My eyes adjusted to the gloom created by the blackened windows in time to avoid tripping over a long metal pipe just inside the doorway. Slipping through entryway, I stopped and listened. Nothing. No sign of Frankie. The only sound was the rapid beat of my heart. Out of the coroner of my eye, I caught a flash of something thirty feet above me. Second floor. I strained to make it out. A pale pink high-heeled shoe. Fuck. I searched the shadows for a ladder or a staircase. Ten feet to my left was a rusty round-rung extension ladder. Awfully convenient. I climbed the rickety ladder. It groaned and creaked under my weight. So much for the element of surprise, if there was one. Reaching the top, I scanned the small dark corridor with the Desert Eagle. I wouldn’t walk into an ambush a second time. The scuffed shoe lay inches from my hand. Dread filled me. I studied it for inspiration. None came. The voice in my mind screamed to hurry the fuck up.
What do You think about SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series)?
