Marital Privilege. Ann Peterson Voss

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ as much as he didn’t trust the police, he needed help. He flipped open his cell phone and punched in the number.

      “Nine-one-one,” a woman’s voice answered.

      “There’s a gas leak at the Blue Ox Café.”

      “What is your name, sir?”

      Alec hesitated. “That’s not important. There’s something else going on, too. I’m not sure what, but the place seems deserted. You’ve got to get the police out here. Hurry.” He cut off the call. Clipping his cell phone back on his belt, he clutched the meat cleaver, rounded the corner of the waiters’ aisle and stepped into the dining room.

      As he rounded the corner, another odor hit him. A sweet copper scent that mixed with the natural gas and turned his stomach. He slowed his pace, weaving through tables, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He circled a row of booths and inched across the open center of the dining room, and jolted to a stop.

      Dark blotches fouled the multicolored carpet and streaked a table in the center of the room. And beyond the table—

      “Oh my God.” Cleaver in front of him, Alec raced toward the bodies, waiting for a flash of movement, a gun to his head, a blade between his ribs.

      He reached Laura’s prep cook first. His chef’s whites were black with blood from the slash across his throat. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

      There was no helping him. No saving him. Cursing his father, Alec moved on to the next body.

      A waitress no older than twenty curled around a table leg at the edge of the dining room, as if she’d been hiding when the bullet had drilled into her chest and stolen her life. Her face was swollen, purple with bruises. She’d taken a beating before the bullet. And that pointed to one man. A sadistic bastard who got his kicks beating women before he killed them. His father’s right-hand thug, Sergei Komorov.

      Gritting his teeth, Alec left the waitress and moved to the final prone form. The middle-aged guy who delivered produce had made it as far as the tile floor in front of the hostess stand before he’d been shot. His blood puddled under him and ran in rivers between the tiles.

      Panic roared in Alec’s ears. The odors of blood and gas clogged his throat. Three dead. Where the hell was Laura?

      There was one place left. He straightened from beside the produce guy’s body and forced his feet to move. Laura and Sally usually opened the kitchen first thing in the morning. By this time, they had moved to the bar.

      He raced into the lounge. The room was cloaked in shadow, heavy wood blinds drawn over the windows. He led with the meat cleaver, checking behind half walls and plants, glancing under the row of bar stools. No blood. No bodies.

      No Laura.

      Relieved, he tried to block the image of his beautiful wife bloodied, dead. He had to find her. She had to be okay. Laura was his life, his future.

      Laura and their unborn son.

      He stepped behind the bar. Booze bottles that spent the night under lock and key lined the rail. The till was open, its tray of cash not yet in place. Someone had been opening the bar when this had happened.

      Alec tried to breathe, tried to stay calm. He strode over the rubber mats, straight for the closed office door at the end of the bar.

      Dread blared in his ears like a siren. He closed his fingers around the cool brass doorknob. Turning it, he yanked the door open.

      A body leaned back in the chair. Long blond hair streaked dark with blood. A plastic tie clasped feminine hands together at the wrists. Broken and battered, fingers jutted at strange angles.

      A sob shook from his chest. He grasped the back of the chair with trembling hands. Holding his breath, he spun it around. Blood coagulated, sticky beneath a slashed throat. Her face was so bruised and swollen, it was almost unrecognizable. She stared at him through blue eyes glazed with death.

      Blue eyes.

      Another sob tore from his gut. Sally, not Laura.

      He averted his eyes from her face, ashamed at the relief welling within him. Spilling over. Sally, not Laura. Laura might still be alive.

      But where was she?

      If Laura had left to run errands, there might be a clue as to where she went, what the restaurant needed. He studied the desk. Blood spattered the surface, the three-ring binders, the papers detailing the Blue Ox’s liquor order—the order he was to pick up later that morning. He raised his eyes to the computer screen. A pink message slip stuck to one side of the screen, a simple message scrawled on the front.

      “Laura sick. Won’t be in until late. Sally, could you open bar?”

      Cold dread throbbed in Alec’s ears and pumped through his veins. He had to get home. He only prayed he wasn’t too late. Because if he had spotted the message, he could be sure his father and his men had spotted it, too.

      And they’d already be on their way.

      Chapter Two

      Alec raced into the restaurant’s entryway. The odor of gas had grown stronger. It now completely choked out the coppery scent of blood. Any second now it would hit the furnace flame, and the whole place would go up. He couldn’t do anything more here. He had to get out.

      Instead of retracing his steps to the back kitchen entrance, he raced for the closed front door. He twisted the dead bolt and threw the door open.

      Fresh air hit him in the face like a splash of cool water. He launched into a run, sprinting down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

      Movement caught his eye. A woman stepped out of the Cup-N-Sup, steaming coffee in hand.

      Oh, hell.

      He veered for the coffee shop. “Get out of here. There’s a gas leak next door.”

      The woman’s eyes widened. Clutching her cup, she ran for her car.

      He dove for the coffee shop’s door and yanked it open. “Everyone needs to evacuate.”

      Two employees and half a dozen customers turned to stare at him. None made a move.

      “There’s a gas leak next door. The building is going to blow. You need to get out.”

      Several customers shot for the door. Others narrowed their eyes, as if trying to figure out what he was up to.

      He glanced out the coffee shop’s window, willing flashing red and blue lights to appear on the street outside, a siren to pierce the air. Where the hell were the police?

      He turned his attention back to the skeptical people in front of him, raking his mind for something to make them move before it was too late. “It’s a terrorist attack. Get out.”

      They headed for the door in a wave.

      He followed. “Get as far from the building as you can. Run.”

      People scattered.

СКАЧАТЬ