There had been long periods, years sometimes, when Victor hadn't called on him, and he'd begun to fancy himself a normal person again. But the call inevitably came. If Victor Lazar should ever find himself in trouble with the law, those videos would be mailed to his family and to the local media. Details of certain deposits to offshore accounts would be made public. The circumstances of Peter Lazar's death would be recounted to one and all. The same thing would happen if Victor were to die in a suspicious manner. If Riggs was to maintain some semblance of a life, no matter how fictitious, Victor had to stay healthy and happy. Cahill and McCloud had acted on their own. Goddamn mavericks, both of them. They had almost ruined everything.
His eyes fell on the monitor that lay in the passenger’s seat If only he'd drowned the little bitch along with her father. She'd seen him today, and if she hadn't recognized him yet, she soon would Those bright eyes had witnessed his transformation from a man into a crawling thing. He wanted to close those eyes. Forever.
He saw the sign and swerved A roadhouse. He stumbled into the dark interior and ordered a shot of bourbon and a glass of milk. It was as much as he dared allow himself, in his current state. He could drive after a single shot, if the pain in his stomach didn't make him pass out. He popped a handful of antacids and chased them down with milk, a trick that had ceased to work about eight months ago, but he kept it up out of force of habit. He thought about how it would be, to pass out and run into a tree. It didn't seem so terrible. Just the crunch of breaking glass, the shriek of bent metal, and then, darkness. Then nothing.
He left the money on the bar and lurched out. The puddles in the parking lot rippled in the chilly wind. He got into the Taurus and sat with his eyes shut and his hand pressed hard against his corroded gut.
His mind darted around, like a rat in a maze. But there was no way out, and presently his mind slowed. Just an exhausted defeated old rat, that was him.
He fumbled the key into the ignition. Heard the squeak of leather against leather. Felt the icy barrel of a gun, pressed against his neck.
“Don't move,” someone hissed.
The passenger door opened. A man picked up the small monitor that lay on the passenger seat and got in. A wave of frigid air accompanied him, as if the door to a meat locker had suddenly swung open.
The man gave him a pleasant smile. “Good evening, Mr.
Riggs.”
He wondered if it were actually possible for things to get worse for him than they already were. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man studied the monitor, playing with it. “We've never been introduced, but we're linked by fate. May I call you Edward?”
“If it's money you want, I don't have—”
“I enjoyed myself carrying out Jesse Cahill's execution, Edward” the man said. “I should thank you for the sport, as well.”
His blood froze, and his bowels loosened. “Novak,” he whispered.
The other man's smile widened strangely and carved deep shadows into his young-old face. His eyes glowed, phosphorescent in the gloom.
Riggs fought for control of his basic bodily functions. “What do you want from me?”
“Several things, actually,” Novak said. “You can begin by telling me everything you know about Raine Cameron.”
He was so cold his body was vibrating. “I don't know about—”
“Shut up.” Novak's voice cracked like a pistol shot, and the gun barrel pressed painfully into Riggs's cervical vertebrae. “Sixteen years of licking Victor Lazar's hand, isn't that enough for you?”
Riggs’s mouth sagged open, but no sound came out.
“Here is your chance, my friend,” Novak said “Your chance to put it to him right up the ass. Make him pay for making you crawl.”
He saw Barbara's face in his mind. The anxious line between his wife's brows was etched so deep now that nothing would ever smooth it away.
“I don't work for Victor Lazar,” he forced out, through numb lips.
Novak's eyeteeth glinted like fangs in the roadhouse sign's bloody light. “Of course you don't,” he agreed. “Now you work for me.”
Riggs let out the breath in his lungs and shook his head. “No,” he said. “Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Make my day. Go on, do it.”
Novak regarded him thoughtfully, and then made a gesture to the man behind him, who had been silent in the backseat. The pistol was removed. “Very well,” he said briskly. “Let us put matters in a different light”
“You can't control me. I don't give a shit anymore. I won't do it.”
Novak held up his hand, fluttered it impatiently. “If the prospect of punishing Victor and saving your own miserable life is not sufficiently motivating, then let me tell you this. You may not be aware of the company your daughter Erin is keeping.”
Riggs had thought it impossible to feel more afraid. What an idiot. Fear was an abyss that had no bottom, and he was falling. Down, down.
“Remember Erin's ski trip? To Crystal Mountain, up on Mt. Rainier? With her girlfriends... Marika, and Bella, and Sasha.”
“Yes,” he replied. His voice was reduced to a rasping thread.
“Erin met a young man yesterday, while drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace. A dashing fellow, with a romantic foreign accent and long blond hair. Georg was the name he gave her.”
“No,” he croaked.
“The young lady is surprisingly resistant, to her credit, and yours, if I may say so. But Georg is confident in his powers of seduction. He will eventually make it into her bedroom. He will take her to bed. And you, my friend, will be the key to the quality of that experience for her”
“You can't”
“Oh, but I have. You decide, Edward. It could be just a bittersweet memory of new love found and then, inexplicably, lost... or with one short call on my cell phone, it could become something else entirely. Something that a loving father should do absolutely everything in his power to spare his innocent child.”
Riggs closed his eyes. He saw Erin, in the wading pool. Helping him rake the leaves. Curled up in the window seat with her journal. Sweet, quiet Erin, who always tried so hard to please, to be good.
“By all means, take your time,” Novak said softly. “Think about it. There's no rush. Georg is very aroused by Erin's maidenly reluctance. She is a beautiful girl. This is his favorite kind of assignment.”
“Don't you dare touch my girl.” His words were flat and hollow, followed by Novak's soft chuckle. “Oh, God,” he whispered. As if God gave a damn about him, after what he had done, after what he had become.
“One phone call.” Novak's faintly accented voice burned like corrosive acid against Riggs's nerves.
The bloody red roadhouse light wavered in his watering eyes. “If I cooperate with you, this man won't touch Erin?”
Novak laughed. “Oh, I can't promise you that. I'm afraid that depends upon Erin herself. Georg is very attractive, very persuasive. What I can promise is that if you cooperate, she will have nothing to complain about. Georg is a skilled professional. No matter which way you decide, he will carry out his duties with enthusiasm.”
“Promise me he won't touch her, and I'll do it” Riggs hated himself for the hoarse, pleading tone of his voice.
“Don't be foolish. Erin must take her chances with sex and love, like every other woman. And if you are considering calling the Cave, be aware. My men are watching Crystal Mountain very carefully. I have spared no expense in my
planning. The slightest wrong move, an intercepted phone call, and poor Erin's fate will be sealed in a heartbeat. And I have not yet even begun to devise something special for your other daughter, little Cindy. And there is your wife to think of, too.” He sighed, shook his head. “An infinity of details.”
“No,” he repeated stupidly.
Novak patted his shoulder. He was too numb, too cold, to even flinch away. It was almost as if he were dead already.
“Come now, Edward. Let's move ahead. Raine Cameron. Out with it. Tell me everything, my friend. Everything.”
