"Linda Evans - Time Scout 3 - Ripping Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

your friends or your choice of career. YouтАЩre growing up, Jenna. Who youтАЩre
friends with-or sleep with-is your business, not mine or his or anyone elseтАЩs,
and frankly, a blind man could see CarlтАЩs good for you, say what your father
will. For one thing,тАЭ she said bitterly, тАЬyouтАЩre standing up to that bastard
for once in your life, insisting on a film career, and I know how much CarlтАЩs
had to do with that. And I know whatтАЩs in that bank box of yours. Frankly, I
approve. ItтАЩs why IтАЩm sending him with you. I know heтАЩll take care of you for
me.тАЭ
тАЬWhat?тАЭ Jenna gasped. Cripes . . . Where did Aunt Cassie get her information
from? But her concern was so genuine, Jenna couldnтАЩt even take offense at the
invasion of privacy which her really serious snooping represented.
Cassie tried to smile, failed. тАЬDonтАЩt be angry with me for prying, sweety,
please. IтАЩm just trying to look out for you. So.тАЭ She slid an envelope across
the table. тАЬIf you want to go, you can probably get out before the press gets
wind of this. And donтАЩt go all stubborn and proud on me and tell me youтАЩve got
to do things on your own. You think the press has been savage before? You have
no idea how bad itтАЩs going to get, hon. TheyтАЩre going to crucify us. All of
us. So take it, grab your passports, both of you, and get out of town. Okay,
Jenna?тАЭ
She just didnтАЩt know what to say. Maybe that crazy scheme to get down time
to film the Ripper terror wasnтАЩt so crazy, after all-and here was her aunt,
handing Jenna enough cash to keep her hidden safely down time from the press
corps for months, if necessary. Carl, too. Maybe theyтАЩd win that Kit Carson
Prize in Historical Video, after all, with months to complete the filming,
rather than a couple of weeks. The envelope she slid into her handbag was
heavy. Thick, heavy, and terrifying. She poured another glass of wine and
drank it down without pausing.
тАЬOkay, Cassie. IтАЩll go. Mind if I call Carl?тАЭ
Her auntтАЩs attempt at a smile was the most courageous thing Jenna ever seen,
braver and more real than anything her aunt had ever done in her presence. тАЬGo
on, Jenna. IтАЩll order us dinner while youтАЩre gone.тАЭ
She scooted back her chair and kissed her auntтАЩs cheek. тАЬLove you, Cassie.
Be right back.тАЭ She found the phones in the back beside the bathrooms and dug
into her purse for change, then dialed.
тАЬHello?тАЭ
тАЬCarl, itтАЩs Jenna. YouтАЩre never going to believe-тАЭ
Gunfire erupted in stereo.
From the telephone receiver and the restaurant. CarlтАЩs choked-off scream,
guttural, agonized, cut straight through Jenna. Rising screams out in LuigiтАЩs
main dining room hardly registered. тАЬCarl! Carl!тАЭ Then, as shock sank in, and
the realization that she was still hearing gunfire from the direction of her
auntтАЩs table: тАЬCassie!тАЭ She dropped the receiver with a bang, ignoring its
violent swing at the end of its cord. Jenna ran straight toward the staccato
chatter of gunfire, tried to shove past terrified patrons fleeing the dining
room.
Someone shouted her name. Jenna barely had time to recognize Noah Armstrong,
elegant clothing covered in blood. Then the detective body-slammed her to the
floor. Gunfire erupted again, chewing into the man behind Jenna. The wall
erupted into splinters behind him. The man screamed, jerked like a murdered
marionette, plowed into the floor, still screaming. Jenna choked on a ghastly