Dead by Wednesday. Beverly Long

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      And in Chicago, the wind never stopped blowing. Which made the windchill about twenty below.

      She opened the coffee shop door, took her place in line and studied her choices. When it was her turn, she ordered a large hot chocolate and a glass of water. Then she turned to find a table.

      And saw him.

      Robert Hanson.

      He smiled at her and held up his own cup. “Morning, Carmen. They make a great cup of coffee here, don’t they?”

      He looked fresh and handsome and as delicious as one of the scones in the front display case. “This is not your coffee shop,” she hissed.

      “I drink coffee all day long, all over the city. Why not here?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s no need for you to be here. Everything is going to be fine.”

      “Good. Then you can just ignore that I’m here.”

      Robert Hanson was six-two and two hundred pounds of muscle. His eyes were a brilliant blue, his bone structure was strong and his thick light brown hair looked as if a woman had just run her fingers through it.

      He was hard to ignore.

      “Do not interfere,” she said.

      “As long as Dad behaves, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

      Carmen shook her head and took the table in the corner. She turned her chair so that she could see the door but not Robert. She concentrated on taking deep breaths. When she felt she had it under control, she took small sips of her hot chocolate.

      Alexa came in, wearing the same big, dark coat. The young girl got a cup of coffee and headed for Carmen. “I’m sorry I’m late. He should be here really soon.”

      “No problem.” Carmen decided that now wasn’t the time to lecture on the evils of pregnancy and caffeine. “When he arrives, make eye contact and motion him over to the table. Then I’ll introduce myself and let him know that you have something that you’d like to tell him. Just be calm. It’s going to be okay.”

      “You don’t know my dad,” Alexa said. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t had much sleep.

      Carmen reached over to pat the girl’s hand but stopped when the teen stiffened in her chair. Carmen turned and immediately saw the resemblance between daughter and father. Their coloring was the same; the nose, too. Frank Sage was a big man, probably at least six feet. He wore gray work pants and a big black coat that hinted at a well-fed stomach. His blond hair was thinning on top.

      He was frowning at his daughter.

      Alexa motioned and the man hesitated. Then he walked across the room, bumping into a chair on the way.

      “Alexa, what are you doing here?” he asked. He had a deep voice, somewhat raspy, likely from years of cigarettes. Carmen could smell smoke on his jacket.

      “Hi, Dad,” Alexa said.

      Carmen stood up. She did not like him towering over her. She extended her hand. He stared at it. “Mr. Sage, I’m Carmen Jimenez. I am a counselor and I’ve been working with your daughter.”

      When it didn’t appear that he was going to return the shake, Carmen dropped her arm. “Will you please have a seat?” she asked.

      The man hesitated, then sat on the edge of his chair. “A counselor? Working with my daughter,” he repeated. “What the hell is this about, Alexa?”

      Carmen sat down. “Alexa has something that she wants to tell you, Mr. Sage. And this is difficult for her. It may also be difficult for you to hear. All I’m asking is that you hear her out, give her a chance.”

      The man nodded. His eyes were narrowed.

      “Dad.” Alexa stopped and licked her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

      The man’s face turned red. He shook his head. “No,” he said, staring at his daughter.

      Alexa nodded. “I’m going to have a baby around April 15.”

      “No,” he repeated, his voice louder, as if by proclaiming it so, he could simply get the problem to disappear.

      Alexa’s face turned pink and she looked quickly around the coffee shop. A few people in line were staring in their direction. “Please, Dad. Carmen is a counselor at Options for Caring Mothers, a pregnancy counseling center. She’s helping me.”

      The man swiveled in his chair, looked at Carmen, then stood up fast, catching the edge of the table. Cups and water glasses flew. Carmen felt the hot splash of liquid on her face and heard Alexa yelp. She looked up to see Frank Sage’s big red face coming toward her.

      * * *

      ROBERT WRENCHED THE man’s arm behind his back, put pressure on the back of his knees with a well-placed foot, and in seconds, had him facedown on the tile floor.

      He looked around the room. “My name is Detective Robert Hanson. I’m a police officer with the Chicago Police Department. I need all of you to remain calm and to stay in your seats. I repeat, remain calm and stay in your seats.”

      He turned to look at Carmen. She was standing up. Her mouth was open and she looked shell-shocked. There was hot chocolate on her blouse, and some had splashed on her face and hair. He tightened his grip on Sage’s arm, pulling it just a little higher. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

      She nodded and turned to look at the girl who had also stood up. “Alexa?” She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulder.

      “I told you,” the young girl said, her tone soft. She was looking at her dad.

      There was a disgusting combination of hot chocolate, coffee and water pooling on the table. The uneven slate floor was causing a small trickle to drip off the side.

      A helpful server walked by and offered Carmen a towel. Robert shook his head. “Leave it,” he said. He wanted pictures.

      Robert leaned close to the man’s ear. He spoke quietly. “If you didn’t hear it the first time, my name is Detective Robert Hanson, with the Chicago Police Department. I’m going to let you get up, Mr. Sage. But if you make one wrong move toward your daughter, Ms. Jimenez, me or anybody else in this room, you’re going to be in even bigger trouble than you are now. Do you understand?”

      He waited until the big man nodded. Then he loosened his grip and let the man get to his knees. He kicked a chair toward him. “Sit there,” he ordered.

      The man did as he was instructed. His face was red and his eyes were wild, but he didn’t try anything. He did not look at Alexa or Carmen.

      Robert moved behind him. Quietly but distinctly, he read him his Miranda rights.

      The man let him finish and then immediately said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

      He’d had his arms up, coming toward Carmen, and if Robert hadn’t been there to stop him, Carmen’s injuries would have been far worse than some СКАЧАТЬ