Running for Cover. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ she swung around, slamming her fist into the man’s eye.

      He cursed, his grip loosening, and Morgan wrenched her shoulder from his grasp, grabbing the doorknob again and yanking the door open. She took the stairs two at time. Praying. Begging. Hoping God heard.

      The gallery at the bottom of the stairs was dark, the room silent. No evidence of the violence that had taken place there in the minutes before Morgan had been dragged up to her apartment.

      If she died, how long would it take for anyone to notice she was gone?

      Her footsteps echoed through the large room as she raced for the front door, her heart pounding harshly in her ears. Just a few more feet. Just a few more seconds.

      Please, please, please. I’m not ready to die.

      The prayer caught in her throat, a barely formed scream dying as she was jerked backward. Her sweater tightened around her throat and stars danced in front of her eyes, darkness beckoning again. It would be so easy to give up. To give in. But there were too many things left undone, too many words left unsaid.

      Too many regrets.

      She clawed at the fabric of the sweater, fighting for air.

      “Cool it. You kill her and we’ll never get what we came for,” a man said.

      And suddenly Morgan could breathe again.

      She collapsed onto the floor, coughing and gagging as one of the men leaned down, stared into her face. “You shouldn’t have punched me. We could have made this easy on you. Now…well, maybe it won’t be so easy after all. Come on. Get up. We’re going back upstairs and you’re going to tell us what you did with the disk.”

      “I already told you I don’t have it,” Morgan managed to say, the words as dry and brittle as old bones.

      “That’s not what your ex-husband said.” The man grinned, the hot, ugly look in his eyes making Morgan wish she could sink back into unconsciousness.

      “Whatever Cody told you—”

      The chime of the doorbell interrupted her, and Morgan froze, her gaze jumping to the gallery door. The sound came again, soft but insistent.

      “You expecting a visitor?” Her captor hissed the words as he pressed a gun to her temple.

      Morgan nodded, lying. Praying it would save her. Praying that the person on the other side of the door was someone she knew. Someone who would see the fear in her eyes, the bruises on her face and go for help.

      “Whoever it is, get rid of him. If you don’t, his blood is on your hands.” He dragged her to her feet, motioned for the other man to step into the deep shadows of the gallery and then shoved Morgan to the door.

      Her hands shook as she cracked it open just enough to see a man standing on the front stoop. Tall and rangy, his face shadowed by darkness, he was a stranger.

      Morgan’s heart sank. “Yes?”

      “I saw a light on and thought you might be open.”

      “No. I’m sorry, we’re not.” Morgan forced the response past lips that felt swollen and tight. She wanted to shove the door open and run, but knew she’d be shot before she took half a dozen steps. And she wasn’t the only one who’d die.

      “Too bad. I saw the closed sign, but hoped since your lights were on you might be willing to make a sale. A friend of mine is getting married in the morning, and I just realized I left his wedding gift at home in New York.” Despite the darkness, Morgan could see his easy, charming smile. He didn’t know how close he was to death, and Morgan didn’t dare try to tell him.

      “I wish I could help you, but I’ve got a wedding to attend tomorrow, too. I’ve got a lot to do before then, so if you’ll excuse me…”

      “Really?” He smiled again. “Maybe it’s the same one.”

      “What?”

      “Wedding. Who are the bride and groom?” He shifted as he spoke, easing a little to the left, his gaze focused on a point above Morgan’s head. Could he see the man standing deep in the shadows? Or the one right beside Morgan hidden behind the door? Did he sense the danger they were both in?

      The hard butt of a gun jammed into Morgan’s side, urging her to answer the question and get rid of her visitor. For a moment she couldn’t remember what the question was, couldn’t think of what the answer would be.

      The man at the door took a step forward, his gaze still on the point above Morgan’s head. And everything clicked into place. The question. The answer. “Lacey Carmichael and Jude Sinclair are the bride and groom.”

      “It is the same wedding. I guess we’ll see each other there.”

      The gun jabbed into Morgan’s side again, a silent warning she couldn’t ignore. “I guess we will.” If she lived that long. “Now I really have to go.”

      “Sure. No problem. What time to do you open in the morning?”

      Open? What time did she open?

      Morgan’s mind was blank, her thoughts scattered.

      “Ma’am?”

      “Ten. I open at ten.”

      “I’ll see you then,” he said, turning to walk away.

      No. You won’t. I’ll be dead, sprawled on the floor of my apartment or wrapped in a plastic bag on the side of a road or lying on the bottom of the lake, cement blocks tied to my ankles.

      Morgan wanted to shout the words, wanted to beg for rescue. Instead, she closed the door, her skin crawling as she met the eyes of the man who’d been standing next to her. Mud-brown, they were empty of emotion.

      “Good job. That guy has you to thank for his life,” he said, shoving his gun into a holster beneath his jacket.

      “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s finish this,” the second man said from the shadows, his voice gravelly and rough. “Let’s go back upstairs and get what we came for.”

      Morgan didn’t see him move, but she heard his booted feet on the stairs. Knew he was going back to her apartment.

      “Let’s go. Maybe a little more convincing will help you remember where you put the disk.” The other man grabbed her arm, forced her toward the stairs.

      “I told you, the disk isn’t here,” she protested, tugging against his hold.

      “Like I said, that’s not what your ex said.”

      “Cody is a liar.”

      “Even a liar tells the truth when he’s in enough pain.”

      “Pain? He’s in jail.” Morgan twisted beneath his grip, hoping to dislodge his fingers, but they dug deep into her flesh until she was sure her bone would break. A few more feet and they’d reach the stairs.

      Desperate, she grabbed a clay СКАЧАТЬ