like thunder. Pete looked up in dismay, as did everybody else under the tent.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” the fat lady said.
Jim dived for cover. More poles snapped.
“Timber . . .” Pete groaned.
An avalanche of canvas came down on their heads.
CHAPTER
6
WEST HAVEN
Everything was dark and stuffy. Pete felt like a princess looking for a pea as he wriggled beneath the heavy canvas toward a narrow sliver of light. Just a few more inches, he thought, as a meaty hand closed on his ankle. “Forget it, slick,” the fat lady huffed. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He gave her a taste of his shoe leather. He felt bad kicking a woman in the face, but maybe the extra padding in her cheeks would soften the blow? In any event, the pudgy fingers came loose long enough for him to scramble out from beneath the collapsed tent into the open air of the midway. The bright electric lights came as a jolt after the suffocating darkness. Squinting, he jumped to his feet. He kept a tight grip on the handle of the Tesla. Artie would kill him if he lost it.
“Myka?”
“Right here.” His partner emerged into the electric glow a few yards away. He ran over and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She brushed the dirt from her knees, then looked up and down the midway. “Where is Nadia?”
“Hell if I know.” He joined her in scanning the bustling carnival. Unfortunately, her sideshow buddies had given the fleeing healer plenty of time to vanish into the crowd. She could be anywhere by now, and they didn’t have time to search the entire show on foot. Glancing behind him, he saw more bodies burrowing under the canvas. Jim and the others would be crawling out soon. Anxious carnies and random lookie loos came running to check on the fallen tent. Pete and Myka blended into the spectators like they had nothing to do with the accident.
“We can’t let her get away with that glove,” Myka said urgently.
“Tell me about it.”
The Ferris wheel rotated above them. High-spirited shrieks and laughter spilled from its swinging cars. Pete’s gaze climbed to the top of the wheel, which was at least 150 feet above the carnival. There had to be quite a view from up there. . . .
“Hey!” he announced. “I just had the greatest idea ever.”
A nearby souvenir stand hawked cheap plastic toys and doodads. Pete dashed over to the stand, squeezing past a milling pod of schoolkids. Toy swords, rubber snakes, helium balloons, inflatable cartoon characters, whistles, pennants, and posters competed for his attention, but he ignored them in favor of a pair of flimsy plastic binoculars. “Put it on my tab,” he told the vendor as he snatched the binoculars and made tracks for the Ferris wheel, which was several yards away. He bulldozed through the crowd while a confused-looking Myka rushed to keep up with him.
“Pete?”
He tossed her the Tesla.
“Take this! You might need it!”
He skidded to a halt in front of the Ferris wheel and pointed to the topmost cars. “Maybe I can spot her from up there,” he explained, while cutting to the front of the line. He flashed his badge at the ride operator. “Secret Service, bub. I’m commandeering this ride.”
The operator looked understandably baffled. “‘Commandeering’?”
“You heard me, mister.” Pete took possession of a bottom car, over the protests of a teenage Romeo and his date. He barked orders at the carnie. “Take me up and don’t bring me down until you hear me yelling. This is a matter of national security!”
That might be stretching it or bit, or maybe not. Who knew what the full potential of Nadia’s glove was? Not too long ago, Charles Atlas’s workout trunks had nearly destroyed Detroit. . . .
“Okay, okay,” the cowed operator complied. “Whatever you say, man!”
The carnie worked a lever and the wheel resumed its turning. Pete called out to Myka as his car lurched forward. “I’ll let you know if I spot her. Stand by!”
“Good
“Oh, for crying out loud,” the fat lady said.
Jim dived for cover. More poles snapped.
“Timber . . .” Pete groaned.
An avalanche of canvas came down on their heads.
CHAPTER
6
WEST HAVEN
Everything was dark and stuffy. Pete felt like a princess looking for a pea as he wriggled beneath the heavy canvas toward a narrow sliver of light. Just a few more inches, he thought, as a meaty hand closed on his ankle. “Forget it, slick,” the fat lady huffed. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He gave her a taste of his shoe leather. He felt bad kicking a woman in the face, but maybe the extra padding in her cheeks would soften the blow? In any event, the pudgy fingers came loose long enough for him to scramble out from beneath the collapsed tent into the open air of the midway. The bright electric lights came as a jolt after the suffocating darkness. Squinting, he jumped to his feet. He kept a tight grip on the handle of the Tesla. Artie would kill him if he lost it.
“Myka?”
“Right here.” His partner emerged into the electric glow a few yards away. He ran over and helped her to her feet. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She brushed the dirt from her knees, then looked up and down the midway. “Where is Nadia?”
“Hell if I know.” He joined her in scanning the bustling carnival. Unfortunately, her sideshow buddies had given the fleeing healer plenty of time to vanish into the crowd. She could be anywhere by now, and they didn’t have time to search the entire show on foot. Glancing behind him, he saw more bodies burrowing under the canvas. Jim and the others would be crawling out soon. Anxious carnies and random lookie loos came running to check on the fallen tent. Pete and Myka blended into the spectators like they had nothing to do with the accident.
“We can’t let her get away with that glove,” Myka said urgently.
“Tell me about it.”
The Ferris wheel rotated above them. High-spirited shrieks and laughter spilled from its swinging cars. Pete’s gaze climbed to the top of the wheel, which was at least 150 feet above the carnival. There had to be quite a view from up there. . . .
“Hey!” he announced. “I just had the greatest idea ever.”
A nearby souvenir stand hawked cheap plastic toys and doodads. Pete dashed over to the stand, squeezing past a milling pod of schoolkids. Toy swords, rubber snakes, helium balloons, inflatable cartoon characters, whistles, pennants, and posters competed for his attention, but he ignored them in favor of a pair of flimsy plastic binoculars. “Put it on my tab,” he told the vendor as he snatched the binoculars and made tracks for the Ferris wheel, which was several yards away. He bulldozed through the crowd while a confused-looking Myka rushed to keep up with him.
“Pete?”
He tossed her the Tesla.
“Take this! You might need it!”
He skidded to a halt in front of the Ferris wheel and pointed to the topmost cars. “Maybe I can spot her from up there,” he explained, while cutting to the front of the line. He flashed his badge at the ride operator. “Secret Service, bub. I’m commandeering this ride.”
The operator looked understandably baffled. “‘Commandeering’?”
“You heard me, mister.” Pete took possession of a bottom car, over the protests of a teenage Romeo and his date. He barked orders at the carnie. “Take me up and don’t bring me down until you hear me yelling. This is a matter of national security!”
That might be stretching it or bit, or maybe not. Who knew what the full potential of Nadia’s glove was? Not too long ago, Charles Atlas’s workout trunks had nearly destroyed Detroit. . . .
“Okay, okay,” the cowed operator complied. “Whatever you say, man!”
The carnie worked a lever and the wheel resumed its turning. Pete called out to Myka as his car lurched forward. “I’ll let you know if I spot her. Stand by!”
“Good
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