Page 36 of The Kings of Kearny

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Jakob.

Overhead, a bell dinged, and the doors slid open. There were metal detectors downstairs, so I hadn’t brought my gun inside with me. No fucking way was I leaving this guy his weapon so he could shoot me in the back when he regained consciousness. I freed it from his holster before stepping over him. The gun went into my purse, my phone came out of it, and I took off toward Gran’s room at a run. Pain burst through my bad leg from hip to ankle, but I ignored it.

I called Jakob as the hallway flew past me.

“What happened?” he barked.

“That guard just attacked me in the elevator.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Why do you sound like you’re dying then?”

Ouch. Guess I was more out of shape than I thought. “I’m running to Gran’s room. Dr. Perez isn’t here. She went for lunch early and hasn’t been heard from.”

A door opened up ahead. I slowed to a walk as an elderly couple emerged from it. I heard another door open behind me. A second later a woman screamed. They’d found the guard.

“What’s happening?” Jakob demanded.

I kept to a stately saunter and smiled at the couple as I passed them, pretending I hadn’t heard the scream. As soon as they were gone, I picked up speed again. “Sorry, just passed someone. Jakob, I think I saw a Joker tattoo on another guard’s arm.”

He swore. “Get ready. We’re coming in to get you.”

“Be careful. They’re armed.”

“So are we,” he said. The line went dead.

I made it to Gran’s room and knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” she called.

I nearly had an aneurysm. Her door was unlocked. Anyone could have come in here and—

Stop it,I urged myself. Now wasn’t the time to freak out about the what-ifs.

I rushed inside and locked the door behind me. Remembering Jakob’s move from the other night, I grabbed one of Gran’s kitchen chairs and tried to wedge it beneath the doorknob. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, and it took me three tries before I had the thing braced in tight.

“Well, this is some greeting,” Gran said.

I strode over to her and pulled her into a hard hug. Thank God she was okay.

Her gaze dropped to my leg as we pulled apart. “Uh, sweetie, you have blood on your jeans.”

“It isn’t mine.”

She sighed. “It never is. Who’d you get into it with this time? Amy again?”

I frowned. Amy? Oh hell, she was talking about Amy Smith—the girl who went after me one day on the bus. That was back in middle school.

I stared at Gran, looking for the telltale faraway look in her eyes that meant today was a bad day. Sure enough, she gazed past me as if listening to a tune only she could hear.

Damn it.

“Hey, Gran. How would you like to stay with me for a day or two?”

She smiled. “That sounds lovely. As long as it isn’t an inconvenience.”

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