Read Online The Survivor by Gregg Hurwitz - Free Book Online Page B

floor and was stepping back toward the vault when something glinted under a desk, catching his eye. He walked over, crouched, and picked up the pearl clip-on earring. Cradled it in his hand. Flashed on its owner’s limp arm unfurling, her rings clacking tile. The black tide climbed into his throat, catching him off guard, and he eased himself down to sit on the floor. Several of the cops paused and looked at him. Then a few CSI techs. The movement around him ground to a halt, the focus of the room pulling to him. He swallowed hard, tried to keep the emotion from his face, but he could feel his cheeks turn to pins and needles.
    “Sorry.” He clutched the earring, the clasp digging into his palm. “Just give me a sec here.”
    Abara waved the others to get back to work and squatted next to him. “Take all the time you need.”
    After Nate caught his breath, he finished the walk-through, ending with his face-to-face with Number Six in the vault. Abara scratched his head with a pen. “Can you look at some security tape, see if you can pick out the crew leader?”
    “I thought they wiped out the footage,” Nate said.
    “We got some in the service elevator and back hall before they pulled the plug on the digital feed.”
    Nate followed him to a rear office filled with monitors, where the security director and two Robbery-Homicide detectives waited, the screen before them fluttering on pause. The footage showed the robbers crowded in the service elevator, six forms covered with black fabric. The director clicked PLAY, and they all watched the men ride up, waiting to explode into action. Wrists jiggled. Boots tapped. Gun slides were racked, magazines reseated. Every man a jumble of live nerves.
    Except one.
    Number Six, the smallest of the crew, stood perfectly still, his head on a slight tilt, those patches of mesh staring directly up at the security camera. Staring directly, it seemed, at Nate.
    Beneath the crisp folds of his T-shirt, Nate’s skin went clammy. The man’s quiet poise. No suggestion of what was to come. He might have been riding the elevator up to see a movie or visit a friend. That slender, compact build. The faint accent. He will make you pay in ways you can’t imagine. The threat recalled sent a blade of ice up Nate’s back. He was already dead, ready and willing to find the next opportunity to pull the plug himself. So why be scared?
    Maybe because he sensed the promise hidden in that calm voice, the promise that whatever he would deliver would be worse than death.
    Nate swallowed dryly and pointed at Number Six.
    *   *   *
    Riding down in the elevator, Abara said, “We’re gonna need you at the press conference outside.”
    “Press conference?” Nate said. “So you’re gonna help ID me for the guys who want to kill me?”
    “The media’s already dialed into the story. There’s a picture circulating the Web of you walking out of the bank carrying that little girl—looks like a Bruckheimer one-sheet. If we don’t trot you out, you’ll have media crawling up your ass for weeks. Smile pretty for the cameras, satiate everyone’s appetite, and no one’ll remember you by tomorrow.”
    “The guy threatened me. Face-to-face. And I believed him. Whoever his boss is, I killed five of his guys and screwed up his robbery.”
    “I doubt they’ll come after you. Bank robbers and cold-blooded murderers fit different profiles.”
    “A comforting factoid.”
    “I’d imagine not.” Abara removed a business card and handed it to Nate. “My cell’s on the back. Something freaks you out, anything you need, call me. And I’ll make sure LAPD has a squad car drive by your place at intervals for a few nights until the scare wears off.” Abara took note of Nate’s expression and said, “What do you expect? A Secret Service detail?”
    “Nah,” Nate said. “If I get killed, I get killed.”
    Abara’s smooth forehead wrinkled a bit at that one. They hit the ground floor, their footsteps