Holly Barker - 01 - Orchid Beach by Stuart Woods

Author:Stuart Woods
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9781568957746
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

33

Jackson set the little airplane down on the sand, cut the engine and simultaneously stood on the brakes. The airplane ground to a halt on the firm beach. “Come on,” he yelled, hopping out of the airplane. He sprinted across the beach toward the house. As they approached, the electronic siren of the burglar alarm became louder.

Holly grabbed her handbag and followed. “Jackson, stop!”

He kept running, but he had reached dry, soft sand now, and that slowed him down.

Holly used her last few yards of hard sand to catch up. “Stop, goddamnit!” she hollered.

Jackson plowed on.

Holly slung the strap of her bag over her head and tackled Jackson, bringing him down. “Hold it right here!” she yelled.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, trying to get to his feet.

Holly dug her gun out of her bag. “This part is my job. You stay behind me!” She started across the dunes toward the house, with Jackson running behind her. As she hit the back porch she threw down her bag and struggled with the glass sliding doors.

Jackson reached the porch and came up with his key. “Hang on,” he yelled, unlocking the door. “Now go!”

Holly slid open the door and stepped into the house, pistol out in front of her in both hands, finger on the trigger guard. A tinny voice was screaming, over and over, “Unauthorized entry in progress! Vacate the premises at once! The police are on the way!”

Jackson stepped inside and disarmed the alarm with the keypad beside the door. The voice and siren went silent.

Holly listened for sounds of someone inside the house. Nothing. The front door stood open, and she heard the truck start up and its tires spit gravel. “Come on!” she yelled. “Get your shotgun!” She ran out of the house and down the stairs. The rear of the truck was just disappearing behind some foliage, and she kept running. As she reached the driveway, she caught one more glimpse of it way ahead as it turned right and headed toward Orchid.

Jackson caught up to her and stopped, the shotgun in his hands. “Did you get the plate number?”

“No, all I saw was a big ‘Ford’ stamped into the tailgate. It was a Florida plate, though.” She turned and ran for the house. By the time Jackson got there, she was on the phone, dialing 911.

“Orchid Beach Police, what is your emergency?” the operator asked.

“This is Chief Barker. I interrupted a burglary in progress south of town. The suspect is a white male in a white Ford pickup truck, Florida plates, I didn’t get the number, heading north on A1A near the south end of town. Intercept and detain; approach with caution, he may be armed.”

“Got it, Chief.”

“Call me on my cell phone with any sightings.”

“Roger.”

Holly hung up. “We may get him yet.”

“Let’s pursue him,” Jackson said. “He hasn’t got that much of a start.”

“He’s a mile away by now, maybe two, and my car doesn’t have a siren or a light; let’s let the patrol cars handle it.

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