The Mist by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online

details. "Listen to me. I'm sending Yarborough over there. He'll check things out. Right now, you need to get everyone out of the building."
    "The fire was set," Owen said.
    "It was a bomb, Owen. Move now. Abigail's one of our own. We'll find her." But Owen was ex-military and one of the world's foremost experts in search-and-rescue. He was head of Fast Rescue, a renowned rapid response organization. He'd think he could find her, too. "You know this is different. It's not what you do--"
    "I'll be in touch."
    He disconnected.
    Bob didn't bother trying him again. Owen wouldn't answer. He'd get everyone out of the Federal Period house on Beacon Street owned by his family and used as the offices for their charitable foundation. Then he'd go after Abigail.
    "I'll get over there," Yarborough said.
    "There could be bombs at Fast Rescue headquarters in Austin and their field academy on Mount Desert Island. If people are there--"
    Yarborough gave a curt nod and ran back to his car.
    A self-starter. That was one good thing about him.
    Bob noticed his hands were steady as he hit more buttons on Yarborough's phone to see if Abigail's cell number popped up. It did, and he hit another button to dial it.
    One ring and he was put through to her voice mail.
    He waited impatiently for the tone, then said, "It's Bob. Call me."
    A young uniformed officer, a thin rookie with close-cropped blond hair, approached him with obvious concern. "Sir, you need to take it easy. Maybe you should sit down."
    "Maybe?"
    He grimaced and rephrased, "You should."
    "That's better. No maybes. Now go do something. I have to get back to my daughter. Keep the firefighters from tackling me to the ground."
    "Sir, I think you should get off your feet."
    "You think? Are you arguing with me?"
    The kid turned green. He'd need to get some spine if he was going to make it in the BPD. "No, sir, I'm not arguing with you. I'm telling you to stay back and let the firefighters do their job."
    Bob stared at the kid and felt nerves or craziness or something well up in him. He broke into a barking laugh, then covered it with a cough. He bent over, hawking up a giant black gob and spitting it on the sidewalk. When he stood up straight, he had the awful sensation that he was about to cry. Then he'd have to retire and buy a house next to his folks in Florida, because he'd be finished.
    The rookie was looking worried. "Lieutenant?"
    Bob went very still and pointed to a dark, still-moist substance on the curb about a yard up from where he'd spit. "There. Check that out. Looks like blood, doesn't it?"
    "I'll cordon off the area," the rookie said with a sharp breath.
    Bob bent over to get a closer look at the spot. It had to be blood. "Abigail didn't just step out for a walk," he said half to himself.
    "I don't think so, either, sir."
    He stood up straight. "What do you think, rookie?"
    The cop flushed but held his ground. "Everything suggests that Detective Browning has been kidnapped."
    "Yeah." Bob wiped the back of his hand across his face, the weight of what had just happened hitting him. The stark, stinking reality of it. "I think so, too."
    A line of shiny black SUVs rolled onto the residential street.
    "The feds," the rookie cop said. "How did they get here so fast?"
    "Abigail's father is in town."
    "The FBI director? Just what we need."
    The SUVs stopped well back of the fire trucks. Bob realized he didn't have enough of a head start to outrun the FBI.
    Nowhere to go, either.
    "The spot," Bob said to the rookie.
    The kid jumped into action and bolted for his cruiser, shouting to his partner, a woman who looked just as young, just as inexperienced.
    Down the street, Simon Cahill leaped out of the back of the middle SUV. He was a man who could dance an Irish jig and was in love with Bob's niece, Keira, but right now what Bob saw coming at him was pure FBI special agent.
    The SUV started moving, but stopped again. This time, John March got out. His iron-gray hair and dark gray suit were