Storm Justice by Pamela Cowan

Author:Pamela Cowan [Cowan, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781942368731
Google: KhbSoAEACAAJ
Amazon: 0692214259
Barnesnoble: 0692214259
Goodreads: 24871504
Publisher: Running Horse
Published: 2014-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FOR THEIR SECOND attempt, Howard stole a dark-gray van. “White would have looked sort of suspicious, you know. The killers in books always drive those white panel vans,” he explained.

Not in a mood for levity, Storm had clenched her teeth and managed a painful smile. She couldn’t think of anything to say. At least this time she realized there was no need to arrive so early. The Cooler wasn't that popular a night spot. Parking was not going to be an issue.

She’d also made up a better excuse for Tom. One of the admin staff was retiring after thirty years, and as was customary, several of her coworkers were joining her for drinks at a local watering hole. Such events could go on pretty late. She ran home before going out, ostensibly to change clothes.

“Don’t wait up for me,” she told him. “So glad I don’t have work tomorrow. Why don’t you think about something fun for us to do?”

“Will do,” Tom agreed. “Promise you’ll call if you need a ride.”

“I will. But don’t worry. You know the plan—drink early, drink much, spend the rest of the night sobering up.”

“Totally sober, or you call,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, dear.” Feeling like a kid sneaking out, a mixture of excitement and guilt rolling through her stomach in a not completely unpleasant way, Storm escaped.

Despite the lights around The Cooler, it was definitely nighttime. The shadows were deep and black. There was also a stillness and chill to the air and on the street, an air of Friday-night impatience.

Storm rolled her shoulders, pressed her head into the headrest of her car seat, and sighed with impatience. If it didn’t work, she would have to tell Howard it was over. They’d have to find someone else to take. There had been three women under consideration. She’d obviously made a bad choice.

As she was considering whether to phone Howard and suggest they call it a night, the door to The Cooler opened, and Angela Ruiz stepped out. Alone. She wore a tight black leather skirt, a white tank top that blazed under the lights, and platform heels Storm thought looked like horses hooves. Storm wondered if the woman was too drunk to notice how inappropriate her clothes were for the frigid night.

Storm fumbled for her phone and dropped it twice before grasping it with both hands and hitting the call button. Howard answered before she heard it ring.

“She’s here and she’s by herself. I’m going now.” She hung up without waiting for a response, opened the door, and stepped out. Her legs felt heavy, half asleep. She'd been sitting for too long.

As she walked toward Angela Ruiz, Storm tried to keep the pace of someone going somewhere, but not in a huge hurry to arrive. Realizing her hands were shaking and damp, as if she were about to deliver a speech to a large audience, Storm took time for a couple deep, calming breaths.

Easy, this is just your client, she reminded herself.

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