Free High Noon by Nora Roberts Page B

said for me to get up and lock the door. He said he’d shoot Jasper dead if I tried to run. He had the gun right to his head, and I was scared; I just did what he said. He said for us to push the desk in front of the door, and when we didn’t move fast enough, I guess, he shot the gun.”
    â€œHe shot at you?”
    â€œNo. He shot it into the floor, put a hole in the carpet. I guess I screamed again, and I was crying. He said to shut the hell up and do what he said. So we did. Then he hit Jasper again and started yelling that he wanted his money. His six thousand five hundred twenty-eight dollars and thirty-six cents. Every penny.” She started on her thumbnail again. “Um, I guess you could say Jasper sort of talked him out of the money, for, you know, expenses and costs for this suit. And, um, the suit didn’t really go anywhere.”
    â€œHe was a client?”
    â€œWell, I guess Jasper didn’t really put him on the books. So to speak.” Her gaze skidded away. “I don’t know all the particulars, really.”
    â€œWe’ll get to that later.”
    â€œOkay. It’d be better if you asked Jasper about all that anyway. Jasper told him he didn’t have the money, and he said Jasper better get it or else. They were talking about going to the bank, then the cop came.”
    â€œThe first officer arrived on scene at that time.”
    â€œWell, yeah. Sort of. You could hear the sirens, and Mr. Gradey made me go with him to the window and peek through the blinds. Mr. Gradey yelled out something like: ‘Get the hell away. You try to come in and I’ll kill everybody.’ How he had two people in there and a gun, and he’d use it. Gradey told me to yell out, too, so I did, like, please, he means it.”
    She knuckled her eyes. “Gosh.”
    â€œYou must’ve been scared.”
    â€œOh my God, ma’am, I’ve never been so scared in my whole life.”
    â€œDid Mr. Gradey hurt you then?”
    â€œNo. No. He made me lie down on the floor, on my stomach. Jasper, too. Then the cop, I guess he had one of those what-do-you-call-it? Bullhorns? He called out how he was Officer Arnold Meeks, and how Mr. Gradey was to put down his weapon and come out with his hands up. Right quick, too, he said, like he meant business. And Mr. Gradey, he just yelled back he was William Gradey and we could all go to hell unless he got his six thousand five hundred twenty-eight dollars and thirty-six cents back.
    â€œThen they just yelled at each other awhile.”
    â€œYelled at each other?”
    â€œYelled and cursed at each other for I don’t know how long. Mr. Gradey wanted to know where the cop was, where the law was when Jasper stole his money. And the cop’s like, ‘I’m not concerned with your money, and you better get your ass out here, boy, with your hands up.’”
    Phoebe glanced at Dave. “How did Mr. Gradey react to that?”
    â€œHe got really pissed, you know, ’specially when the policeman said how Mr. Gradey didn’t have the balls to shoot us. Honest to God, I thought he’d do it then and there just to prove the cop wrong. I couldn’t stop crying.”
    â€œYou heard the policeman say that?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Only he didn’t say Mr. Gradey didn’t have the balls, he said ‘you asshole.’”
    Phoebe looked at Dave as Tracey began to shred one of her tissues into bits of fluff. “And so Mr. Gradey, he told the cop to come on in and get him, and he’d shoot him, and us, too. How he needed his money. He had to sell his car, and he didn’t have anywhere to live, and the cop’s saying he’ll be living in a cell and won’t need a car. After a while, it seemed like a long while, more cops came.
    â€œDo you think Brad’s here yet?”
    â€œI’ll go find out in just a minute. What happened next, Tracey?”
    â€œWell, Mr.