was so loud, I wanted to run too, but I left the sirens on, and I stayed put by the front door, with the poker in hand, just in case anybody had been wearing earplugs.
    While I waited, I noticed that my leg had begun to hurt again. Looking down, I could see that the bandage was soaked with fresh blood.
    When the police arrived , I shut off the alarm. They were from the county, since I lived well outside the town limits. One was a young, short, blond woman named Sam. Her partner was a tall, lean , middle - aged guy with a shaved head. His name plate said Nelson.
    Officer Sam noticed my leg immediately. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
    I shook my head. “I got this a few days ago at the bank. Probably just busted it open chasing that guy out of here.”
    “I heard about that,” said Nelson.
    “I know you,” said Sam. “You were involved in that courthouse business last year. Didn't you get shot in the same place then?”
    “Other leg,” I said. “But thanks for remembering. I'm Jonah Borden.”
    “Sam,” she said. “And this is O fficer Nelson.”
    “Rick,” he said, sticking out his hand.
    “Are you kidding me?” I said. “Ricky Nelson? What happened to the hair? ”
    “Careful,” he said. “I'm a lot bigger than you.” But then he grinned.
    “So what's up here?” asked Sam.
    I told them about the intruders. They poked around a little bit and found the window to my office was open. We couldn't see that anything was missing or disturbed.
    “Not much more we can do,” said Nelson. “No description of the suspect. According to you, nothing taken or damaged.”
    Sam finished writing in her notebook. “Call us if you realize later that something is missing,” she said. “In the meantime, keep your doors locked and your alarm on.”
    I'm not normally nervous or jumpy when I'm alone in my cabin in the woods overlooking Superior, a mile from my nearest neighbor. But for some reason that evening, every time I glanced up at the night outside the glass of my patio door, I could swear a man in black clothes and a ski mask had just stepped away from the light into the darkness beyond.
    At around eight, I heard a subtle noise coming from my office. It sounded like someone was moving around, but trying to be very quiet about it. I remembered that the window had been opened there this afternoon. My heart began to pound. I stepped over to my stereo, plugg ed in my iPod, and turned on some tunes. I glanced over my shoulder but no one was coming out of my office door yet. Covered, I hoped, by the sound of the music, I walked over to the fireplace and picked up the poker again. Then I stepped softly in my stocking-feet toward my office. I could have hit the panic button on the alarm, but I would have felt pretty stupid if it was nothing.
    I waited outside the office door for a long time. Now I regretted putting on the music, because I couldn’t hear as well. At last I heard