Coffeehouse Mysteries - 07 - Espresso Shot by Cleo Coyle

Author:Cleo Coyle
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780425221778
Publisher: New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2008.
Published: 2008-09-30T03:38:03+00:00

QUEENS TASK FORCE NORTH

“We’re saved, Roman! This is a police station!”

I reached for the big man’s arm, but he pulled away. “I’m not going to the police!”

“What! Why not? We just got robbed, assaulted, and one of the bad guys is still out there looking for us.”

Roman dismissed my concern with a wave of his hand. “You’re paranoid, Clare. Those banditos are long gone by now.”

“We can file a theft report. You want your watch back, don’t you?”

Roman folded his arms. “Not that badly. If word ever got out that I went to the law, I’d never get invited to another underground restaurant, ever again!”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Roman turned his back on me and walked away. I was so angry I was tempted to let him go it alone. But as I watched the stubborn food critic huff and puff up Northern, I realized he was oblivious to the danger and utterly incapable of taking care of himself. If anything happened to Roman, I’d feel terrible. So I followed him.

By the time we reached Main Street, it was so late the place was nearly deserted. The click of my heels on the cracked concrete was the only sound as we passed darkened storefronts, shuttered magazine kiosks, and empty bus shelters. We were the only two people riding the long escalator down to the train. Except for the sleepy MTA clerk in the service booth, I saw no one in the subway station, either.

Because Main Street was the end of the line, there was a train already idling on the tracks. We walked the length of the last car and entered the next to the last, both of which were empty. Breathless, we dropped into the plastic orange seats.

“Men like Rafe Chastain may relish a life of adventure on the wild frontier,” Roman said, “but after a night like this, I can’t wait to get back to civilization.”

The announcer’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Number 7 to Manhattan. This train is running express. Express train! First stop Junction Boulevard!”

The doors closed and opened again—something that happens when a passenger tries to board the train at the last minute and gets hung up in the door instead.

“Please let go of the doors in the rear of the train,” the conductor warned.

The doors closed again (all the way this time) and the train rolled into the dark tunnel.

“Wait a minute!” I said. “We’re at the rear of the train, aren’t we?”

Roman saw my alarmed expression and turned pale. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t think our adventure is over yet.”

I rose to my feet. The floor lurched under my heels, and I stumbled to the door at one end of the train car. Through its window I saw Dragon Man in the middle of the last car, walking down the aisle in our direction. His mask was off, and he appeared to be part-Hispanic, part-Asian, with angular features, a shaved head, and the hard, catlike gaze of a predator.

I turned. “Run, Roman!”

“Run? Run where?”

“To the next car!”

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him up the aisle.

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