The Walking Read Online Free PDF Page A

on my own. He doesn't know anything about this."
    "We can't provide protection," Miles said. "We're an investigative firm, not a security company--"
    "I know," she interrupted. "I just want you to find out who's doing this and why. After that we'll either go to the police with what we have or... or figure out something else."
    Find out who's doing this and why.
    As juvenile and stupid as it was, he felt energized. He was in his own movie now, and this made up for all those boring bureaucratic cases he was ordinarily forced to handle. He took out a pen and notebook.
    "Your father lives where?"
    "Santa Monica. 211 Eighth Street."
    "And you and your husband?"
    "Arizona. We're only out here for a few weeks. My husband's a writer, and he's meeting with some movie people about optioning his book."
    "So how much longer will you be staying in California?" "Probably another week or so." She paused. "Unless something else happens. I'm a teacher and I'm supposed to be back at work on January second, but if my dad's in danger... "We'll try to clean this up quickly." Miles smiled at her and she smiled back. "Your husband's a writer, huh? I assume that's how you met Phil Emmons."
    Her face brightened. "Yes! Phillip's been a godsend. Gordon met him at a horror convention in Phoenix last year, and he's the one who helped him find a movie agent. We're only out here today because of Phillip."
    Miles smiled. "Yeah. He's quite a guy."
    Marina cleared her throat embarrassedly. "He mentioned something about 'reasonable rates." I don't know how much you charge, but we can't afford too much. If you could give me an... estimate, let me know what we're looking at..."
    "Don't worry, about it. We"
    Naomi stuck her head around the corner of the cubicle. "Miles, phone."
    He raised his hand. "I'm with a client. Get a number and tell them that I'll call them back."
    "Miles, it's an emergency. Your father. He's in the hospital."
    He was instantly up and out of his chair. "Take care of her!" he shouted to Hal, motioning back toward his cubicle as he ran up the aisle toward the front desk. His heart seemed to have stopped, and his chest hurt by the time he reached Naomi's chair because he'd been holding his breath. He let out a huge exhalation of air, reached over the desk, and grabbed the phone, pressing the blinking light on the console. "Hello?" .... "Mr. Huerdeen
    His heart was pumping again. Not just pumping, pounding. He could barely hear over the sound of the blood thumping in his head. "What is it? What's happened?"
    "I'm sorry, Mr. Huerdeen, but your father has had a stroke."
    Stroke.
    It was not something he had expected, not anything he had ever thought about or even considered. Miles' mouth felt dry, and for a second he was afraid that he'd forgotten how to speak, but the words finally came out, weak and fearful. "How... how did it happen?"
    "He was at a grocery store when he collapsed. The manager immediately called the paramedics, and they rushed him here. We found your name and this contact number in his wallet."
    "Oh, God," Miles breathed. "Oh, Jesus." He leaned back against the wall for support, closing his eyes. He had a sudden picture in his mind of his father reaching for a can of soup and failing on the linoleum floor, taking shelves of groceries down with him, dying among strangers who had come
    to the store to buy food and were now dispassionately watching an old man take his last breath on their way to the produce department.
    "He's stable right now, but he's not conscious, and we're keeping him monitored in the CCU. He's most likely suffered some brain damage, although we won't know the extent of it until--- ..... "What hospital?"
    Miles demanded.
    "St. Luke's on--' ....... I'll be right there." Miles slammed down the phone just as Naomi reached her desk. "Have Hal take over that client for me." He hit the elevator's Down button. "I'm not sure when I'll be back."
    "Is your father all right?"
    "He's had a stroke." Miles slammed his palm