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You Can Run: A heart gripping, fast paced thriller (7th Street Crew Book 2)

Willow Rose








  Merritt Island

  Merritt Island

  Part 1

  1. January 2016

  2. January 2016

  3. October 2005

  4. January 2016

  5. January 2016

  6. January 2016

  7. January 2016

  8. October 2005

  9. January 2016

  10. January 2016

  11. January 2016

  12. January 2016

  13. January 2016

  14. January 2016

  15. October 2005

  16. January 2016

  17. January 2016

  18. January 2016

  19. January 2016

  20. January 2016

  21. January 2016

  22. January 2016

  23. January 2016

  24. January 2006

  25. January 2016

  26. January 2016

  27. January 2016

  28. January 2016

  29. January 2016

  30. January 2016

  Part 2

  31. February 2006

  32. January 2016

  33. January 2016

  34. January 2016

  35. January 2016

  36. January 2016

  37. January 2016

  38. March 2006

  39. January 2016

  40. January 2016

  41. January 2016

  42. January 2016

  43. January 2016

  44. January 2016

  45. January 2016

  46. January 2016

  47. January 2016

  48. January 2016

  49. August 2006

  50. January 2016

  51. January 2016

  52. January 2016

  53. January 2016

  54. January 2016

  55. January 2016

  56. August 2006

  57. January 2016

  58. January 2016

  59. January 2016

  60. January 2016

  61. August 2006

  62. January 2016

  63. January 2016

  64. January 2016

  65. January 2016

  66. February 2007

  67. January 2016

  Part 3

  68. February 2016

  69. February 2016

  70. February 2007

  71. February 2016

  72. February 2016

  73. February 2016

  74. February 2007

  75. February 2016

  76. February 2016

  77. February 2016

  78. February 2016

  79. April 2007

  80. February 2016

  81. February 2016

  82. February 2016

  83. February 2016

  84. February 2016

  85. November 2010

  86. February 2016

  87. February 2016

  88. February 2016

  89. November 2010

  90. February 2016

  91. February 2016

  92. February 2016



  Books by the Author

  About the Author




  1. November 2014

  2. March 1959

  3. November 2014

  4. November 2014

  5. November 2014

  6. November 2014

  7. March 1959

  8. November 2014

  9. November 2014

  10. November 2014

  11. November 2014

  12. November 2014

  13. March 1959

  14. November 2014

  15. November 2014

  16. November 2014

  17. November 2014

  18. November 2014

  19. November 2014

  20. May 1959

  21. November 2014

  22. November 2014

  23. November 2014

  24. November 2014

  25. November 2014

  26. November 2014

  27. November 2014

  28. November 2014

  29. November 2014

  30. November 2014

  31. April 1964

  32. November 2014

  33. November 2014

  34. November 2014

  35. November 2014

  36. November 2014

  37. November 2014

  38. November 2014

  39. July 1965

  40. November 2014

  41. November 2014

  Order your copy today!

  Copyright Willow Rose 2016

  Published by Jan Sigetty Boeje

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Cover design by Sara de Ridder | de Ridder designs

  Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque

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  There is only one difference between a madman and me. The madman thinks he is sane. I know I am mad.

  ~ Salvador Dali


  Merritt Island, December 2010

  The kids are sitting in the living room. The youngest boy, Jack Jr., is on the floor. He is watching TV, the same movie he always watches on Saturday mornings. Kimmie, his older sister by three years is on the couch, a blanket wrapped around her legs, even though it is not cold.

  “Could we watch something else?” she complains. “We always watch How to Train your Dragon. It’s so boring!”

  “You don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to,” Jack Jr. says. “I love this movie.”

  His older sister rolls her eyes with a deep groan. “Come on. You’ve seen it seventeen times. Don’t you get tired of watching everything over and over again? You’re such a baby. Stupid little baby.”

  Her ten-year-old brother looks up at her, then bursts into a loud wailing sound. Seconds later, their mother, Lisa, is in the room with them.

  “Quit shouting!” she yells. “Dad is trying to sleep in. He had a late meeting last night.”

  “She called me stupid!” Jack Jr. cries.


  “But, Mooom,” Kimmie complains.

  “Kimmie! You be good to your brother now. You’re the oldest.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “You called me stupid!”

  “Did not!”

  “Did too. Moom she’s lying.”

  Lisa sighs and closes her eyes. She is tense. Jack’s many late evening meetings are tearing on her and on their marriage. Mostly because of how they make her feel. Not knowing what he is up
to, after…after that time with the secretary, when Lisa walked in on them, bringing him lunch as a surprise. Jack insists it’s over, that it ended when he fired her, but how can Lisa be sure? She knows her husband and worries every day what he is up to. She hasn’t been to his office since that day. She knows she won’t be able to stand the pitiful looks from his colleagues. Not anymore.

  “We always watch that same stupid movie, Mom. I want to watch Harry Potter!”

  “That is not for your brother,” Lisa says. “I don’t want him to watch those movies yet. We have so many TVs in this house. Why don’t you go watch Harry Potter somewhere else? You have your own TV in your room. How about going up there instead of arguing with your brother down here?”

  “Why do I have to be the one to leave?” Kimmie shouts angrily. Her voice sounds like it’s about to crack. Tears are in her eyes. “You always pick Jack Jr. over me, Mom. It’s not fair.”

  Lisa clears her throat in a deep exhale while Jack Jr. throws his sister a triumphant glance. “Just do it, will you, Kimmie? Be the big sister for once? I can’t really deal with this today.”

  Kimmie lets out an annoyed gasp. She is thirteen and getting worse every day, Lisa thinks to herself, right before she feels that overwhelming sensation of anger well up in her stomach and yells, “Just do as I say. NOW!”

  Lisa points towards the hallway and the stairs. Kimmie lets out another annoyed sound, gets up, and walks, dragging her feet ostentatiously. Lisa decides she will deal with her later. Right now, she is looking forward to getting her coffee.

  As silence falls upon the big house once again, she walks to the kitchen, and pours herself a cup, knowing she’ll probably need more than one to get through the day. Maybe she’ll even need something stronger later. But not before noon.

  Never before noon.

  She drinks her coffee, while glancing out at the lake with the water fountain, through the window that extends from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling.

  Upstairs, she hears Kimmie slam a door. Lisa puts down the cup and turns to walk up the stairs and have a word with her.

  She doesn’t even notice the figure staring at her from the window in the kitchen door, the same door Lisa left unlocked after taking out the trash earlier. Nor does she hear it when the door is opened and the person enters.

  It’s just not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen on an ordinary Saturday morning.

  Merritt Island

  December 2010

  “Sh. Don’t make a sound or everybody dies.”

  The cold gun is pressed against Lisa’s cheek and a hand is placed to cover her mouth. The fingers on her lips leave her with a taste of cigarettes.

  Lisa gasps while fear grabs her heart. She is struggling to breathe through her nose. The panic is spreading like cancer through her body. The intruder is speaking close to her ear.

  “Where is your husband? Show me to him. Nice and slowly. No sudden movements. No screaming. Do you think you can do that?”

  Lisa nods carefully, while focusing on her breathing.

  “Alright. Show me to him.”

  With the intruder still holding her mouth, Lisa starts walking towards the stairs. All she can think about is the children. She is hoping, praying, that the intruder won’t know about them. She is hoping that the intruder has come for her husband or for valuables. They can give those away easily. They won’t miss any of the things they have in the house.

  As long as no one is hurt.

  They walk into the master bedroom, where Jack is still sleeping. He grunts and turns in bed when they approach. Lisa is crying, whimpering behind the hand.

  “Rise and shine,” the intruder says. “You have company, Jack.”

  Jack opens his eyes and terror slams through his body as he sees his wife. He jumps to his feet fast. Something in the way he acts tells Lisa this intruder isn’t a complete stranger to Jack.

  “What the hell…?”

  The intruder shows him the gun and places it on his wife’s temple. “You can try and run…but I don’t recommend it. Now, get dressed.”

  Jack wants to speak. Lisa can tell he wants to object to this treatment, and she throws him a pleading look not to.

  Just do as you’re told, Jack.

  “Who…what…who the hell do you think you are? You can’t just come here and…this is my house.”

  “Are you done?” the intruder says. The intruder is agitated. Lisa can tell by the shivering hand holding the gun.

  Please, just do as you’re told, Jack. Don’t put up a fight. Don’t puff yourself up like you always do, telling them who you are and how important you are. Just don’t be your usual self. Think about the children, Jack.

  “I will not put up with this,” Jack continues. “I…you can’t just…come in here and…”

  “You do realize I could kill your wife—and don’t get me wrong, I will do it—if you don’t get dressed and come downstairs with me right away,” the intruder says, then turns the gun and releases a shot at a painting of Jack’s mother on the wall. The gun makes hardly any sound when it goes off, and Lisa realizes it has a silencer on it. It makes it even scarier.

  “Okay. Okay,” Jack says, finally realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Just give me a second. Just don’t hurt her, alright?”

  Jack picks up his pants from the chair behind him. Lisa is crying heavily now behind the hand. The taste of the intruder’s fingers in her mouth makes her nauseated. The fingers are hurting her jaw. She wants to scream. She wants to scream and yell for help, but she can’t, and she doesn’t dare to.

  Please, God. Please don’t let the children be involved in this. Please keep them out of it.

  When Jack is finally dressed, he looks at the intruder. “Now what? What do you want?”

  “Take me to the children.”

  Merritt Island

  December 2010, four hours later

  The neighbors will hear us. They must have heard Kimmie scream when the intruder came into her room, right? Didn’t they? They heard Jack Jr. when he screamed for his mommy, didn’t they? They’ll come to our rescue, won’t they? Of course they will.

  They have to.

  Lisa is trying to convince herself that the neighbors have already called for the police to come. She tries to calm herself down by thinking about it, by imagining the police cars arriving outside the house.

  But she still can’t hear them.

  They have been lying on the floor of the living room for what feels like forever. She still can’t really grasp what happened after she heard the voice behind her in the kitchen, after she felt the gun being pressed against her back and the voice spoke into her ear, talking with a low, almost whispering, snakelike voice.

  Maybe if the neighbors were paying attention—just for this once in their busy lives—to what is going on right down the street from them in their quiet neighborhood, then maybe they’d hear me if I screamed.


  Still, nothing happens. No wailing sirens in the distance. No officers yelling outside or even footsteps approaching. The neighbors haven’t heard anything.

  Maybe someone else will hear me. A passerby will call the cops. Maybe they’ll hear our cries for help, maybe they’ll hear us, if only…Please, God…Please.

  Lisa is praying silently while lying on the floor. She looks at her son, Jack Jr., who is lying face-down, a gun pressed to the back of his head, the intruder sitting on top of him. His entire body is shivering in terror.

  Please, not my son. Please, don’t take him from me. He’s all I have.

  “Fifty-thousand dollars or the son gets it,” the voice says. “Get it here within the next hour. And no police, or the boy dies.”

  The pressure on Jack Jr.’s back is loosened and Lisa watches as her husband gets to his feet and—hands shivering—picks up the phone.

  “Richard? It’s me. Could you bring fifty-thousand dollars to me within the hour? Yes. Discreetly, please. Thank you.”

; Jack Jr. looks at his mother lying on the floor next to him. She tries to smile and hide her fear. She can almost touch him, but she doesn’t dare to, afraid she might anger the intruder. Jack Jr. is crying, sobbing heavily. She wants to protect her son, she wants to hold his hand or hug him, tell him it’s going to be okay, tell him that once Richard brings the money, it’ll all be over.


  Richard will do something, won’t he? Of course he will. He’s Jack’s accountant and best friend for ten years. He’ll know something is wrong. He’ll hear it in his voice or maybe they even have a word, something he is supposed to say in case something like this happens. Of course they do.

  Reassured that Jack will somehow handle this, Lisa throws a glance at her daughter. Their eyes meet and she sees nothing but utter terror in hers. It frightens her. Nothing is worse than seeing fear in your kid’s eyes and not being able to do anything about it. Nothing.

  “It’s done,” Jack says, looking at the intruder.

  “Good. Now call for pizza. I’m hungry.”

  “Pizza? But…”

  The gun is pointed at Jack’s face. “Just do it.”

  “Just do as you’re told, Jack!” Lisa screams.

  The eyes of the intruder are filled with madness as the gun shifts to point at her instead.

  “Shut up, bitch! Shut the fuck up! Don’t speak unless I tell you to, okay? Just…just don’t!”

  “Alright. All right. I’ll call for pizza. Just…just don’t hurt anyone, okay? We’ll do anything you tell us, just don’t hurt us.” Jack hurries to the phone and dials a number.

  “Pepperoni,” the intruder says.

  “One pepperoni pizza,” Jack repeats, his voice shivering, his eyes fixated on the gun in the intruder’s hand. The hands don’t seem stable enough to carry such a mortal weapon.

  “What? Nothing for the rest of the family?” the intruder asks.

  “Make that two pizzas. Yes, both pepperoni. Thank you.”

  The intruder shakes their head, holding a finger in the air. “No. No. No. Not pepperoni. Ham. I want ham! I told you I wanted ham! I can’t stand pepperoni. Can’t stand it. Simply can’t!”

  Jack stares at the intruder, not knowing what to say. The gun is placed on Lisa’s temple. She whimpers. The intruder growls and puts a hand over her mouth while whispering, “Shut up! Or I’ll kill your kids. I swear, I’ll kill them.”

  “Sorry. Could you make that ham instead? I must have heard wrong,” Jack says. “Thank you.”