"Jerry Davis - Scuba (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

"I wrecked the car."
"I don't care. I want you safe in the house. When I get you
safe in the house we'll talk."
"We're going in the morning, Peg," he said, edging toward the
side of the house. "I don't care what it takes, we're going back
to Florida. We're leaving."
"That's fine, that's wonderful. Please be careful."
"I'll go to the office tomorrow, straighten everything out,
and then we'll leave." He had reached the edge, and was
tentatively feeling for a place to put his foot on the fence.
Peggy reached up and guided his foot to a secure foothold. "Let
them repossess everything. We'll make a fresh start."
He made it down and she hugged him, then quickly led him
inside. In the bedroom she helped him off with his sopping wet
clothes. They smelt of sea water. She wrapped him in his long,
thick terry cloth robe and gave him a hot brandy with honey and
lemon. He sat on the bed with the television on, sipping on the
brandy. "Thank you, honey. Thank you. I feel a lot better now."
The phone rang, and she went off in the next room to answer
it. A moment later she came back in and turned the television
volume down. "It's for you," she said. "It's Neil Cromwell."
Jack put the hot brandy down so he wouldn't spill it; his
hands had started shaking. He swallowed, looking at their beside
phone. You incredible bastard, he thought.
"Want me to tell him you're asleep?" Peggy asked.
"No," Jack said. He was afraid of what Cromwell might say to
her if she got back on the phone with him. Jack reached out and
picked up the receiver. "What?" he said.
"Hi Jack. How're you feeling?"
"What do you want?"
"I told you I had ways, Jack. The photographer was mine."
"I'm going to turn you into the police."
"You can't prove anything, and you're wife will still find
out what happened."
Jack looked up at Peggy. She was staring at him. He could say
nothing more to Cromwell, he could hardly breathe let alone talk.
It was happening again.
"We'll talk about it in the morning, Jack," Cromwell said.
"Eight o'clock sharp, my office." The phone clicked, and the dial
tone rang in his ear.



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Jack dropped the phone and sprang out of bed toward the
closet, sliding open the right-side door and dragging out his
diving gear. Heavy metal bottles full of air clanged and clunked
as he hastily made connections. His wife sat on the floor with