Hidden Prey (Lawmen) Read Free Page B

needed some alone time with her mom.
    After she tipped the driver, she made sure her cell phone was in her pocket then tucked her purse into her bright pink travel bag. She still couldn’t believe she’d run off without her clarinet and laptop. She’d been so upset that she hadn’t been thinking clearly when the shuttle arrived to pick her up.
    She bent to pick up her bag, and her crop top and low-rise jeans revealed her tanned belly and back even more than they already did. Gregory had always hated her revealing any flesh, including the tattoo on her lower back, just above her waistband. He hadn’t liked the idea of other men looking at her nor did he approve of tattoos on women. The tat was the word, Klarinette , the German spelling of her chosen instrument that had been “invented” in Germany around 1701-1704.
    Screw Gregory. She slung the bag over her shoulder. She’d wear whatever she damn well pleased.
    The heavy bag’s long strap dug into her shoulder as she looked around. The day was waning and the traffic was light as usual. She walked up to the old post office, crossed Main Street, then headed back around an old bank building that was now an antique shop.
    She turned onto Subway Street, which was a quiet one-way street, and then up Shearer Avenue, a steep street that took her near what had once been an old YMCA but had been converted into tourist suites. She continued to climb the paved road on the hillside, past the old Central School, which was now a center for the arts. On the east side, deeper in the canyon, was Brewery Gulch.
    Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she stopped to pull it out. A number she didn’t recognize was on the display and she wondered who it might be.
    She brought it to her ear and answered, “Hello?”
    “Where are you?” Gregory’s demanding voice was like a punch to her chest. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
    “I have nothing to say to you.” She straightened and set her bag on the ground. “We are through.”
    “The hell we are.” The way he spoke was as if he hammered every word. “Get your ass home.”
    Tori gripped the phone tightly. “I’ll come back for my things when I’m ready, but we are done.”
    Before he could say another word, she disconnected the call and jammed the phone back into her pocket and trudged up the hill toward the point where Shearer turned into Clawson Avenue. The phone vibrated again but she ignored it.
    Near the north side of the arts center, Tori took a shortcut. Once she was farther up the hill, she rounded a vehicle. To her right was a black SUV and an old white Toyota parked in an alleyway. They were in the growing shadows, out of sight by anyone but someone walking by, like her, which wasn’t often in this area.
    Two men—a man with white-blond hair and Slavic features, and a dark-haired guy with a pencil thin mustache who looked to be of Hispanic descent—faced a third man. The third man had his back to the white Toyota. He was more slender than the other two but she couldn’t see his face.
    Tori started to turn her gaze in the direction she’d been headed when the men’s voices drew her attention again. She looked to see a fourth man, this one wearing a tailored charcoal gray suit, step out of the back of the SUV. He was an attractive man with finely carved features and an athletic build.
    Something glinted in the fading sunlight and Tori froze. Her heart thudded when she saw that the man in the suit was pointing a gun at the lone man who stood with his back to the Toyota.
    “Death is more than you deserve, Mateo.” The suited man’s Hispanic accent was heavy and cultured. “But your death will send a message.”
    Tori watched in horror as the speaker aimed his handgun at Mateo’s chest. It had a long barrel, like one of those guns with silencers she’d seen on TV.
    Mateo didn’t flinch and he raised his chin. “Your family’s reign of terror will end, El Puño.”
    The man in the suit gave