Never Alone (43 Light Street) by Rebecca York

Author:Rebecca York [York, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-14T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Beth leaped out of bed, snatching up the paper she’d set on the nightstand, then ran barefoot to the phone and dialed 911.

When the dispatcher came on the line, she had to take a breath before she could speak. “Cal Rollins has been hurt.”

“Can you describe the nature of the injury?”

“It’s his head.”

“Is he conscious? Can he talk to you?”

“He’s not here. He’s at a warehouse off Pulaski Highway.”

“He called you?”

“No.” She stopped, gulped in air, then rushed to explain because that was her only option. “He’s working with me on the Hallie Bradshaw case. I—I had a psychic vision of Hallie’s abduction. That’s how I started working with Cal. Now I know he’s in trouble. I know the same way I knew about Hallie.”

“I’m not familiar with the Hallie Bradshaw case, ma’am. Are you saying you’ve had a psychic vision of Detective Rollins in trouble?” the dispatcher asked, his voice skeptical.

“Yes!” she screamed into the phone. “Yes.”

“Pulaski Highway is out of our jurisdiction, ma’am. I’ll transfer you to the Baltimore County Police.”

In the next moment the line went dead.

Great! They’d been cut off.

She slammed down the phone, dialed information.

This time she was smart enough to say she’d gotten a tip from an eyewitness who had called her on his cell phone to say a man in back of 231 Field Road had a serious head injury. Once she’d told the dispatcher what she could, she asked which hospital Cal would most likely be taken to. After finding out it was Mercy General, she slammed down the phone, pulled on her shoes and ran down the stairs.

First she let Granger out. While he was doing his business, she filled his water dish and poured out dry food.

Then she checked an area map to make sure she could find the hospital. Twenty minutes after she’d first leaped out of bed, she was speeding down the farm road.

DAMIEN PUSHED the rewind button on the video recorder and waited impatiently for the machine to do its thing. He’d set the tape to record the broadcasting on Channel 13. And he’d kept it on through the evening news.

“Ted Banner’s dead,” he said, speaking loudly because he was pleased with himself. “Too bad Jim Fitch is still alive. He should be dead, too.”

And so should some of the others, like that loudmouth Ned Brentley.

He smiled as he stared at the screen, watching the cute little girl reporter do her thing. She didn’t know what was going on. Nobody did. Nobody knew he’d walked into the restaurant, ordered a drink at the bar, then gone down the hall to the men’s room, and slipped into the utility closet next door, where the circuit-breaker box was located. He knew which circuit controlled the room where the meeting was being held because he’d scoped them out earlier in the week. With the night-vision glasses in his carry bag, he’d made it down the darkened hallway and into the room within seconds. He’d seen the turkeys flapping around in there—all in a panic—and it had been tempting to pick a bunch of them off.

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