Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (100 best novels of all time txt) 📗

won’t mean jack shit to my husband and kids if I get popped the last week of June,” Bishop said. “But I got a Visa card, so if you show me to your tailor, Mr. Rimes, I’m happy to get my own.”

“You can get bulkier models for less money right here in town, with steel or ceramic insert plates,” I said. “But the best discrete armor has to be custom-ordered for one—height, weight, measurements. High-end units can run seven hundred, but for three and a two-day rush delivery you can have reliable armor designed for women to wear under regular clothing. Remind me to show you what we have for our client.”

Bishop nodded, seemingly relieved. I had a feeling we would get on fine. I also had a feeling part of her job for me would be keeping Ramos on task and out of the way. Maybe it was part of her job now.

Suzanne Hauser looked pleased to see us leave. As we took her employees out to the van, I imagined her dropping into a swivel chair and taking a healthy hit from a bottle of brandy kept in a bottom desk drawer.

Pete introduced Bishop and Ramos to Sam as they climbed into the middle seats. Then he got behind the wheel, and I took shotgun. As we pulled away from the curb, I turned to our new teammates and described the events that had brought Drea Wingard to national prominence, with Sam adding details when I requested them. Next, I handed each a pocket baton in a small sheath that could be clipped to a belt. These were identical, I explained, to the batons Pete and I carried. After that, I described our protective operation, from the earbuds that would keep us in constant contact with each other to the monitor system to the precautions we would take when Drea had an appearance away from the conference. Finally, I invited questions.

“I got a Taser,” Ramos said. “Should I bring it?”

“If it’s the kind you can keep out of sight. Remember, you don’t want to make yourself a target. We want to look like we’re with her, not like we’re protecting her.”

“I don’t get it,” Ramos said. “Looking like security should keep thugs away.”

“Thugs maybe,” I said. “But if we discourage these guys from getting close, it might encourage them to use something high-powered from a safe distance.” I tapped my vest. “Bullet resistant, not bullet proof. Odds go down with rifle scopes and head shots.”

Ramos swallowed and shifted as if uncomfortable.

“Don’t forget these people are dickheads,” Pete called from over his shoulder. “White supremacist assholes who don’t think anyone in this van belongs in this country or deserves to breathe free. If I drove into a wall at high speed right now, they’d pack a picnic lunch to watch us burn and high-five each other for the money they saved on bullets.”

“I got a permit,” Bishop said. “Never had to bring my gun to work. Should I?”

“Depends on whether you’re comfortable notching the job up to another level. Again, nothing so big you can’t conceal it.”

“What about a Colt Cobra .38, short barrel?”

I nodded. “Take into consideration how you’d carry it if you wear armor.” I studied her for a moment as she took in her surroundings with a focused gaze. She had short tight curls that were easy to maintain, a straight back, and shoulders that suggested an exercise regimen. “Ever been in the military, Bishop?”

“Eight years, sir. Army.” She smiled. “Met my husband in Kuwait. What about you?”

I returned her smile. “I was next door. Twice. Met a lot of people I’d rather forget.”

“If she orders a vest,” Ramos said, “can I use my mom’s credit card to get one?”

“Up to your mom,” I said. “You haven’t pissed her off lately, have you?”

“What?”

“Is there any reason she wouldn’t want you to have one?”

“He’s busting your chops, man.” Pete laughed. “If you were about to answer yes, we need to talk.”

Ramos relaxed and smiled. “I’m her only son and the baby. My sisters will get her to do it.”

“I guess it’s good when siblings have got your back,” Pete said. “But I’m a solo, so I’m only guessing here.” He turned left onto an expressway ramp. “Man, I love the way this thing handles. I just might get one.”

“Don’t spend your pension in one place,” I said. “I’m sure the price tag is up there.”

“Well, I can’t wait for my inheritance. My parents are the youngsters in families with good longevity genes.”

At noon Pete drove into the Preferred Parking Lot of Buffalo Niagara International and claimed a pick-up/drop-off slot near the second walkway into the terminal. He waited in the van with Bishop and Ramos while Sam and I went inside.

The Arrivals monitor near the baggage claim carousels on the first floor noted the flight from BWI was on time, due to land in five minutes. Sports jacket buttoned to hide my gun and avoid a panic that would shut down the airport, I followed Sam onto the escalator and up to the waiting area to the right of TSA inspection lines. We sat in the first row of chairs near the glass partition that separated ticketless people from the boarding gates. In an untucked white shirt and brown slacks instead of his customary gray work uniform, Sam fidgeted in his seat and kept adjusting his glasses or his baseball cap. He stood and got a bottle of water from the small bar in the corner. Then he returned to his seat and chugged a third in a single swallow.

I pivoted in my chair to face him. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Only once since the funeral.” His baritone was unusually quivery, and he gulped more water. “She invited me down after she got settled in DC” He chuckled. “But I almost didn’t recognize her without glasses and her hair short and dyed.”

“That was while she was still writing her book, before she started