people who killed cops.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell on you." Mario must have read the fear in her face, because he smirked at her. " 'Less you don't do what I tell you, that is." His gaze shifted downward. "Pick up that gun."
He nodded to the gun he'd used to kill Orange Jumpsuit.
When Kate hesitated, staring down at it without moving while her mind raced a mile a minute, he looked at her again and added in a sharper tone, "Do it."
At the moment, he held all the cards.
Brriing ...
She did what he said numbly, without another question or protest, not even bothering to make a show of standing up to him. It was useless, anyway. He knew how completely at his mercy she was. And so did she.
As she straightened, she saw that the gun in Mario's hand— Orange Jumpsuit's gun—was now pointed straight at her. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment she didn't understand. Then she did. She was now holding a loaded weapon. Once upon a time, under similar circumstances, Kat might have thought fast enough and been ruthless enough to have shot him with that gun.
Problem solved.
The intervening years had rendered Kate too civilized.
She took a deep breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her stomach twisted itself into a pretzel. Her knees turned to Jell-O.
"You can't tell on me without telling on yourself," she said.
Their eyes met. He smiled at her. It was a small, self-satisfied smile.
"But see, that's the beauty of it. Way I see it is, of the two of us I got a whole lot less to lose."
Brriing.
Oh, God.
"Okay, baby, listen up. Here's how this thing is gonna go down."
She sucked in air. Her insides shook. Her grip tightened on the gun.
She listened.
And when she was done listening, she picked up the phone.
C h a p t e r 9
BEN'S SCHOOL, Greathouse Elementary, was a large, boxy, two-story brick rectangle with neat rows of aluminum-clad windows looking out over a grassy playground and sports field in back and a tree-lined circular driveway in front. The building was old and institutional-looking. The trees were redbuds, pretty when they bloomed in the spring, according to some pictures Kate had seen, but shapeless and gray now under the steady onslaught of the rain. The driveway curved to the edge of an overhang that sheltered the front steps and the main entrance. Matching signs on either side of the covered part of the concrete walk that led to the stairs warned No Parking, Fire Lane.
Kate ignored the signs, pulling her blue Toyota Camry next to the yellow-painted curb right in front of the overhang. She'd had the heat blasting on high in hopes of drying her wet hair and clothes during the twenty-minute drive between the DA's office at 3 South Penn Square and Ben's school in the Northeast Philadelphia suburb where they lived, but she still felt cold and clammy. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that except for a few wavy tendrils in front that had been hit by the full blast of the heat, her hair remained a damp mess. Twisting it up in back and stabbing the resultant wet knot through with a pair of bobby pins she fished out of the cup holders between the seats, she grabbed her umbrella from the backseat and got out. The cool air made her shiver; the drumming cascade hitting her umbrella echoed the still-accelerated thudding of her heart. Rain poured onto the umbrella but left her untouched, and she felt like sticking her tongue out at it as she made it to the overhang without getting any wetter than she already was. Closing and shaking the umbrella as she went up the shallow concrete steps, she did a quick mental inventory and decided that except for the gray sneakers from the gym bag she kept in the car, which, having shed her ruined hose, she now wore over bare feet, she looked relatively normal.
Which was important, for Ben's sake.
She had to try three of the four side-by-side front doors before happening upon the one farthest to the right, which was unlocked. Keeping the others locked was one of the
"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell on you." Mario must have read the fear in her face, because he smirked at her. " 'Less you don't do what I tell you, that is." His gaze shifted downward. "Pick up that gun."
He nodded to the gun he'd used to kill Orange Jumpsuit.
When Kate hesitated, staring down at it without moving while her mind raced a mile a minute, he looked at her again and added in a sharper tone, "Do it."
At the moment, he held all the cards.
Brriing ...
She did what he said numbly, without another question or protest, not even bothering to make a show of standing up to him. It was useless, anyway. He knew how completely at his mercy she was. And so did she.
As she straightened, she saw that the gun in Mario's hand— Orange Jumpsuit's gun—was now pointed straight at her. Her heart skipped a beat. For a moment she didn't understand. Then she did. She was now holding a loaded weapon. Once upon a time, under similar circumstances, Kat might have thought fast enough and been ruthless enough to have shot him with that gun.
Problem solved.
The intervening years had rendered Kate too civilized.
She took a deep breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her stomach twisted itself into a pretzel. Her knees turned to Jell-O.
"You can't tell on me without telling on yourself," she said.
Their eyes met. He smiled at her. It was a small, self-satisfied smile.
"But see, that's the beauty of it. Way I see it is, of the two of us I got a whole lot less to lose."
Brriing.
Oh, God.
"Okay, baby, listen up. Here's how this thing is gonna go down."
She sucked in air. Her insides shook. Her grip tightened on the gun.
She listened.
And when she was done listening, she picked up the phone.
C h a p t e r 9
BEN'S SCHOOL, Greathouse Elementary, was a large, boxy, two-story brick rectangle with neat rows of aluminum-clad windows looking out over a grassy playground and sports field in back and a tree-lined circular driveway in front. The building was old and institutional-looking. The trees were redbuds, pretty when they bloomed in the spring, according to some pictures Kate had seen, but shapeless and gray now under the steady onslaught of the rain. The driveway curved to the edge of an overhang that sheltered the front steps and the main entrance. Matching signs on either side of the covered part of the concrete walk that led to the stairs warned No Parking, Fire Lane.
Kate ignored the signs, pulling her blue Toyota Camry next to the yellow-painted curb right in front of the overhang. She'd had the heat blasting on high in hopes of drying her wet hair and clothes during the twenty-minute drive between the DA's office at 3 South Penn Square and Ben's school in the Northeast Philadelphia suburb where they lived, but she still felt cold and clammy. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that except for a few wavy tendrils in front that had been hit by the full blast of the heat, her hair remained a damp mess. Twisting it up in back and stabbing the resultant wet knot through with a pair of bobby pins she fished out of the cup holders between the seats, she grabbed her umbrella from the backseat and got out. The cool air made her shiver; the drumming cascade hitting her umbrella echoed the still-accelerated thudding of her heart. Rain poured onto the umbrella but left her untouched, and she felt like sticking her tongue out at it as she made it to the overhang without getting any wetter than she already was. Closing and shaking the umbrella as she went up the shallow concrete steps, she did a quick mental inventory and decided that except for the gray sneakers from the gym bag she kept in the car, which, having shed her ruined hose, she now wore over bare feet, she looked relatively normal.
Which was important, for Ben's sake.
She had to try three of the four side-by-side front doors before happening upon the one farthest to the right, which was unlocked. Keeping the others locked was one of the
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