Christy Barritt - Squeaky Clean 08 - Foul Play by Christy Barritt

Author:Christy Barritt [Barritt, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Christian Mystery: Cozy - Crime Scene Cleaner - Virginia
Publisher: River Heights
Published: 2014-09-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

“Police! Down on the floor! Now!” a voice demanded through the smoke.

What in the world? I clutched Garrett’s hand as we stepped inside, ready to clear this up.

“I said down on the floor!” A man appeared from the haziness with some kind of high-powered rifle in his hands. He had full body gear on and a SWAT vest.

I was coughing so badly I could hardly think. I didn’t have time to argue—and I had better sense. I lay on the floor, face down and hands out. Garrett did the same.

I turned my head, and at least six police officers in SWAT uniform came into view.

“Sir, are you okay?” one of the officers asked Garrett. He helped him to his feet and pulled him back.

“Of course I’m okay. What’s going on?” he demanded.

I started to stand, also. The officers had obviously realized this was a terrible misunderstanding. That’s why they were talking kindly to Garrett now.

“Stay down!” the officer yelled my way. “Cuff her!”

“Cuff me? What is going on?” I was seriously confused.

“Don’t hurt her!” Garrett lunged toward me, but an officer held him back. “What’s the nature of this?”

Another officer slapped some cuffs on my wrists and pulled me to my feet with enough force that my arms felt like they might snap. He pushed me against the wall.

“Search the house!” the oversized, testosterone-filled, man-in-charge ordered.

Another officer kicked the remains of a flashbang grenade out of the way. Finally the air started to clear, revealing a whole army of police officers dressed like they were going to war. The terror coursing through me intensified. In fact, as more details came together in my mind, I felt more distressed than ever.

I caught a glimpse of Garrett’s door, hanging loosely on one hinge. Had the police used a battering ram to get inside?

Something was seriously messed up now. If there was an emergency in the building, like a fire or bomb threat, we’d already have been ushered out in an evacuation.

Instead I felt like we were the danger. Or, in all reality, that I was the danger.

“I insist you take those handcuffs off her!” Garrett started toward me again.

Rambo’s bossy twin brother stopped him again. “We’ll decide that.”

“I demand to know what’s going on—why you’ve charged into my residence like this!” The veins at Garrett’s temples bulged and his eyes were wide with outrage.

“We received a report of a hostage situation here at the house,” Rambo informed us.

“From who?” Garrett asked. Emotion charged through his voice.

“From you,” the officer said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “Gabby St. Claire went over the edge and was holding you at gunpoint. You feared for your life and requested immediate assistance.”

“I never made any such call. Now, can you please let her go? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Everyone, stand down!” Rambo Jr. ordered. He raised the shield covering his face and lowered his gun. “Sir, the call came from your IP address.”

“From my IP address? That’s impossible. Ms. St. Claire and I have been conversing for the past hour.

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