Page 3 of One Wrong Move
He sank into the silence. Only the occasional chirping of birds in the trees below rushed by his ears on the stiff, mounting breeze.
The brilliant orange sun rose higher above the horizon, its rays glinting off the rushing water of the swift creek at the bottom of the valley—chasing away the fading chill of night and replacing it with renewed warmth of the coming day.
“Ain’t Worried About It”broke the silence with its melody. Who on earth was calling so early? He prayed nothing was wrong. It was the only reason he kept his cell on him while climbing—in case there was an emergency and his family needed him.
He shimmied the phone from the Velcro pocket on his right thigh and maneuvered it to his ear without bothering to look at who was calling. “O’Brady.”
“I need you here now!” Tad Gaiman’s voice shook with rage.
Why on earth was Tad calling him so early? Why was he calling him, period?
Tad’s heated words tumbled out. “My gallery’s been robbed!”
“What?” Christian blinked. There was no way. The security system upgrades he’d installed made it impenetrable, or so he’d thought.
“Do you hear me? My gallery has been robbed!”
“I do.” He kept his voice level. Tad was frantic enough for the both of them. “Which gallery?” The man owned three.
“Jeopardy Falls.”
The one in their hometown? Crime was nearly nonexistent in their small ranching, lately turned tourist, town of five hundred. “Take a deep breath and calm down so you can focus.”
“Calm down?” Tad shrieked, and Christian held the phone away from his ear. Even his sister Riley couldn’t hit that high of a pitch. “Did you not hear me? My gallery’s been robbed.”
“I hear you. Let me call you back.”
“Call me back? You cannot be serious!”
“I’m balanced on a ledge on Manzano.”
“Of course you are.” Tad scoffed.
“I’ll call you when I’m on the road.”
“And how long will it take you to get here? This is a DEFCON 5 situation.”
Christian shook his head. Clearly, Tad had no idea what he was talking about. DEFCON 5 meant peacetime.
“Christian! How soon?”
“I need to climb down and make the drive back to town. I’ll see you in an hour.”
“An hour!”
“We’ll talk through it on my way in.”
Scaling down the rock face as fast as he could, Christian reached his vintage Bronco.
Climbing inside, he clicked on the Bluetooth he’d installed. It’d cost a lot, but in his line of work, he needed to be able to talk while on the road chasing down a case. He shook his head, still baffled that anyone had beat the security system.
He dialed Tad.
Normally his drive along the winding dirt roads through the mountains was calming, but not today.
Tad picked up on the third ring.
“Okay,” Christian said, swiping the chalk from his hands onto his pants—the climbing towel too far to reach. “Walk me through it. Did the alarm go off?”
