Free High Noon by Nora Roberts Page A

her.
    She turned, very slowly, until her eyes burned into his. “You arrogant son of a bitch.”
    â€œHe took himself out while you were on the line. Not me.” With his trademark smirk in place, Arnie swaggered off.
    She forced herself not to go after him, not now, not now when her rage was so full and sharp and deep she could—would—do something she’d regret later.
    It would wait for later. She promised herself that later she would deal with Officer Arnold Meeks. For now, Phoebe stood and watched Crime Scene walk in and out of the building. A hand dropped on her shoulder.
    â€œNothing more for you to do here,” Dave said to her.
    â€œI never had a chance with him. A minute, maybe two. It was over before I got here. I couldn’t bring it back.”
    â€œPhoebe.”
    She shook her head. “Not now, please. I want to debrief the hostages, and take statements from any witnesses.” She turned around. “I want all debriefing and statements recorded, and I want you to witness them.”
    â€œYou and I both know sometimes things go south.”
    â€œWhat I don’t know is if this one had to.” The rage wanted to make her tremble. She refused. “I’m going to find out. The hostages are en route to the hospital, but the woman didn’t seem to be hurt. She can talk. I’d like you to go with me, now, talk to her.”
    â€œAll right. You may want to talk to the counselor. When you lose one—”
    â€œI didn’t lose him, and that I know.” She bit off the words, so they both knew how close she was to snapping. “I never had him.”
    She didn’t speak on the way to the hospital, and Dave didn’t push. In the silence, she stared out the window and outlined the questions she’d ask, the tone she would take, to build the foundation for what she needed to prove.
    Tracey Percell rested on a gurney in the ER’s exam room. She was young, Phoebe noted, barely old enough to drink. A well-endowed young blonde who needed her roots done.
    Red-rimmed, swollen eyes were weepy yet as she gnawed on her thumbnail.
    â€œHe shot himself. He shot himself right in front of us.”
    â€œYou had a horrible experience. It may help you to talk about it, and it would certainly help us. Do you think you could do that, Tracey?”
    â€œOkay. I hyperventilated, they said. Passed out. They said I should lie down awhile, but he didn’t hurt me. I’m really lucky he didn’t hurt me. He punched Jasper, and he stuck the gun right in his face. And—”
    â€œYou must’ve been scared.” Phoebe sat beside the bed, patted Tracey’s hand before she took out her tape recorder. “Is it all right if I record what we talk about?”
    â€œSure. They said they were going to call my boyfriend. Brad? My boyfriend Brad’s going to come.”
    â€œThat’s good. If he doesn’t come before we leave, I’ll check on Brad myself. How’s that?”
    â€œThanks. Thanks.” Tracey stopped biting her thumbnail as if the mere thought of having her boyfriend come was enough to settle her. “I feel so weird. Like I watched a scary movie, but I was in it.”
    â€œI know. But it’s over now. You work for Mr. Hughes?”
    â€œUh-huh. I’m a legal secretary. It’s not much, but it’s okay.”
    â€œAnd you went to work today, just like usual.”
    â€œI go in to open the office at, like, ten to nine. Jasper got in at the same time today. Lots of times he’s later, but we got there right before nine today. We’d barely opened when he came in. Mr. Gradey. He pushed right in the door and punched Jasper in the face. Knocked him down. I screamed because he had the gun. He looked crazy.”
    Tracey’s eyes watered again as she snatched out two tissues from the box nested on her lap. “He looked just crazy.”
    â€œWhat happened then?”
    â€œHe