Pocket-47 (A Nicholas Colt Thriller) by Jude Hardin

crap.”
    We got out and I unlocked Juliet’s front door. I switched on the light in the foyer, disabled the alarm, smelled the vanilla-scented candles Juliet keeps on a stand in the entranceway.
    “This is a pretty house,” Brittney said.
    We walked into the living room and I turned more lights on. Jules had forgotten her stethoscope on the coffee table.
    “I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow,” I said. “Right now, I want you to go to bed. First door down the hall, on the right. The bathroom’s right across the hall.”
    She didn’t argue. Her eyelids looked as though someone had tied boat anchors to them.
    “You have a toothbrush?” I said.
    “In my backpack.”
    “Anything to wear?”
    “No.”
    She brushed her teeth, went into the spare bedroom, and shut the door. A few minutes later, I knocked and handed her a set of Juliet’s pajamas. Brittney’s eyes were red and swollen, from fatigue and maybe from crying again. I told her goodnight.
    I went to the kitchen, plunked some ice cubes in a glass, filled the glass with bourbon. I grabbed a pack of crackers from a tin on top of the refrigerator, opened the sliding glass door to the back porch, and stepped outside. The deck chairs, beaded with dew, glistened silver in the moonlight. I got a towel and wiped one off and sat down with my drink and looked at the stars. I ate a few crackers, and then lit the cigar Mr. Clemons had given me.
    The cigar was first-rate, a product of the Dominican Republic. The bourbon was first-rate, a product of Bardstown, Kentucky. I sat there enjoying them, pondering how two very different thingsfrom two very different parts of the world went so well together. Like Juliet and me.
    I sat there in the dark, thinking about Brittney’s claim that someone was trying to kill her. It was possible she fabricated the story to delay returning to Leitha’s care. From a teenager’s perspective, there’s no way Big Sister is going to be “the boss of me.” I’ve heard plenty of bogus stories from plenty of runaways who didn’t want to go back home for one reason or another. Leitha’s threat to ground Brittney might have been all there was to it. It was also possible Brittney was telling the truth, and her life really was in danger. If that was the case, I needed to find out who, what, when, where, and why, and make sure whoever had threatened her got a solid message to leave her alone.
    I reactivated Juliet’s alarm system. If Brittney tried to sneak out, a siren would go off. I took a hot shower, climbed into Juliet’s bed, and fell asleep within minutes.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I was dreaming about black-eyed peas with Tabasco sauce and cornbread when I felt Juliet snuggle in behind me.
    “Who’s been sleeping in
my
bed?” she said. I was naked except for my underwear, and she was naked except for the silver crucifix she always wears.
    “The big bad wolf?” I said.
    “Wrong fairy tale.”
    Juliet’s hair was damp and she smelled like cocoa butter. She wedged her hand between my thighs, tickled me with a fingernail.
    “What can I say?” I said. “Nobody ever read to me when I was a kid.”
    “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” She kissed the back of my neck.
    I turned over and faced her. “Do they live happily ever after?”
    “Always.”
    “I need to pee first.”
    “How romantic. Go on, you.”
    When I raised my head, someone with tympani mallets started pounding in my brain. It was my inner troll. He attacks various parts of my body at various times. Today it happened to be the area behind my eyeballs. “You got any Tylenol?” I said.
    “There’s two full bottles in the cabinet over the sink.”
    “Thanks. I think one full bottle will be enough.”
    I got up and used the bathroom, then quietly opened Brittney’s bedroom door and peeked in. She’d kicked the covers away and curled into a fetal position in the pajamas I’d given her. Her hairwas braided into one long pigtail, and a darkened area the size of a