She hesitated. Then she said, 'They'll kill you.'
'Christ, Lydia!' I put as much into it as I had, which wasn't much. 'You think you can stop them, if you stay?
If you're here when Grice gets back they'll kill us both.' It crossed my mind that I didn't know why they hadn't done that already. 'I don't want to die here, but if I do, I want someone to pay. Please, Lydia.'
'If it were the other way around, you wouldn't leave me.'
'Bullshit! I'd leave your Chinese ass in the dust so fast it wouldn't know what hit it.'
She laid her hand very gently on my cheek. 'Can you look at me and say that?'
I turned my head, to her, looked into her eyes, which had become liquid, bottomless. I didn't say anything.
After a moment she kissed me, her lips soft and warm, resting as lightly on mine as her hand on my cheek. Then she stood. She walked around the room, looked out each window in turn. She paused at one in the wall to my right, one I couldn't see. I heard her open it, felt the cold wind push in. A soft slithering sound, a quiet thud, and then nothing. Nothing for a long time. I started to breathe again.
And then the crack of a rifle shot. Another. Voices, yelling; words I couldn't make out. Adrenaline surged through me, rammed my spine straight, scraped my nerves. I strained to hear, through the hissing wind, through the pounding in my ears, but the voices had stopped and there was nothing else. I found I was yanking, stupidly, repeatedly, at the cuffs that pinned me where I was, in this dim attic room, alone and useless.
I didn't have much time to be alone; I didn't have much time to wonder. Feet thudded, the door crashed open, Arnold and Otis and Frank Grice exploded up the stairs and into the room. They stopped when they saw me. I could feel them relax.
'Well,' Grice grinned. 'So it looks like your girlfriend skipped out without you.'
I couldn't see their faces well; they were standing too close, towering too high. The radiator wouldn't let me tilt my head back. Hoarsely, I said, 'If you hurt her, Grice, I'll kill you.'
'Yeah,' he snickered. 'Sure.' He squatted, brought his face level with mine. 'Would it bother you if I told you she was dead?'
I couldn't answer; I was frozen in ice. Then Grice laughed, clapped me on the shoulder as though we were drinking buddies sharing a good joke. 'Well, she's not. She's not even scratched. She was lucky,' he said. 'Just like me. Get him up, boys. You're lucky too, Smith. Come on, we'll go for a ride.'
Arnold knelt behind me, unlocked the cuffs. He and Otis hauled me to my feet. Otis propped me up while Arnold pulled my hands behind me again, slid the handcuffs shut around my swollen wrists.
I needed the support. The room was swaying; my knees were like water. I shut my eyes to fight the dizziness, but it got worse. Grice's voice came from a long way off: 'Sit him down.' I felt myself dropped onto a chair. I'd have slipped off if someone hadn't been holding me there. The world rolled sickeningly around me.
Then something hard was pressed against my mouth. Fire burned my tongue, my throat. I swallowed, coughed. Time out. Then there was more, and I swallowed again, and when I opened my eyes the room was almost still.
'All right?' asked Grice. 'Because the boys don't want to carry you.'
'More.' A croaking half whisper seemed to be the only voice I had.
Arnold held the bottle for me, and I gulped as much as I could get. Whiskey trickled down my chin, splashed wet patches onto my shirt. When Grice said, 'Enough,' Arnold took it away, stood it on the table.
I let my eyes shut, made them open again. I wasn't ready for Grice's face; I focused on the bottle. Canadian Club. I gave a short, harsh laugh. 'I had you figured for the Four Roses type, Frank.'
'He's ready,' said Grice. 'Get him up.'
This time as they pulled me to my feet the room lurched but it didn't flip over. The stairs were difficult, but Arnold's iron grip kept me upright all the way down to the living room, where Lydia sat, pale but, as far as I could see, whole. Her hands were tied behind her. Opposite her, on the other shabby chair, Ted held a deer rifle casually on his lap.
'You okay?' I asked, in a voice as strong as I could make it.
She nodded. Then she shrugged, smiled with a corner of her mouth, said, 'Sorry.'
I gave her back the same smile. Then I turned to Grice. 'I want to deal.'
'Smith, what the hell you think you have to deal with?'
'I must have something. I'm not dead yet.'
'Oh.' Grice grinned. 'And you think that's because you have something I want? Well, you don't. You're just going to help me out a little. Now,' he crossed to Lydia's chair, laid his hand on her head, '
Lydia jerked her head from under Grice's hand. He laughed. I ignored what he was doing, and the way it made me feel. I spoke evenly. 'So why aren't I dead?'
'Because you're lucky. You see, when I had the boys bring you up here, I was still looking for Jimmy. Just to help Brinkman out, you know. I'm that kind of guy. Arnold was going to persuade you to tell us where he was. You wouldn't've enjoyed that, but Arnold would.' He smiled at Arnold, who smiled back. 'But then I had to go all the way to fucking Cobleskill to calm Sanderson down, because you got his balls in an uproar. And driving back, I'm thinking about you, I'm thinking about Jimmy, I'm thinking about last fall. And bang! It comes to me. That's where he's got to be. He's up at the quarry.'
He waited for an answer. I didn't give him one. 'Well?' he said.
I met his eyes. 'I don't know.'
Grice looked at me for a minute, then laughed again. 'Okay,' he said. 'But let's go look. If he's not there, Arnold
