Free Deadly Force by Beverly Long Page A

“Let me get my keys,” he said.
    “Is your mom home?”
    “No. She’s working nights for the next month.”
    Two minutes later, Tom eased his car away from the curb. He drove with both hands on the wheel while Sam sat on the passenger side, his nose practically pressed up to the window.“Circle the block,” Sam said.
    “Okay. Who exactly is it that we’re looking for?”
    “Her name is Claire. She’s short, dark-haired, about your age. She might be wearing a white shirt and yellow shorts.” Please, please, let her at least have had the good sense to change clothes. Something that covered all her parts . Sam resisted the urge to cross himself, to make it an official prayer.
    The streetlights made it easy enough to see the sidewalk. It was a warm fall night and couples, both young and old, strolled along, hand in hand. They didn’t worry him. The group of kids hanging on the front step of one of the brownstones warranted a second look.
    “Slow down,” he said. There wasn’t anything much more dangerous to a lone woman than a group of testosterone-charged teenage boys.It happened once or twice a year. One idiot would get an idea and then normally good boys, boys with futures and plans, would follow, forever altering their lives and the life of the victim.
    “Want to get out?” Tom asked.
    “No, keep driving,” Sam said. It looked like this group of boys was focused on their card game.
    They circled the block twice, giving Sam a chance to inspect bothsides of the street. No Claire. Not anywhere.
    “Head down toward Patriot’s Park,” he said. When Tom pulled up outside the wrought-iron gate that marked the park’s entrance, Sam jumped from the car. “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to check the running path.”
    “You don’t look like you’re dressed for a run.”
    Sam looked down at his now-wrinkled suit and dress shoes. He’d been home twicesince he’d dressed this morning. Both times he’d rushed out. Once to avoid Claire, and now, to find her. He could take his jacket off, but then his shoulder holster would be in full view. He wanted the benefit of surprise if Claire was in trouble.
    Fifteen minutes later Sam had run every path. He’d pounded down the cinder-covered trail, sweating like a dog, no doubt scaring the hell out ofpeople going for a late-night stroll.
    When he got back to Tom’s car, he leaned against it, breathing heavy. He dialed her cell phone number, listening impatiently while the phone rang. When it switched over to voice mail, he slammed his phone shut and jerked open the door. “Let’s go. Head back toward my house, but take Trainer Street this time.” It was the high-rent district, but that didn’tmean it was any safer.
    He saw Nightmare before he saw Claire. The dog lay on the sidewalk, his head on his paws, in front of a three-story brownstone. Claire, dressed in long pants and a loose T-shirt, thank You, Lord, sat three steps up next to a man. She didn’t look hurt, harmed or scared.
    That didn’t help the ball of angry fire heating up in Sam’s belly. “Stop the car,” he ordered.
    Tom pressed the brakes and the car skidded to a stop. “There’s no place to park,” he said.
    “We won’t be staying long,” Sam said, opening his door. He reached Claire in nine strides. He counted them, trying to get his emotions under control. It didn’t work.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
    “Sam?” Claire’s head jerked up in surprise.
    “What are you thinking? You mustbe some kind of fool.”
    The guy next to Claire shifted, like he wasn’t sure if he should run or not dare make a move. Sam pointed his finger at the man. “Sit. This is none of your business. And who the hell are you anyway?”
    The man opened his mouth, but no words came out.
    Claire frowned at Sam. “Sam, this is Pete Mission. We work together. Pete, this is Sam, the detective I was tellingyou about.”
    When Claire smiled at the guy, the heat in Sam’s gut turned up a