The new lights were red and blue.
A sheriff's cruiser was parked at my gate facing the road, in position to intercept anyone who came along. I could see at least one more flasher through the trees, near my cabin.
I pulled the bike off the road and cut the engine.
The deputy at the gate got out and walked to the tow truck. In the headlights, I recognized the tall lanky shape of Gary Varna. He talked to the driver for half a minute, then stepped back from the window. The truck drove on toward my cabin. Gary got back in his cruiser, made a one-eighty, and followed.
I stayed where I was, poleaxed by the realization of what was happening.
They were impounding my pickup truck.
The implications came fast and hard. Along with the fact that Gary himself was here, it meant that they'd come up with a serious cause, and it had to have just happened. But what in hell could have triggered it at nine o'clock on a rainy Sunday night? All I could think was that they'd received new information-say, from somebody I'd talked to, who'd told them I'd been nosing around about Kirk. Not Elmer or Reuben, for sure. Doug, maybe, but I doubted it-besides, he hadn't even seemed to know I was under the gun.
That left Josie. Lights in my head started blinking on. Gary Varna had mentioned that she had a couple of drug charges pending. I could just see her picking up the phone as soon as I'd left her place and calling the sheriffs to cut a deal-ratting me off in return for special consideration with her own problems.
And then she'd probably stuffed my fifty bucks into her supposedly not-so-little bra and burned ass out the door to buy some crank.
A rush of anger at her and shame at my own stupidity heated my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped my teeth together, trying to throw it off. What mattered right this minute was what the fuck I was going to do right this minute. This new turn of events was a different order of business. I'd known in an abstract way that it was on the horizon, but I hadn't let myself believe it could happen so soon.
I had to think that if Gary was going this far, he was planning to arrest me, too-have his deputies keep checking the place tonight, or leave a man here. The straight-up thing to do would be to ride on through the gate and cooperate respectfully with the powers that rode herd on human life. Maybe I was wrong and he'd leave me free, and I could keep on bluffing. There was still a chance I could dig up enough information to bolster my claim of self-defense or at least mitigate my sentence. But if not, my bail-if there even was one-would be astronomical, like Bill LaTray had said. With that and legal fees, I could kiss everything I owned good-bye, including my place, and I was back to the scenario of being up against Balcomb's lawyers.
Or I could become an official fugitive-go someplace far away and take on a new identity. But I'd been hopeless enough at that years ago, when I'd been younger, more malleable, and not wanted by the law. At this point in my life, I just couldn't see myself inventing a radically new Hugh.
There was a third course. I could sneak away and stay free till morning-pretend I hadn't known they were looking for me and I'd spent the night someplace else. It was silly, like a kid trying to dodge an inevitable disciplining. But I couldn't see that I had anything to lose, and it would give me a few more precious hours of freedom.
Only minutes ago, I'd been anxious to get someplace warm and dry. Now I wished I could wander through the rainy night woods forever.
35
After Gary's cruiser and the tow truck disappeared into the woods toward my cabin, I swung the Victor around and started pushing it back downhill through the trees. They were probably out of hearing range by now, but the bike made a pretty good growl starting up, and Gary might even have a lookout posted. The grade steepened in another fifty yards-I could hop on and coast, then kick it into gear when I was ready and let gravity turn the engine over quietly.
But just as I was about to jump on, I heard the drone of another motor behind me.
The bare-wire nerves I'd been running on took over. I shoved the bike a few steps into some brush, laid it down, and dropped flat beside it. Even as I hit the ground, I realized that trying to hide was idiotic. The sheriffs had spotted me, and this was one more nail in the lockbox of guilt that was forming around me, a nail I'd driven myself.
But no lights showed-no flasher, no searchlight, not even headlights. Still, the engine's sound got louder.
I sighted the vehicle a few seconds later-an unlit silvery shape on the road, at first barely visible in the darkness, then coming more into focus as it neared. Confusion overlaid my panic. It wasn't a sheriff's car or anything else that registered with me. As it passed, I made it out as some kind of SUV, a fairly new model. I started thinking it must belong to an off-duty deputy or maybe a volunteer.
But the pale blur of the driver's face seemed to be fixed straight ahead, not scanning to the sides. And something-not details I could see clearly, but the posture and the way the hands gripped the wheel at ten and three-gave me the strong sense of a woman.
A connection clicked in my mind, one that was so absurd I dismissed it as fast as it appeared. But as I stared after the fading silvery shape, it came back and stayed.
Laurie Balcomb in her new Mercedes toy.
I heaved the bike upright and stomped on the kick-starter-the hell with caution, although part of my brain screamed that there was no way it could be Laurie, it was a sheriff, and not only was I about to throw myself in jail, I was going batshit.
The SUV was creeping along with an occasional brief flash of brake lights, feeling the way down the tricky, night-bound gravel road. I came in behind it close and fast, hunched low over the handlebars, hoping I could identify the make without being seen. If it wasn't a Mercedes, I'd fade again. I had to wait for the brakes to give the taillights their next red glow before I could get a glimpse.
Sure as hell, the emblem on the rear door was that trisected circle. I'd never seen another vehicle like that around here. Certainly no cop could afford one.
What with the darkness and the high seat headrests, I couldn't get a good look inside. But I couldn't let it go. I swung around to the left, goosed the bike's throttle, and pulled up beside the driver's window.
For just a second, like when I'd seen Laurie on horseback yesterday, I got that prickly sense that I was looking at Celia.
Laurie swiveled toward me, her mouth opening. She looked scared to death-I must have seemed like a disembodied head appearing out of nowhere.
I called out, "Pull over." But the window was closed and she didn't seem to hear me-just kept staring.
"Stop, goddammit, you're going to crash," I yelled, and thumped the window with the heel of my hand. She jerked away as if that snapped her out of her daze, and she braked so hard I had to drag my left foot to stop along with her.
Her window slid down. If she recognized me, it hadn't calmed her any. Her eyes were huge, and she seemed to be trying to say something that wouldn't get past her lips.
"Take it easy, it's Hugh," I said. "What the hell are you-"
I shut up. She wasn't just stuttering, she was mouthing a word. Like, maybe, run.
The edge of my vision caught a movement on the backseat floor, like a restless black dog squirming around.
I thought it was just a shadow until a man came lunging up out of there. He jammed a rifle barrel through the window behind Laurie's head, pointed at my face.
I stared into it, with my body and brain both locked.
Then Laurie screamed, a sound so piercing and charged with rage that it was like a spike through my ears. The other man flinched, and he raised his right fist like he was going to club her. But before he could, she ripped the key out of the ignition, whirled around in her seat, and stabbed it at his eyes, a movement as quick and vicious as a viper's strike. He reared back away, dropping the rifle and clapping his hands to his face.