Ransom River by Meg Gardiner Read Free Book Online Page B

expression of concern, Nixon shouted, “Here is a list of my demands.”
    Dammit.
My
demands. Nixon deliberately wanted to mislead the police into thinking there was only one attacker inside. Why?
    Maybe to deceive the authorities in a way that would help him escape. With hostages. Maybe to ambush any cops who rushed the courtroom expecting resistance from a single gunman. To take out as many officers as he and Reagan could before they went down themselves.
    “Got a pen?” Nixon shouted. “Write this down.”
    Rory looked again at the parking garage. There had to be cops in there. They had to be watching the courthouse. However, with hostages crammed against the windows, those cops couldn’t see the two gunmen.
    But they could see her.

8

    T he scene at the perimeter was crowded and chaotic. Police black-and-whites blocked either end of the street outside the courthouse, and uniforms pushed back any civilian who lingered too long near the building, playing lookie-loo. The cops had no sawhorse barricades but had strung yellow police tape to mark the danger line. The crowd pressed close, angling for a good view. Noisy, confused, some with their hands to their mouths, others on tiptoe, they peered at the courthouse, trying to see the mayhem. Which, frankly, wasn’t obvious from street level.
    A Los Angeles television news crew toughed it out and barged through the crowd, the cameraman and reporter forging past people. When the police turned their backs, the news crew ducked beneath the yellow tape so they could get footage of the swarm. The reporter grabbed sound bites from people. Witnesses to horror.
    “Cops drove up like an invasion…”
    “Heard there was shooting inside…”
    “Those poor people against the windows. My God, like fish in a barrel…”
    The reporter got a one-on-one with a man who was near tears. The guy kept putting his hand to his forehead and waving at the courthouse. Great visuals.
    In the background, off to the side, the cameraman noticed a young woman pushing her way to the front of the crowd. Her face was strained with shock. She was in her late twenties, a perfect Southern Californiabeauty. A stunner, actually. Sleek black hair that shone almost blue with the sun. Eyes to match, feline and hot. A nose ring. A sleeveless red T-shirt, unbuttoned to show creamy and perfectly augmented breasts.
    Honey shot,
his instincts screamed. He tapped the reporter on the shoulder, trying to refocus his attention from Angsty Man to the frightened beauty.
    “What the hell?” the beauty said. “What’s going on?”
    An older woman said, “Terrorist attack on the courthouse.”
    Honey Shot put a hand to her head. “Oh my God.”
    “I heard shooting. I heard the gunfire,” the older woman said.
    The man behind her added, “It’s the Mirkovic trial. They’ve got everybody trapped in the courtroom.”
    Honey Shot gaped at the courthouse, openly horrified. “No.”
    “Yeah, look which courtroom it is. That’s the Mirkovic trial.”
    “Oh Jesus.”
    Finally alerted by the strength of her reaction, the reporter turned to her. The cameraman refocused. Honey Shot looked near tears.
    “You sure? You goddamned sure?” she said.
    The crowd nodded. She let out a harsh cry.
    The reporter said, “Miss—”
    “My cousin’s in there,” she said.
    Everybody’s attention clicked toward her.
    “My cousin’s a juror on the Mirkovic case. Is this for real?”
    “Miss, what’s your cousin’s name?” the reporter said.
    She pressed her hands to her head. “Rory Mackenzie.”

    “Number one,” Nixon shouted. “Defendants Jared Smith and Lucy Elmendorf will plead guilty to the murder of Brad Mirkovic.”
    Surprise rippled through the courtroom. At the defense table, Jared Smith said, “
What?
”
    “Two,” Nixon called. “Both defendants will sign a confession to themurder. This confession will describe their crime in full and complete detail. It will include a statement admitting they took Brad