Clare rammed her shoulder into Kevin's arms as he squeezed the trigger. His shot went off overhead. He staggered upright and looked at Clare reproachfully. His eyes were dilated black. 'You shouldn't have done that.'
'Kevin, you can't aim. You're stoned. You're under the influence of illegal drugs.'
'Am not!'
'Are so.'
'You guys.' Hadley shook her head, trying to stop laughing. 'The whole damn mountain's going to go up in a minute.'
The Humvee roared forward. Flames shot out from beneath the hood. It hit the barn. Cracked stone crumbled, battered beams fell, and bale after bale of shrink-wrapped marijuana tumbled out of the broken wall, like the payout from an enormous slot machine.
'Whoa,' Kevin said.
The Humvee blew up.
The pressure wave knocked Clare and the officers to the ground. A fireball shot into the sky, chewing and charring the remains of the barn, and an irregular skirt of fire ripped across the grass from the inferno of twisted metal and glass.
'Holy shit.' Hadley pushed up from the ground. 'C'mon. Let's get out of here.'
They ran for the Aztek. Kevin scrambled into the driver's seat, while Clare and Hadley wedged into the passenger side.
'You sure you can drive?' Hadley said.
' 'Course I can,' Kevin said, throwing his SUV into gear. 'I'm a good driver. I'm a very good driver.'
'Nobody's a good driver when they're high.'
'I'm not high! I've never gotten high in my life.' He hit the gas.
'God, Flynn. I don't think anyone could be more vanilla unless they were Amish. I'm sorry I debauched you, now.'
'Okay, everybody? Hold on. We have to drive really really fast through this fire here.' He accelerated toward a wall of flame.
Isabel screamed. 'No!' Clare shouted. 'You idiot!' Hadley yelled. Then they were in it, and then they were through, jouncing and plunging, careening down the narrow road, bouncing like popcorn kernels inside the SUV.
'We're gonna die,' Isabel said tearfully. 'We're gonna die.' Amado recited something over and over. Clare thought it was the Hail Mary. She dug her hands into the sides of the seat and hung on for dear life.
'That wasn't debauchery. That was love.' Kevin's voice softened, although his foot was as heavy as ever. 'Love, love, love,' he sang.
'Aw, Flynn. I'm sorry. I was harshin' you. You're a good man. You're too good for me.'
Clare felt tears welling up in her eyes. 'You guys are beautiful. You wanna get married? I can do it, you know. Just say the word.'
XXX
Lyle MacAuley rolled his cruiser to a stop between Flynn's Aztek and the crumpled remains of Clare Fergusson's car. Beside him, one of the responding EMT crews worked to extricate someone from the upside-down wreck. Christly hell. If he had to tell Russ she was-he wouldn't do it. He'd go home, get his things together, and leave for Florida.
He got out of his unit. Behind him, the last of the Millers Kill Volunteer Fire Department trucks screamed uphill toward the mountain road. The Corinth and Lake Luzerne departments were on the way.
'Whaddaya got?'
'One guy. Broken collarbone, two broken legs. Concussion, probably.' The EMT leaned back so Lyle could get a glimpse. 'Know him?'
Lyle looked at the studs and tattoos. 'Not as well as I'm going to.' He straightened. 'Was there a woman inside?'
'Nope.'
Thank God for that. So where the hell was she? And where were Kevin and Hadley? He heard a noise. Circled, slowly, trying to pinpoint it. Coming from Kevin's Aztek. He walked closer. It was… what the hell?… voices. A bunch of 'em. Singing 'All You Need Is Love.'
THE TRANSFIGURATION OF OUR LORD
August 6
Amy Nguyen was leaving Russ's hospital room as Clare arrived. 'Amy! Hi. Are you here on business?'
'Catching him up on the Christie/Punta Diablos prosecution.' The assistant district attorney pointed to Clare's BDUs. 'You recruiting, or what?'
'Oh, this? I'm in the Guard. I just got back from Latham. I serve off-weekend so I can get in more flying time.'
Nguyen smiled behind her hand. 'You're a very unusual priest.'
'I get that a lot, yeah.'
Inside, Russ was propped up, shuffling through the papers spread across his bed. He smiled. 'Hey, darlin'. How was training?'
'They squeezed the truth about my day job out of me.'
'And?'
'And now everyone on the crew calls me Preacher.' She made a face. 'Better than my nickname when I was regular army. Charlie Foxtrot.'
'For… Clare Fergusson?'
'A different C.F.' She ignored his grin. 'What's all this?'
'A paper trail. Or what we've been able to make of one.' He held up a sheet. 'Donald Christie did time in Plattsburgh. Along with Alejandro Santiago, a member of the Punta Diablos. Apparently, they struck a deal while behind bars. Donald and his brother would dispose of the PD's business rivals, underper-forming sales representatives, et cetera, for ten grand a pop. The idea being that no one would find the bodies up here in the Adirondacks.'
'Not an incorrect assumption.'
'No.' He picked up another paper. 'The agreement held for two years. Then a truckload of pot arrives on the scene. Very valuable. High THC level.'
Clare rubbed the palm of her hand against her forehead. 'Don't remind me.'
He snickered. 'We don't know exactly what went down. Did the PDs want to store it up here because things were getting hot in the city? Did the Christies turn the driver? Whichever, they were suddenly in possession of ten million dollars' worth of weed. And a load of trouble. The PDs started cruising around, taking potshots, breaking into Bruce's trailer. I suspect they didn't move more directly because they didn't know if their driver had taken off with the goods or if the Christies had stolen the shipment. They sent their accountant up here
