Gundown by Ray Rhamey Read Free Book Online Page A

known.”
    “Mr. Stone has every right to say what he wants, and I have every right to not like it.” Beneath a gaze as flat as a viper’s, the smile came again. “And I don’t tell people to go around shooting other people.” If smiles could kill . . .
    Mitch grunted. When Hank glanced at him, he said, “Her eyes. You wonder if there’s a . . .” He frowned. “. . . a human being in there.”
    Hank knew that look in her eyes. There’d been times in Afghanistan he’d felt like he was made of stone. He’d caught the same cold look on his own face in a Kabul window—just before a sniper’s bullet shattered the glass. He clicked the remote and Colonel Hanson disappeared.
    Mitch’s gaze wandered over Hank’s bandages. “So, are you going to be all right?” He seemed to mean it. Sure he did. He was worried about getting some dirt on Noah Stone.
    “I’ll be all right. Bullet tore up some muscle and cracked a rib.”
    Mitch scowled. “Why’d you do it? Stop that guy.”
    Hank replayed his actions. There had been no thought. There was no “why.” He shrugged, and it hurt. “Reflex, I guess. Years of being focused on protecting people.” He gazed at Mitch. “You’d have been okay with an assassination?”
    Mitch’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. No. That was shocking.”
    “Weren’t you asking me about ‘being prepared’ with a gun?”
    “Yes. But that was theory, this was . . . reality.” He shook his head. “What counts now is what happens next. How long will you be laid up?”
    “I’ll be mission-ready in a few days. Stone came to see me. He’s grateful. I’m invited to join him out in the Oregon boonies.”
    Mitch nodded. “Super.” He took out a business card and a pen. “Don’t try taking a gun into Oregon. They check everyone flying into the state and all luggage.” As he wrote, he said, “This’s a gun-rights activist there who can get you a weapon.” He handed the card to Hank. “Nobody but you and me and him had better ever know that password.”
    Hank took the card. “Like you said, be prepared.”
    “Good luck.” Mitch turned toward the door, then stopped and faced Hank. “What did you think of Noah Stone?”
    “Powerful. But to do what?”
    “Change things. For the worse.”
    “You’re right, Mitch. He needs to be stopped.”

    Run for Your Life
    When Jewel’s bus pulled up to Harrison Courts, the dim light of dusk did little to mask its shabbiness. She remembered all the talk when they started “renovating” the development—the mayor had said they would “cure a cancer.” Yeah, right. The place swarmed with low-life squatters and gangbangers.
    Slow-moving after a grinding day of job-hunting, she was the last to leave the bus. Head down, clutching a can of Mace pepper spray, she scurried across a bare dirt courtyard behind a small cluster of blacks and Latinos. Not that she thought her Mace would do much good; the men—more often teenagers—who mugged and raped wore masks and sunglasses that blocked the worst of it. And there were usually guns in their hands.
    Passing the Out of Service sign that had been taped to her elevator for a year, she trudged up four flights of stairs, breathing through her mouth to avoid the smell of urine.
    When she unlocked the three deadbolts on her apartment door, Chloe’s voice on the other side shouted, “Mommy!” Jewel pushed the door open, and a hurtle of little girl raced into her arms. She scooped up her daughter, a four-year-old force of nature. Juana, the twelve-year-old neighbor who looked after Chloe, lowered her pepper spray and hurried to bolt the door.
    Jewel set Chloe down and took a moment to simply gaze at her. She loved looking at her girl, and not because she was her spittin’ image—same milky-brown skin, same nose and big smile—but because of her innocence and bright flame of life.
    “Chloe, love, you been a good child today?”
    Chloe bounced on her tiptoes and chirped, “I was, Mommy. We played, and I