Got Your Number

see if Carl had hidden anything inside. For thirty minutes they flipped and shook and reshelved. Then she reached a collection of Shakespeare with spectacular navy spines. She pulled out the first volume and stopped. "Detective. I think I've found something."
    He joined her. "False books?"
    She held the book-inside-the-book she'd removed up to the light. "It's a journal—1980 to 1985."
    "More than one," he said, removing another falsie. "Nineteen eighty-six to 1990."
    She thumbed through the pages, scanning entries, and realized quickly that some of Carl's literary efforts were bent toward erotica. She skipped the body-part words to look for names—would he be so bold? Apparently so.
    Janeese L...Carlo B...Marie A.
    "Are there any for 1992 and up?"
    He pulled out the last two volumes. "Yeah. Let's take these with us."
    "Isn't that stealing?"
    "Technically, it's called burglary. Let's go."
    They returned the false books, extinguished the lamp, then opened the shutters and doors. Replacing tape where necessary, they retraced their steps to the front door. He locked the door from the inside, then pulled it shut with a click.
    "Wait," she said, wincing. "I left my hat."
    To his credit, Capistrano only sighed. "Stay here, I'll get it." He handed her the journals, then broke in for the second time and disappeared inside.
    The bitter cold reminded her why she lived in the south. She shivered and moved from foot to foot to keep the blood flowing.
    She smelled him before she saw him. Then the motion-detector light came on, revealing Frank Cape, his menacing face framed by a black knit cap. Her pepper spray, she realized miserably, was safely tucked in her purse inside the Dooley.
    "Capis—"
    Cape clapped his hand over her mouth, then stuffed a cloth in her mouth. "This is good," he said, jerking her forward and down the steps. "Thought I was going to have to shoot that guard of yours and leave another body here for the police to find."
    Her eyes flew wide.
    "Oh, yeah, I killed the teacher man—lot of good it did me. Nobody keeps their word these days."
    She grunted and fought to release one hand, kicking at his knees with as much leverage as she could gain on the icy ground. "Be still," he hissed, then slapped her hard. "We're going to see my wife."
    Stars burst in her head, and tears streamed down her cheek from repeatedly gagging on the foul-tasting cloth. Her next strategy was to go totally limp, which wasn't exactly brilliant because then she was easier to drag. She lost a shoe and was fairly certain her shoulder had been dislocated. Though disoriented, she grasped that they were approaching a car with its engine running. He yanked her upright and released one arm long enough for her to pull out the gag and scream, although it came out a weak gurgle. She elbowed him in the nose, and he emitted a gratifying grunt. But then he cursed and pulled out an automatic handgun. "You just don't learn, do you?"
    For one terrifying second, she thought he was going to shoot her, but he raised it over her head for a knockout blow.
    Then Cape flew sideways, as if he'd been hit by a locomotive. Capistrano landed on top of him, and Roxann figured that would pretty much kill anyone. But Cape lived and had even managed to hold on to his gun. Capistrano grabbed the man's wrist and aimed the gun in the air. Cape fired twice.
    "Roxann, get in the car!" Capistrano bellowed.
    Never one to follow orders, she looked for anything she might use as a weapon. Behind Cape's car seat she found a tire tool. Another shot rang out and she flinched when it ricocheted off the open car door. Okay, she was scared to freaking death, but if she allowed Capistrano to be injured defending her, she'd feel obligated to...take him home or something. So she crept closer and waited for an opportunity to lend a hand.
    The men were pounding away at each other, rolling in the rain. She hacked at Cape's legs with the tire iron, but it was so hard to see, she might have hit the detective a few times in the process. The next thing she knew, Cape was on top with his gun pressed against the detective's head. Roxann lifted the tire tool and swung, delivering a striking blow to Cape's back. He roared in pain, and the detective pushed him off. Frank rolled, but still had the wherewithal to raise his gun. Her heart vaulted to her throat. A shot rang out. She screamed and covered her face with her hands.
    When she spread her fingers for a peek, Capistrano was kneeling over Cape,