Authors: Robin Burcell
The Dark Hour (45 page)
Sheila sat on the bed, her hand to her chest as she took a deep breath. “He got out this morning.”
“And what?” Carillo asked. “You needed my ATM card to welcome him home?”
“No,” she said, turning an angry glance his way. “I needed it so they couldn’t trace my movements and find me, thereby finding him. Don’t you think it’s odd that they dropped the charges right
after
they learned I asked you to look into it? Like they
knew
you’d find out they were setting him up?”
“Great. He’s out. So where is he, then?”
“In hiding.”
“Hiding? Under the bed with you?”
“My God, Tony. What part of this don’t you get?”
“The part where you go sneaking off and don’t answer your goddamned phone so I think you’re lying dead somewhere.”
“You mean you actually care what happens to me?”
“Finish your goddamned story so I can figure out what’s going on.”
“Fine. I heard a car pull up and looked out my bedroom window, expecting to see the maid’s car, but saw yours instead. I freaked.”
“Because you saw
my
Crown Vic, the same one I’ve been driving every day for the past year?”
“No. Because, A, my maid has been coming here for six months at seven-thirty in the morning and has
never
been late until today, and, B, I wasn’t expecting you. Naturally I thought you were the guys after Trip, so I hid. Happy?”
“Ecstatic. So what now?”
“Now I pack a few days of clothes and go to meet him. And then we need to get a hotel or something so they don’t find us. I don’t suppose you’d let me use your credit card?”
Sydney, trying to ease Carillo’s frustration, asked, “What makes you think someone’s after you?”
“Trip. He told me.”
“Why does he think this?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I only know that he’s too scared to come to the house.”
“And yet,” Carillo said, “he had no problem sending you here?”
“He’d be furious if he thought I was here. He thinks I’m at your house.”
“He just went up a few notches in my book.”
“So I
can
use your credit card?”
“Tell you what, Sheila. Assuming any of this is true, I’ll follow you to your hotel, pay the bill, then sit down with Trip and get to the bottom of it.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“If it will bring me peace for an afternoon, yes.”
She got up off the bed, put her arms around him. “Thank you, Tony.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Get your things together. Sydney and I will wait for you downstairs.”
He and Sydney walked out, and he closed the door behind him.
“You buying that?” Sydney asked.
“I think she watches too much TV.”
“At least Trip’s off the hook for embezzlement.”
“What more could a prospective wife ask for?” Carillo said, as he and Sydney started down the stairs.
The doorbell rang, and they heard Sheila call out, “It’s probably the maid. She’s got a key.”
“She gets a maid, I get the bill,” Carillo muttered as someone turned a key in the lock, then opened the door.
A small woman in dark clothing stood there, shoving something in her pocket before turning around to pick up a caddy filled with cleaning supplies. She straightened and looked right at them, her eyebrows shooting up, not in fear, but in inquiry. “Are you Trip?” she asked, focusing on Carillo.
Carillo froze. “How long did Sheila say she was the maid here?”
“Six months,” Sydney answered.
No sooner had the words left her mouth, Sydney saw the woman reach into the caddy, pulling out a black semiauto.
Before the woman’s gun cleared the bucket, Sydney drew and fired. She heard Carillo’s almost simultaneous shots. The woman fell back, looking surprised as the bucket and gun clattered to the floor. The two agents approached, keeping their weapons trained on the woman. Carillo opened the door, looked outside, checking for more suspects. Sydney kicked the woman’s gun away, and it went sliding. She reached down, checked the carotid for a pulse. There was none.
Sheila, hearing the gunshots, ran out of her bedroom, stood at the top of the stairs, then screamed.
She sank to her knees. “Oh my God . . .”
“I take it that’s not your maid?” Carillo asked.
She shook her head. And when she recovered, said, “Now do you believe me?”
Sydney took out her phone to call 911. As she punched in the numbers, then put the phone to her ear, she looked at Carillo. “This is
not
how I wanted to spend my Christmas vacation.”
R
OBIN
B
URCELL
is an FBI-trained forensic artist who has worked in law enforcement for over two decades as a police officer, detective, and hostage negotiator. A two-time Anthony Award winner, she is the author of two previous Sydney Fitzpatrick novels,
The Bone Chamber
and
Face of a Killer
, as well as four novels featuring SFPD Homicide Inspector Kate Gillespie:
Every Move She Makes
,
Fatal Truth
,
Deadly Legacy
, and
Cold Case
. You can visit her website at: www.robinburcell.com.
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When Midnight Comes
Every Move She Makes
Fatal Truth
Deadly Legacy
Cold Case
Face of a Killer
The Bone Chamber
The Dark Hour
C
OMING
S
OON
The Black List
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from
The Black List
copyright © 2013 by Robin Burcell.
THE DARK HOUR. Copyright © 2012 by Robin Burcell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition DECEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780062133496
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062133472
FIRST EDITION
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