The brilliant new Lucas Davenport thriller from the #1 New York Times -bestselling author.
"Sandford's track record as a best0selling author is amazing, but it's not an accident," wrote Booklist of Wicked Prey .Read more...
- Publisher: Penguin Random House Audio Publishing Gr
From the cover
Three of them, hard men carrying nylon bags, wearing workjackets, Carhartts and Levi's, all of them with facial hair. Theywalked across the parking structure to the steel security door,heads swiveling, checking the corners and the overheads, steamflowing from their mouths, into the icy air, one of the men on acell phone.
As they got to the door, it popped open, and a fourth man,who'd been on the other end of the cell-phone call, let themthrough. The fourth man was tall and thin, dark-complected,with a black brush mustache. He wore a knee-length black raincoatthat he'd bought at a Goodwill store two days earlier, andblack pants. He scanned the parking structure, saw nothing moving,pulled the door shut, made sure of the lock.
"This way," he snapped.
Inside, they moved fast, reducing their exposure, should someoneunexpectedly come along. No one should, at the ass-end ofthe hospital, at fifteen minutes after five o'clock on a bitterly coldwinter morning. They threaded through a maze of service corridorsuntil the tall man said, "Here."
Here was a storage closet. He opened it with a key. Inside, a pileof blue, double-extra-large orderly uniforms sat on a medical cart.
The hard men dumped their coats on the floor and pulled theuniforms over their street clothes. Not a big disguise, but theyweren't meant to be seen close-up—just enough to slip past avideo camera. One of them, the biggest one, hopped up on thecart, lay down and said, "Look, I'm dead," and laughed at his joke.The tall man could smell the bourbon on the joker's breath.
"Shut the fuck up," said one of the others, but not in an unkindlyway.
The tall man said, "Don't be stupid," and there was nothingkind in his voice. When they were ready, they looked at eachother and the tall man pulled a white cotton blanket over the manon the cart, and one of the men said, "Let's do it."
"Check yourself . . ."
"We don't hurt anyone," the tall man said. The sentiment reflectednot compassion, but calculation: robbery got X amount ofattention, injuries got X-cubed.
"Yeah, yeah . . ." One of the men pulled a semiautomatic pistolfrom his belt, a heavy, blued, no-bullshit Beretta, stolen fromthe Army National Guard in Milwaukee, checked it, stuck it backin his belt. He said, "Okay? Everybody got his mask? Okay.Let's go."
They stuffed the ski masks into their belts and two hard menpushed the cart into the corridor. The tall man led them fartherthrough the narrow, tiled hallways, then said, "Here's the camera."
The two men pushing the cart turned sideways, as the tall mantold them to, and went through a cross-corridor. A security camerapeered down the hall at them. If a guard happened to belooking at the monitor at that moment, he would have seen onlythe backs of two orderlies, and a lump on the cart. The tall manin the raincoat scrambled along, on his hands and knees, on thefar side of the cart.
The big man on the cart, looking at the ceiling tiles go by,giggled, "It's like ridin' the Tilt-A-Whirl."
When they were out of the camera's sight line, the tall manstood up and led them deeper into the hospital—the three outsiderswould never have found the way by themselves. After twominutes, the tall man handed one of the outsiders a key, indicateda yellow steel door, with no identification.
"This is it?" The leader of the three was skeptical—the doorlooked like nothing.
"Yes," said the tall man. "This is the side door. When you goin, you'll be right among them. One or two. The front door andservice window is closed until six. I'll be around the corner untilyou call, watching."
He'd be around the corner...