Dying to Please Read online

  “There's a robbery at Twenty-seven-thirteen Briarwood Road,” she said, and started to explain the situation, but the 911 operator interrupted.

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “At the same address. I'm on the cell phone because they cut the phone lines.” She skirted the kitchen island and entered the breakfast room.

  “You're in the house?”

  “Yes. There are two men—”

  “Are they still in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they armed?”

  “I don't know. I didn't see any weapons, but they cut the power line to the house, too, so I couldn't really tell in the dark if they were armed or not.”

  “Ma'am, if you can, get out of the house. I have patrol units en route to the location and they should arrive in a few minutes, but you should get out of the house now.”

  “Send an ambulance, too,” Sarah said, ignoring the operator's advice as she entered the hall and added the beam of her flashlight to that of the Judge's, playing it over the two men on the floor. She doubted either of them was capable of leaving under his own steam. The cries of the one under the television had subsided into mingled moans and curses. The one she'd punched in the temple hadn't moved at all.

  “An ambulance?”

  “A big television fell on one of the men, and may have broken his legs. The other man is unconscious.”

  “A television fell on them?”

  “Just one of them,” Sarah said, strictly honest. She was beginning to enjoy the phone call. “It's a fifty-five-incher, so it's really heavy. Both of them were trying to carry it out when one guy tripped and the television fell on him. The other guy landed on top.”

  “And the man the television fell on is unconscious?”

  “No, he's conscious. The other one is the one who's out of it.”

  “Why is he unconscious?”

  “I hit him on the head.”

  Judge Roberts glanced around and grinned at her, and managed to give her a thumbs-up with the hand holding the flashlight.

  “So both men are incapacitated?”

  “Yes.” As she spoke, the unconscious one moved his head a little and groaned. “I think he's coming around. He just moved.”

  “Ma'am—”

  “I have him tied up with phone cord,” she said.

  There was a tiny pause. “I'm going to repeat what you said to make sure I have it straight. One man was unconscious, but now he's coming around, and you have him tied up with phone cord.”

  “That's correct.”

  “The other man is pinned by a fifty-five-inch television, and may have broken legs.”

  “Correct.”

  “Cool,” Sarah heard someone in the background say.

  The 911 operator remained professional. “I have medics and two ambulances en route. Is anyone else injured?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any weapons?”

  “One, a pistol.”

  “You have a pistol?”

  “Judge Roberts has the pistol.”

  “Please tell him to put the pistol away, ma'am.”

  “Yes, of course.” No sane police officer wanted to walk into a dark house when someone inside was holding a pistol. She relayed the message to Judge Roberts, who briefly looked mutinous, then sighed and put the pistol in a drawer of the buffet. Considering the condition of the two thieves, holding a gun on them wasn't necessary, even if it did appeal to his macho instinct.

  “The pistol has been put away in a drawer,” Sarah reported.

  “Thank you, ma'am. The patrol units will be there momentarily. They will want to secure the weapon, so please cooperate.”

  “No problem. I'm going to the door now to wait for them.” Leaving Judge Roberts to watch their captives, she went into the front hallway and opened one of the nine-foot-tall double doors as two Mountain Brook black-and-whites with flashing roof lights pulled into the curving drive and stopped in front of the wide steps. “They're here,” she reported to the emergency operator, stepping out so the officers could see her. Powerful flashlight beams played over her, and she held up one hand to shield her eyes from the glare. “Thank you.”

  “Glad to be of service, ma'am.”

  Sarah terminated the call as two uniformed officers approached her, hands on their weapons. From their car radios came a stream of static and staccato messages that she couldn't understand, and the rotating car lights made the manicured lawn look like a weird, deserted disco. To the right, the Cheatwoods' outside floodlights came on as the neighbors checked out the action. Before long, she figured, the entire neighborhood would be awake, though only a few would be crass enough to personally investigate. The rest would use the telephone to garner information.

  “There's a pistol in the buffet in the hall,” she said, giving the two officers that information up front. They were edgy enough as it was; their weapons weren't out, but each of them had his hand on his gun just in case. “It belongs to me. I don't know whether or not the thieves are armed, but they're both incapacitated. Judge Roberts is watching them.”

  “What's your name, ma'am?” the stockier of the two asked as he edged inside the open front door, flashlight sweeping from side to side.

  “Sarah Stevens. I'm Judge Roberts's butler.”

  She saw the glance they exchanged—a woman butler? She was used to that reaction, but all the stocky officer asked was, “Judge?”

  “Lowell Roberts, retired federal judge.”

  He muttered something into the radio on his shoulder as Sarah led them through the dark entry, past the sweeping front staircase, and into the back hallway. Their flashlight beams played over the two men on the floor and the tall, thin, white-haired man standing watch at a safe distance.

  The thief she had punched was conscious now, but definitely not with the program. He blinked several times and managed to mumble, “Wha' happened?” but no one bothered to answer. The one under the television was alternately sobbing and cursing, pushing at the weight on his legs, but he didn't have any leverage and he'd have been better off wiping his streaming nose; at least that would have accomplished something.

  “What happened to that one?” the taller officer asked, shining his flashlight on the face of the one tied up.

  “I hit him in the head.”

  “What with?” he asked, squatting beside the man and conducting a swift but thorough search.

  “My fist.”

  He looked up in surprise, and she shrugged. “Caught him in the temple,” she explained, and he nodded. A blow to the temple would addle King Kong. She didn't add that she had trained countless hours to be able to make that blow. If necessary she would elaborate, but until and unless a law enforcement officer asked her specifically about her skills, both she and her employer preferred to keep the bodyguard portion of her duties private.

  The search produced a knife with a six-inch blade, secured in a sheath strapped to the man's ankle.

  “They were carrying things out through there,” she said, pointing to the sunroom door. “There are sliding glass doors and a patio outside.”

  In the distance came the shriek of sirens—many sirens—signaling the arrival of an entire fleet of policemen and medical personnel. Very shortly the house was going to be swarming with people, and she still had work to do.

  “I'm going to sit over there out of the way,” she said, pointing to the stairs.

  The cop nodded, and Sarah took a seat on the fourth step, her bare feet tucked safely under her. First and foremost she needed to get power restored to the house, then phone service, though they could make do with cellular service. The burglar alarm had a battery reserve, so she had to assume the thieves had also done some damage there, or at least been smart enough to bypass it. Either way, the security people needed to check out everything. Probably the sliding glass doors would need to be replaced, too, but that could wait until morning.

  With her list prioritized and firmly in mind and cell pho