"Who is that man, Mommy? Do I know him?"
"No. He's nobody." She pushed the cart to a free checkout counter. "Why don't you watch the man bag our groceries. You like doing that, right?" Grace helped her squeeze past the cart to the end of the conveyor belt, and immediately Emily's attention transferred to the boy carelessly tossing items into the plastic bags.
Grace glanced around the store, checking to see where he might be, then pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number, needing to redo it because her fingers kept hitting the wrong numbers.
"Pakula here."
"I just ran into him again." She tried to whisper but the anger made her sound a little like Elmer Fudd.
"Is he still hanging around the courthouse?"
"No, the produce department here at HyVee."
The elderly woman in line behind Grace perused the tabloid magazines, but Grace knew from the woman's frown and sideway glances that she was listening to her conversation. Grace turned her back to her and kept an eye on Emily, who was now instructing the teenage boy how to bag groceries.
"Could it be a coincidence?"
"You think he just happens to shop at the same fucking store I do?"
Grace ignored the cashier's admonishing look. She didn't care what some twenty-year-old college kid thought. She had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that a man she had prosecuted five years ago for murder, a man who she had argued should be sentenced to death, was now free. Free and shopping at the grocery store she just happened to frequent.
Grace scanned the store again, startled when she heard Pakula. She'd forgotten she was still on her cell phone. "Grace, you okay? You want I can send a black and white to follow you home."
"What good would that do? I can't have a black and white with me everywhere I go. Besides, Barnett's not the first asshole to think he can scare me. And I'm not about to give him the pleasure of thinking he can."
"Barnett's not any old asshole," Pakula reminded her.
She saw Barnett, two check-out lanes over. He looked up, and as their eyes met, instead of looking away, he smiled again. That's when she heard Pakula say, "He's just gotten away with murder. Don't think for a minute that son of a bitch isn't thinking he's invincible right about now."
PART 2 Dead Man's Curve
CHAPTER 13
4:00 p.m. Interstate 80
Melanie followed every one of Jared's directions. She wasn't about to tell him to save his breath; she knew where she was going. She didn't say anything. There was something about his mood, something about his eyes, that made her keep her mouth shut and just drive.
She kept the A/C on high, drowning out Charlie's rendition of "Gilligan's Island." Charlie had snarfed down his sandwich before they exited Interstate 80. Now he was working on the chips and downing a second Coke.
She glanced at Jared in the rearview mirror. He had insisted on sitting in the back seat by himself. At first she thought it was so he could sit directly behind her and boss her around, issuing directions. But he had already shown them where the bank was this morning. There was no need for directions.
His eyes met hers in the mirror and she quickly looked away, trying to cover her reaction by checking the car coming up alongside her. He was too calm, she decided. The sky had continued to grow darker. In the distance she could see a hint of lightning. The pole lights along the highway had begun to come on again as they had earlier in the day when they were sitting in the Cracker Barrel. Now she wished they were back there, talking big and pretending this was just a job they'd tackle someday. Pretending. That's all.
Jared sat in the back seat, cool and calm like it was a game of pretend, while Melanie's palms were slick with sweat. Her T-shirt stuck to her back, even with the A/C blowing at her. She couldn't keep her eyes from darting back and forth. Her fingers fidgeted. A couple times she caught herself biting down on her lower lip.
Even Charlie's eating, she knew, was a nervous response, an attempt to keep his brain and stomach distracted. But Jared didn't seem the least bit nervous. He watched out the window, not a bead of sweat on his upper lip or forehead. Whatever his secret was for staying so composed, Melanie knew he wouldn't be sharing it anytime soon.
She pulled off Highway 50 and turned into the bank's parking lot.
"Park up there alongside the west end of the lot, away from the building," Jared said, now sitting so far forward she could feel his hot breath on the back of her bare neck.
There were no cars on this side of the building and the lot backed onto an empty area of overgrown grass. Across the street was a car dealership, a line of brand-new Ford pickups with shiny headlights staring at them. In the distance Melanie could see McDonald's golden arches. She could still hear the hum of the interstate traffic. Yet, as she parked the car, she noticed she could no longer see the cars on Highway 50. Although it hardly mattered. The bank's windows were tinted. She was only fifty yards away and she couldn't see inside.