Page 93 of Cross Down
There it is.
Chapter
104
To Jannie, Breecalmly says, “You’ve got your cell on you?”
“Yes, Bree,” she says, voice slightly quavering.
“Then dial 911 and tell the police a home invasion is under way at this address. Don’t explain, just speak clearly and slowly, then hang up.”
Bree walks deliberately out of the living room to the bottom of the grand stairs. She calls, “Willow? Can you hear me, Willow?”
She waits a minute or two and hears the quicktrot-trot-trotof the girl’s seven-year-old feet on the upstairs floor. A pajamaed Willow appears at the top of the stairs. “Yes, Auntie Bree?”
Bree says, “We’re going to play a little game. I want you to go into the bedroom you’re using, close and lock the door, then go in the bathroom and hide in the bathtub. Okay?”
Willow looks confused. “What kind of game is this, Auntie Bree?”
“Willow!” Bree snaps. “Just do it. Now.”
Willow looks hurt, but she leaves, and Bree turns around and sees Jannie.
“Bree, I can’t dial out,” Jannie says. “I keep getting a busy signal. I can’t get through.”
Bree goes to her purse and pulls out her own iPhone. Yes, Jannie is right.
Beep-beep-beep.
Shit,Bree thinks, and she feels a deep thud of guilt at her own stupidity hit her chest. She could have had a car outside with Bluestone Group personnel in it, but this neighborhood being what it is, it would have meant a stream of calls to the local police about a suspicious-looking parked car. So she had turned down that offer, as well as Bluestone’s offer to have men inside the house. The Balantics were gracious hosts, but the place was full enough with the Cross family stuffed inside.
Bree walks into the kitchen. Nana Mama is standing in front of the stove stirring something in a large black cast-iron pot. Bree goes up to her, turns off the stove.
Nana Mama turns, surprised. She’s holding a wooden spoon in her hand. “Bree?”
“There’s trouble out there,” she says. “Men are coming to attack us.”
“How many?”
“Don’t know,” she says. “We’ve tried calling the police but our calls are being blocked. Jannie, turn off all the lights,” she says to her stepdaughter. “Make sure the doors are locked. Then you and Nana Mama go upstairs to the main bathroom, lock the doors, and crawl into the bathtub.” She goes back to her purse, removes her nine-millimeter Glock. She has two spare magazines.
Bree looks at her laptop. She suddenly sits down.
She checks her connection to the Bluestone Group’s corporate cloud. The heavy-duty high-tech laptop from the Bluestone Group isn’t being jammed. She still has internet access.
Make a Skype call to the local police? Or send an e-mail?
And how long before someone can get here?
Someone squeezes her shoulder. It’s Nana Mama, holding a large and shiny knife in her hand. “Jannie’s gone upstairs, child,” she says, her voice strong. “But I’m not leaving your side.”
“Nana Mama, please.”
The hand on her shoulder squeezes harder. “Bree, I went through things you can’t even imagine when Jim Crow ruled the land. I’m staying. We’ll get through this together. What are you going to do?”
Bree’s fingers start flying across the keyboard. “Work smarter, not harder,” she says.
Nana Mama smiles. “Make it faster, too, if there’s bad men out there.”
