You Can't Stop Me. Max Allan Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ would find a way.

TWO

      Chapter Four

      Though he’d never admit it, not under threat of torture or death even, Jeff Ferguson loved his older sister.

      She’d just helped him with his sixth-grade math homework—he felt a grudging respect for Jessica and her ability to do the kind of complex story problems that a calculator couldn’t dent.

      Like everything with Jessica, her aid came at a price. Jeff would be taking his sister’s shift doing the dishes every other night. That meant dishes duty for a solid week.

      Jeff’s dad, the town marshal, would call this cheating. But it wasn’t like Jessica had just filled in the answers for Jeff—she’d shown him, as they went along, how to solve the complicated problems. In fact, he had done the last two on his own, Jess watching over his shoulder.

      Blond and blue-eyed, the pair could have been clones of their mother, a successful real estate agent here in Placida, Florida. Jessica was in the eighth grade, but seemed older than that to Jeff.

      Sometimes, though, she seemed really immature to him. She texted constantly during various stupid shows that she and her clique of girlfriends found “awesome,” always about girls their age or a little older and a lot richer. Jeff had agreed to make sure Jess didn’t get busted by Mom for texting when she was supposed to be doing homework—that was the second half of his payment for the math boost.

      Even in the family room, where he sat curled on the floor in stocking feet with his math book, Jeff could detect the wafting aroma of spaghetti and meatballs, a family favorite. The tomato sauce would mean extra scrubbing when he did the dishes tonight, but why complain? He was guaranteed an A on his math homework, and he loved spaghetti.

      Then he heard the sound of trouble—Mom’s heels clicking in the hallway.

      “Jess,” he hissed, voice low.

      His sister, eyes glued to the family room’s big TV, didn’t hear him, or those clicking heels either.

      “Jess,” he tried again, struggling to keeping it low enough to avoid their mother’s radar-like hearing, but loud enough to snap his sister out of her texting trance.

      Still no response.

      Panicking now, knowing that if he slipped up in his guard duty, Jess would make his life eternally miserable, the boy did the only thing he could think of: he hurled his pen at his sister’s noggin.

      After the pen careened off her skull, she spun on him, her eyes wide with homicidal rage.

      Making a terrified face, he pointed violently toward the hallway, and Jess’s expression melted immediately. She fumbled for, and got, his pen, tossed it back, hid the offending phone under a pillow, and turned down the TV to a more reasonable volume. She also managed to pick up a history book and appear to be enthralled.

      The whole series of actions seemed to Jeff like a great baseball play—Evan Longoria, his favorite player, diving to his left to stop a hot grounder, then rising, stepping on third, and throwing to first to complete a double-play.

      Mom strode in—slender, blond, blue-eyed, wearing the slacks and blouse she’d worn to work—and moved immediately to Jeff’s side. She tousled his hair and gave him a huge smile that he couldn’t help but return.

      Jess smiled at her mother too, but to her brother it seemed forced.

      “What are you reading, dear?” Mom asked her.

      Holding up the book dutifully, Jessica answered, “American History.”

      Mom didn’t miss a beat, glancing at the screen and saying, “Like the invention of lip gloss?”

      Jessica, her mouth moving, couldn’t find words.

      Trying extra hard not to laugh as his sister got busted, Jeff buried himself in his math book and did his best to look both busy and completely disinterested in Jessica’s fate.

      “Let’s turn off the TV,” Mom said, “and get ready for dinner.”

      Jessica didn’t argue, simply used the remote.

      Mom asked Jeff, “How was your day?”

      He shrugged.

      “Did they teach you brain surgery or anything?”

      “Mom,” he said, drawing out the last letter.

      Jessica fell into line behind their mother, who led the way out of the family room, Jeff trailing. Mom was making her usual left turn to the kitchen, Jess about to head over to the stairs to the bathroom, Jeff ready to head down the hall to wash his hands when the front door opened.

      Jeff at first thought it was his father, but this figure was skinnier, and maybe not as old, and held a pistol, which Jeff’s dad would never do in the house.

      The man’s entrance was so sudden, Jeff was more surprised than afraid, stunned to see the stranger step inside and close the door behind him, as casual as if this were Jeff’s father.

      Mom, however, seemed to instantly see that something was very wrong and moved between the intruder and her kids.

      Looking past his mother, Jeff watched in silent horror as the stranger brought the pistol up and pointed it at her.

      “No,” Mom said, holding up a hand like the crossing guard at school, and the man fired the gun.

      Orange and yellow flame and sparks erupted from the barrel like the sparklers last Fourth of July….

      Mom took an involuntarily step back, her other hand coming up as if to protect herself, but it was too late. A tiny pink misty cloud hovered as she teetered.

      Jessica screamed—it was shrill and almost fake-sounding.

      “Mom!” Jeff shouted, his voice barely a whisper in his own head as his ears rang from the roar of the pistol in the enclosed space.

      Frozen, Jeff watched as the stranger with the gun swivelled toward Jessica. Down on the floor, Mom had stopped moving, her eyes open, staring but not seeing.

      Another loud pop turned Jessica’s scream into a gurgle, as she made a slow pirouette, her shirt blossoming crimson as she held out her hand to her brother, then sagged to her knees, then fell onto her side.

      As the stranger turned in his direction, Jeff ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door. He managed to push in the knob lock and twist it, but knew the killer wouldn’t need long to get through. Only one thing to do—the bathroom had a window overlooking the fenced-in backyard. Jeff’s only chance.

      He heard two more pops and dove into the tub. Peeking, he saw holes in the door, around the knob….

      …but for now the barrier held.

      The boy climbed up onto the toilet, stretched to unlock the window. Though seldom used, the mechanism worked fine. Lifting the window, though, proved harder—stiff in its tracks, the thing did not want to move….

      Jeff glanced СКАЧАТЬ