Read Online Konrath, Joe - Dirty Martini by J.A. Konrath - Free Book Online
Authors: J.A. Konrath
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anger on the man that did this, not the woman that tried to save your team.”
“She fucked up. I should have gone in there.”
Rick jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at two bomb squad cops, draped in so much body armor and protective gear, they each looked like the Michelin Man. Stretched between them was a body bag.
“See that? If you went in there, they’d be carrying you out in one of those.”
The cop went to shove Rick, but Rick sidestepped the move and caught Joshua’s wrist in a joint lock, forcing the larger man to his knees.
“They knew the risks,” Rick said. “Don’t disgrace their memories like this.”
He released him, and Joshua glared at Rick, then at me, then at Rick again, and stormed off.
I grabbed my clothes and my purse from my car, and was then led to the rear of the ambulance. Again they tried to force me to lie down. Again I fought with them, insisting that I didn’t want to go to the hospital.
“Let them help you, Jack.”
Rick. He’d somehow eclipsed Herb as my omnipresent voice of reason.
“I just want to get home to my fiancé.”
I coughed, feeling something wet in my lungs, and all thoughts of Latham were replaced by thoughts of the terrifying toxins I’d been exposed to. Rick caught my look of panic.
“Just because you seem to have avoided all of the fast-acting agents doesn’t mean a slower one hasn’t breached your suit. Like BT. Or something worse.”
I coughed again, and let them strap me down. An EMT pushed Rick out of the back, shut the door, and they carted me off to the hospital.
CHAPTER 12
I WOKE UP AT FIVE in the morning in an ER bed, feeling like someone had beaten me up and used me as a pincushion. Antibiotics, antitoxins, and numerous vaccines had been administered. I was a little woozy, but it didn’t seem like anything toxic had taken hold.
That was good enough for me. I had work to do, and it wouldn’t get done with me lying down.
I called a cab, and he took me back to my car, still at Alger’s house. During the ride I thought about Latham. I’d phoned him repeatedly from the hospital—at my house, at his apartment, on his cell. He hadn’t picked up. What did that mean? Phone problems? Was he asleep? Watching TV too loud and didn’t hear the ring? Or was he angry at me?
Yesterday, I’d called Latham my fiancé—twice—even though I hadn’t officially said yes to his proposal. It felt . . . right.
I’d been married before. It hadn’t worked. And even though my ovaries still had a few parting shots left in them, forty-six was too old to start thinking about babies, and families. If I got pregnant now, I’d be in diapers myself by the time the kid was old enough to buy me a beer.
So why did I feel all gooey inside when I pictured Latham and myself leaning over a crib, watching our child sleep?
The cab spit me out at my car. I paid the hack, and used my cell to try Latham again. No answer. So I turned my attention to the Alger house. Seeing it again made my stomach do flip-flops.
A few police vehicles and the SRT bus were still there. A bombie saw me and approached.
“Lieutenant Daniels?” Her name tag read
Wells
. She wore enough body armor to protect her from a point-blank bazooka hit. “There’s something in the house you need to see.”
My reaction was physical. The thought of going back into that chamber of death scared me more than anything had ever scared me in my life.
Wells seemed to sense this. “We’ve cleared the remaining traps. There were only two left.”
“There may be others.”
“We went in with X-ray, ultrasound, and a K9 unit. The house has been disarmed. You can use my mask . . .” Her voice trailed off, implying the
if you’re afraid.
“No need. Let’s go.”
I had to will my legs to move, as they’d suddenly become stiff. It was like approaching a firecracker that should have gone off but hadn’t.
Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the ability to still function when
“She fucked up. I should have gone in there.”
Rick jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at two bomb squad cops, draped in so much body armor and protective gear, they each looked like the Michelin Man. Stretched between them was a body bag.
“See that? If you went in there, they’d be carrying you out in one of those.”
The cop went to shove Rick, but Rick sidestepped the move and caught Joshua’s wrist in a joint lock, forcing the larger man to his knees.
“They knew the risks,” Rick said. “Don’t disgrace their memories like this.”
He released him, and Joshua glared at Rick, then at me, then at Rick again, and stormed off.
I grabbed my clothes and my purse from my car, and was then led to the rear of the ambulance. Again they tried to force me to lie down. Again I fought with them, insisting that I didn’t want to go to the hospital.
“Let them help you, Jack.”
Rick. He’d somehow eclipsed Herb as my omnipresent voice of reason.
“I just want to get home to my fiancé.”
I coughed, feeling something wet in my lungs, and all thoughts of Latham were replaced by thoughts of the terrifying toxins I’d been exposed to. Rick caught my look of panic.
“Just because you seem to have avoided all of the fast-acting agents doesn’t mean a slower one hasn’t breached your suit. Like BT. Or something worse.”
I coughed again, and let them strap me down. An EMT pushed Rick out of the back, shut the door, and they carted me off to the hospital.
CHAPTER 12
I WOKE UP AT FIVE in the morning in an ER bed, feeling like someone had beaten me up and used me as a pincushion. Antibiotics, antitoxins, and numerous vaccines had been administered. I was a little woozy, but it didn’t seem like anything toxic had taken hold.
That was good enough for me. I had work to do, and it wouldn’t get done with me lying down.
I called a cab, and he took me back to my car, still at Alger’s house. During the ride I thought about Latham. I’d phoned him repeatedly from the hospital—at my house, at his apartment, on his cell. He hadn’t picked up. What did that mean? Phone problems? Was he asleep? Watching TV too loud and didn’t hear the ring? Or was he angry at me?
Yesterday, I’d called Latham my fiancé—twice—even though I hadn’t officially said yes to his proposal. It felt . . . right.
I’d been married before. It hadn’t worked. And even though my ovaries still had a few parting shots left in them, forty-six was too old to start thinking about babies, and families. If I got pregnant now, I’d be in diapers myself by the time the kid was old enough to buy me a beer.
So why did I feel all gooey inside when I pictured Latham and myself leaning over a crib, watching our child sleep?
The cab spit me out at my car. I paid the hack, and used my cell to try Latham again. No answer. So I turned my attention to the Alger house. Seeing it again made my stomach do flip-flops.
A few police vehicles and the SRT bus were still there. A bombie saw me and approached.
“Lieutenant Daniels?” Her name tag read
Wells
. She wore enough body armor to protect her from a point-blank bazooka hit. “There’s something in the house you need to see.”
My reaction was physical. The thought of going back into that chamber of death scared me more than anything had ever scared me in my life.
Wells seemed to sense this. “We’ve cleared the remaining traps. There were only two left.”
“There may be others.”
“We went in with X-ray, ultrasound, and a K9 unit. The house has been disarmed. You can use my mask . . .” Her voice trailed off, implying the
if you’re afraid.
“No need. Let’s go.”
I had to will my legs to move, as they’d suddenly become stiff. It was like approaching a firecracker that should have gone off but hadn’t.
Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the ability to still function when
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