He turned off and drove up to the rolling gate. He’d managed to get the touchpad number from the laundry truck guy, but when he punched in the numbers, the gate didn’t roll back. He tried combinations of the numbers, but he hadn’t written down the information and now it was lost.
There was an intercom. He thought about talking into the speaker, but then Gordon would know he was coming and would prepare for him. He sized up the fence and the gate. The fence was tall chain link. He could scale it easily. Or he could go over the gate, which was solid and lower. He backed up and drove the LeBaron under the pines to the right of the gate so he wouldn’t block access.
Behind him a car flashed by on the road, followed by a motorcycle.
He got out of the LeBaron and walked toward the gate.
Max stared at the gate. Should he climb the fence, or go over the gate? Two cars flashed by on the road behind him. It occurred to him how vulnerable he was out here—he’d left his gun in the car. He heard the crunch of tires on dirt. A truck turned in behind him, its big diesel engine sounding rough. In the moment it took for him to look around, the massive truck was right there. He squinted into the blinding light, the needles of hard rain like a shiny curtain. He was pinned to the gate by headlights under a gleaming, crimped-up hood.
The truck revved, growling like a mad pit bull, then launched forward, as if it had thrust itself from massive hind legs, hurtling toward him. It accelerated at an unbelievable rate, the engine switching from a roar to a catamount shriek. For all of a second, he couldn’t move. The headlights bloomed yellow behind his eyelids, and the square grille seemed to grin at him, the gleaming Chevy logo askew, filling his vision as fear buzzed in his ears.
He hit the ground hard and rolled just as the truck rammed the iron slats of the gate with a clang that shook his teeth. The smell of burning rubber, hot oil, and exhaust told him how close he was to being squashed like a bug. He rolled more, thinking if he could just get to the fence, if he could get over—
Impossible.
It was her. The killer.
Max didn’t stick around to look. He scaled the chain-link fence and launched himself over just as the truck backed up for another run. Behind him, he heard the truck bull through, flipping the chain link up. Max didn’t have time to get to his feet so he wriggled away, just as the tires bit into the wet ground near his face. The truck’s momentum carried it past him, the chain link enmeshed in the grille like a hockey mask. Max skittered down into the gully. The truck had come to a halt thirty yards away. Stuck. Tires spun in the dirt. The engine screamed. Max thought about flagging down someone on the road, but he would only endanger someone else. The rain was coming down, hard, as he ran for cover. The truck’s big engine shrieked. Max ran along the gully, aiming for the LeBaron. The gully was already filling up with water. He kept to the path along the gully, which was overgrown with weedy trees and some kind of vine that grabbed at him.
He heard a snap above him, slashing through the trees.
Realized it was a bullet. He dove to the dirt, half in the churning water.
Had to get up and run. If he could make it through the hole in the fence and get to the LeBaron—it seemed impossible to do.
He wished he had a gun. He’d shoot her, no question. And he wouldn’t wait for her to start shooting at him.
He squinted back at the truck, amazed at how much ground he’d put between himself and the vehicle. The truck idled, exhaust burbling out of its tailpipe. The taillights were bright red. But she was after him. He couldn’t see her, but she was following in the rain. He heard another snap, and a twig shattered near his head.
He had to make a break for it. He couldn’t just hunker down here and wait for her to reach him. He was maybe ten yards from the car now, and it was his only chance.
He dashed, zigzagging, which made the yards he had to cover longer but made him less of a target. Dirt kicked up at his feet, and a bullet clipped his ear. His heart was bursting. Adrenaline shoved him forward; he stepped onto the flattened chain-link fence lying on the ground, snagging his boot on a sheared-off corner of the mesh. He managed to extricate himself and reached the car, fumbling for the door latch. His fingers slipped in the rain.
She was coming for him. He could see her dark shape, walking deliberately. But no shots.
Did she have to reload?
He didn’t wait to find out. He was dead anyway. He scrambled into the car. Turned the key and nothing happened, turned it again too quickly. The start made the hideous metal-on-metal sound. He tried one more time, and this time it caught. Another slingshot sound and a loud bang against metal, but he got the car going and hit the accelerator. It lurched forward toward the fence. Put it in reverse! He did, and floored it.
She was almost to him. He entertained a thought of running her down, killing the monster once and for all, but he was going too fast. The LeBaron slewed out onto the road in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber. He was already facing one way, so he hit the gas and drove, heading up into the mountains toward Jerome.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE GLOOM AND the falling rain almost rendered Tess invisible. Cars sped by on I-17, catching her in their headlights, but they were going too fast. She held up her badge, but the drivers were by her in a flash and it was doubtful they’d register what the badge meant anyway.
And so she trudged north, holding up her badge. The Verde Valley was a long way from here.
It was probably thirty, forty miles away.
Finally a DPS vehicle flashed by, slowed, and pulled over way up ahead. The reverse lights came on and the car backed down the verge toward her.
“Bajada Sheriff’s,” she said to the highway patrol officer. “Tess McCrae.”
“What happened to you?” the officer asked, once she was in the car and they’d pulled back out on the road.
“Long story.” She told him about the wreck, being run off the road by a white Chevy truck. She gave him the license number.
He nodded. “I just came from there now. Your car is part of a crime scene.”
One of the many crime scenes, she thought.
They turned off at Cottonwood and drove to the DPS office on Encanto. Once in the office, the DPS officer introduced her to their detective in this sector, an older man named Glazer. Tess went through it with him, gritting her teeth in some parts. Shamed that a movie star like Max had gotten the jump on her.
Embarrassing. She wasn’t going to lie, though.
“He produced a firearm?”
“No, he just showed it to me. It was in the waistband of his jeans.”
“It was an implied threat, though.”
“Yes.” She felt it was important to add, “He was scared of someone. He was trying to get away.”
“And you’re sure it was the actor, Max Conroy?”
“Yes.”
The interview was painstaking, emphasis on pain. She felt like a first-day rookie. Tess gave him just the facts, though, although they were damning enough.
She recalled her conversation with Max. He could have been snowing her. She admitted that. But she didn’t think so. And there was proof. He was right about the white truck, and the woman and the boy.
Glazer wanted to hear all about Max Conroy. Tess told him what she knew, not what was conjecture, that the woman and boy were after him for some reason. “They tried to kill us.”
“And you have no idea why.”