Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“You cooked for Dad at what time this morning?” she wanted to know.
“At four.”
She made a pouty face. “Next time wake me up when he leaves so I can kiss him goodbye. Those prison-transfer things make me nervous.”
“No,” Kola said, making scrambled eggs for all of us, adding two kinds of cheese and then slicing tomatoes to go on the side. I didn’t like putting tomatoes in eggs, which was why Sam had none in his omelet earlier. I had not mastered how things didn’t get runny when they were added. Having learned to cook from me, Kola wasn’t a fan either, but we both liked tomatoes, hence the slicing. “They shouldn’t make you nervous. Dad won’t even be there. He’ll be supervising from his office.”
“That’s wrong, you’re wrong,” she told him. “Callahan and Redeker are on vacation visiting his sister and getting married, so no—Dad is on the ground.”
He turned to look at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, she’s sure,” I told him. “He told both of us that last night.”
“Well, crap,” he said, moving the eggs off the stove and turning on the TV. He went to WBBM-TV, channel two for local news, and there was the federal courthouse where, in fifteen minutes, at noon, DeBoer would be.
Kola finished cooking, and his blueberry muffins dinged from the oven at the same time. He told us to come eat, and Jake, who looked ridiculous in an apron and a plastic skeleton Halloween mask that was kept in a drawer in the kitchen just for him, finished frying the bacon.
“You know the screen thing that’s over the pan is all you really need,” Kola assured him before he walked into the living room to check on the news.
“He’s right,” I seconded.
“Says you,” Jake grumbled. “I still get oil spit at me, and getting those stains outta my T-shirts is the worst.”
“Let him do it how he likes,” Hannah scolded me, walking over to give her boyfriend a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t you have Aaron’s Christmas party to emcee tonight?” I asked my daughter.
“Yes, and since I will have to squeeze myself into my sequin strapless green minidress later, I can’t eat much of this.”
“Your mini what now?” Jake asked her, and I noted the scowl on his face.
She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don’t worry, Finn will be there to watch over me.”
“Who’s Finn?” I asked her.
“When George is gone, Finn Murray watches over me.”
“I have never heard about this guy before,” I let her know.
“That’s because normally, George and I sync up. It’s just he’s deployed at the moment or he’s in Portland, I don’t remember which.”
“Will Finn come in and meet us?”
She grimaced. “He’s not as chatty as George.”
“Oh dear God, he’s gotta be monosyllabic, then,” I assured her. “George isn’t exactly gregarious, you know.”
“Yes, but compared to Finn—George comes off like Mr. Personality.”
I squinted at her. “It doesn’t seem like you’re all that fond of Mr. Murray.”
“He doesn’t talk to me, and you know I hate that. Normally I can crack anyone.”
“But not him?”
“No. Not him.” She sighed, sounding resigned. “I’ve tried everything to get him to open up.”
“Have you?”
“Yeah. He’s a pill,” she deadpanned.
Now, of course, I really had to meet the man.
“Pa!” Kola yelled from the living room.
It was the crack in his voice that did it, that had me running. I didn’t even need to ask him what happened, as the news ticker on the bottom of the screen told me that shots had been fired on the courthouse steps. The camera was all over before we were back centered on Cristi Rojas, one of my favorites because I’d met her at a Jewel once, and she was explaining that shots were fired and at least three policemen were down.
Taking the remote from my son, I turned to channel nine, because Naomi Jacobs, wife of our state’s attorney, Kimberly Rodriguez, who Sam and I were friends with, was the news anchor there. As suspected, even though we were nowhere near the evening news, she was the one sitting and delivering the news that US marshals, policemen, and several civilians had been shot from automatic gunfire.
I caught my breath and passed Kola the remote and reached for my phone at the same moment it rang.
“Hello,” I said, my voice wobbly.
“Mr. Harcourt, it’s Eli,” he greeted me, and I put it on speaker as the kids circled me. “Were you watching the news?”
“Of course,” I told him.
“There was gunfire, but the men were all down in seconds. The one man who was close had a handgun, and your husband took a bullet in his vest to save DeBoer.”
I wasn’t even breathing.
“Did you hear the vest part?”
“We did,” Kola answered, because I couldn’t speak. “So you’re saying he’s fine.”
“He is,” Eli said with shaky breath, which let me know that Sam had scared him as well. “He’s—wait.”