Read Online No Safe Place (Joe Hunter Thrillers Book 11) by Matt Hilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matt Hilton
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the best policy in this instant. ‘I do.’
‘The bad men had guns too, when they…came here.’ His voice had faltered towards the end, and I knew he was about to say “when they killed my mom” but couldn’t bring himself to give the words sound.
‘That’s the only reason I’m carrying one now,’ I reassured him.
‘Will they come back?’
‘I won’t lie to you, Cole. The truth is I don’t know, but if they do I won’t let them hurt you.’
He thought about what I’d said. ‘I don’t like guns.’
‘Good boy,’ I told him. ‘Guns are horrible things.’
He looked up at me again, and I’d swear that the mind behind his gaze was much older and wiser than nine years old. ‘But you still carry one.’
‘Do you know what a deterrent is?’ I asked him, and realised I was probably insulting his intelligence. ‘Course you do. Well, my gun’s just a deterrent. I won’t use it unless I absolutely have to.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Cole.
I waited, unsure what he actually meant.
‘If the bad men come back, I don’t mind if you shoot them. They shot my mom. They should be shot too. I don’t like guns, Mr Hunter, but I positively hate what they did to my mom, so they’d deserve it.’
To say I was uncomfortable was an understatement. I quickly changed the subject. ‘Call me Joe, why don’t you? When you call me Mr Hunter it makes me feel old.’
‘You are old,’ said Cole. Then smiled again at the poke he’d delivered. ‘Not as old as Mr and Mrs Huckabee who live up the block, but you’re as old as my dad…and he’s ancient compared to my friends’ dads.’
Guys in their forties probably looked like withered mummies to most nine-year-olds, I decided. ‘I’m not as old as I look,’ I reassured him, and poked a finger into my own cheek, ‘I’m in disguise. This is a mask like they wore on Mission Impossible. I’m only eighteen really.’ Being eighteen years of age was a mark of adulthood to kids back home in England, and I hoped it was the same here in the US.
‘If that’s a mask, you didn’t pick a very good one,’ he said, then grinned at my look of mock affront. His chuckle as he walked from the room was musical. I liked the kid, he shared a sense of humour common to me, and I momentarily wondered how much of it he’d picked up from Rink while my buddy was here earlier. Nah, I decided, if Cole were following Rink’s cue he’d have been much cheekier.
Clayton had only been gone minutes, but I heard a vehicle approaching the house, the tyres crunching on the shells. I moved from the kitchen into the vestibule and saw Cole had only got as far as the stairs. He’d screwed up his nose, as he looked at the door, probably thinking the same as I. This wasn’t his dad returning with the promised treats.
‘You want to go on upstairs?’ I said, and it wasn’t really a question. I placed a hand on his shoulder, gently steering him for the stairs. ‘I just want to see who this is, OK? I’ll call you down again when I know everything’s alright.’
Cole glanced at me, and I knew he was checking to see if I’d drawn my gun. I hadn’t, it was firmly wedged in the carry-holster in my lower back, hidden beneath my shirt. I showed him my empty hands. Cole appeared unsure at me being unarmed.
‘Go on up,’ I said, ‘and don’t you worry, everything will be fine.’
Cole paused only a few seconds longer, but it was as if I’d won his trust for now and he went up with no argument. I should have ordered him into his room, but that would have been over-reacting. Visitors weren’t banned from the house, so there was probably nothing sinister about the arrival of this unexpected caller. When I checked, I saw Cole watching from around the bannister rail. His face was motionless as he gazed at me with serious intensity. I winked at him, as though we were partners in this now, and his smile flickered into place once more.
From beyond the plywood barrier on the shattered
‘The bad men had guns too, when they…came here.’ His voice had faltered towards the end, and I knew he was about to say “when they killed my mom” but couldn’t bring himself to give the words sound.
‘That’s the only reason I’m carrying one now,’ I reassured him.
‘Will they come back?’
‘I won’t lie to you, Cole. The truth is I don’t know, but if they do I won’t let them hurt you.’
He thought about what I’d said. ‘I don’t like guns.’
‘Good boy,’ I told him. ‘Guns are horrible things.’
He looked up at me again, and I’d swear that the mind behind his gaze was much older and wiser than nine years old. ‘But you still carry one.’
‘Do you know what a deterrent is?’ I asked him, and realised I was probably insulting his intelligence. ‘Course you do. Well, my gun’s just a deterrent. I won’t use it unless I absolutely have to.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Cole.
I waited, unsure what he actually meant.
‘If the bad men come back, I don’t mind if you shoot them. They shot my mom. They should be shot too. I don’t like guns, Mr Hunter, but I positively hate what they did to my mom, so they’d deserve it.’
To say I was uncomfortable was an understatement. I quickly changed the subject. ‘Call me Joe, why don’t you? When you call me Mr Hunter it makes me feel old.’
‘You are old,’ said Cole. Then smiled again at the poke he’d delivered. ‘Not as old as Mr and Mrs Huckabee who live up the block, but you’re as old as my dad…and he’s ancient compared to my friends’ dads.’
Guys in their forties probably looked like withered mummies to most nine-year-olds, I decided. ‘I’m not as old as I look,’ I reassured him, and poked a finger into my own cheek, ‘I’m in disguise. This is a mask like they wore on Mission Impossible. I’m only eighteen really.’ Being eighteen years of age was a mark of adulthood to kids back home in England, and I hoped it was the same here in the US.
‘If that’s a mask, you didn’t pick a very good one,’ he said, then grinned at my look of mock affront. His chuckle as he walked from the room was musical. I liked the kid, he shared a sense of humour common to me, and I momentarily wondered how much of it he’d picked up from Rink while my buddy was here earlier. Nah, I decided, if Cole were following Rink’s cue he’d have been much cheekier.
Clayton had only been gone minutes, but I heard a vehicle approaching the house, the tyres crunching on the shells. I moved from the kitchen into the vestibule and saw Cole had only got as far as the stairs. He’d screwed up his nose, as he looked at the door, probably thinking the same as I. This wasn’t his dad returning with the promised treats.
‘You want to go on upstairs?’ I said, and it wasn’t really a question. I placed a hand on his shoulder, gently steering him for the stairs. ‘I just want to see who this is, OK? I’ll call you down again when I know everything’s alright.’
Cole glanced at me, and I knew he was checking to see if I’d drawn my gun. I hadn’t, it was firmly wedged in the carry-holster in my lower back, hidden beneath my shirt. I showed him my empty hands. Cole appeared unsure at me being unarmed.
‘Go on up,’ I said, ‘and don’t you worry, everything will be fine.’
Cole paused only a few seconds longer, but it was as if I’d won his trust for now and he went up with no argument. I should have ordered him into his room, but that would have been over-reacting. Visitors weren’t banned from the house, so there was probably nothing sinister about the arrival of this unexpected caller. When I checked, I saw Cole watching from around the bannister rail. His face was motionless as he gazed at me with serious intensity. I winked at him, as though we were partners in this now, and his smile flickered into place once more.
From beyond the plywood barrier on the shattered
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