She Can Run by Melinda Leigh Read Free Book Online Page A

right.” Jack adjusted the ice pack. “So, what do you think of our new houseguests?”
    “Something’s not right with them.” Mrs. Harris stepped to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Coors Light. She handed it to him and he twisted the cap off for her. “Do you think they’re in some sort of trouble?”
    “Who knows?” Jack shook his head. “But keep your eyes open. Just in case.”
    “Don’t you worry. Not much gets by me.” Mrs. Harris tipped the bottle back for a long swallow.
    No shit.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    Sweat rolled down James Dieter’s back as he methodically wiped the kitchen surfaces with glass cleaner. He finished the cabinets and did a quick walk around, checking for any remaining sign of Beth or the kids. He’d disposed of everything that could possibly hold a print or be traced. The place was squeaky fucking clean.
    At the other end of the small apartment the window air conditioner groaned. He crossed the worn carpet and switched it off. Summer in Virginia was a bitch, but the heat didn’t bother him much. Anybody who complained about the temperature or humidity should belly crawl through a jungle in ‘Nam in full combat gear.
    Before leaving, he glanced out the window at the street below. Droplets of condensation obscured the view, but so far, so good. There was no sign of the slick, pony-tailed man yet, but he was on his way. Coming for Beth. James had envisioned him in vivid detail just this morning. And the hair on the back of his neck itched. A sure sign fate was ready to collect her due. Well, thanks to some funky wiring in his head, James was ready.
    He slipped out the door and down the wooden stairs, letting himself back into the small neighborhood tavern he’d owned for more than a decade.
    Ten minutes later, as he perched on a stool tallying the previous night’s receipts, the hair on his nape quivered as if the air were charged with a weak electric current. It was an alert system, rather than an indication of fear. His long-conditioned senses recognized when precognition and reality were about to collide. And he knew some major-league shit was about to hit the fan.
    Outside, a car door closed.
    Slick was here.
    He swung his legs over the bar and ducked. The persistent itch felt like an old friend as he strained for a sound that would give away the intruder’s position.
    Outside, the wooden staircase creaked. A shadow crossed the window as it ascended. James stepped closer and peered sideways through the mini-blind slats. Morning sunlight glinted off the barrel of the gun in Slick’s hand. The guy thought he was slick all right, sneaking up on an old man, a woman, and a couple of kids, but Slick had a surprise in store for him this morning.
    Mr. Magoo was going Rambo on his ass.
    James slipped behind the bar, squatted down, and pulled out a locked metal box. He transferred a handgun to his pocket but kept the razor-sharp Ka-Bar in his hand. His fingers curled around the familiar, thick grip of the knife that had been a part of him for decades.
    Footsteps squeaked overhead.
    Moving quietly, James crept toward the door. He caught the first whiff of smoke. Through another faint creak, he located the intruder on the steps. James timed his next move. The man moved past the door. James opened it and yanked the slimy little weasel inside by his ratty hair.
    “What the fuck?” Slick was surprised all right, bested by a senior citizen.
    “Who are you?” James held him by his greasy ponytail, lifting him up onto his toes. He pressed the sharp blade against Slick’s throat.
    “This place is on fire, man. We gotta get outa here.” Beads of moisture trickled down Slick’s face and soaked through his shirt.
    “Everybody’s got to go sometime. I’ve lived a long life. How about you?” The truth was, James didn’t fear death as much as he feared dying. And he’d much rather go out in battle than die piece by piece like Gloria.
    “Come on man, let’s go outside and talk.” Slick