making a river flow the other way.?
But Mike had stopped listening. Patricia?s voice had faded to a soothing drone, her hands working into his flesh. He felt like he was floating, drifting into sleep. He did not dream.
* * *
Mike woke up. The movie was now something with Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake.
He got out of the bed and lifted the mattress. His wallet was still there. The cash on the nightstand was gone. He was tucking the sheet back under the mattress when he realized his back didn?t hurt anymore. Yes, a distant ache, but no longer the agony. There had been this one, special spot in the center of his back, and the harder she?d pressed, the more things seemed to shift back into place.
Patricia?s citrus scent still hung in the air. No, not Patricia. Cricket.
Mike crawled back into bed and didn?t care if he ever woke up.
* * *
A heartbeat.
It had always been there, but so slow it was almost undetectable. It grew stronger. Blood pulsed. Synapses fired in his brain.
There was something in his mouth.
He clawed, spit. It was in his eyes and hair. Everything was dark. Where was he? What had happened?
Dirt.
He clawed his way through it. Every time he gasped for air he got only a mouthful of soil. He coughed, choked. His hand broke through into cool air. He pulled himself out, coughed out the dirt, gulped a delicious lungful of clean air. Where was he?
Memories. Yes, he?d been left for dead. He stumbled in a random direction. Dizzy. His head had been bashed. Did he have a concussion? He stumbled, put a hand against a tree, and steadied himself. The pain. Somebody would pay for this.
Enrique Mars was back from the grave.
PART FOUR
29
The rental was one of those new Fords that resembled the old-style, classic Mustangs. Lizzy liked it and flew up Highway 75 at 90 mph. The scenery grew more dull and bland by the mile, open miles of flat grassland bleached pale green by the sun.
She slipped a CD into the player, and a second later the car?s speakers blasted selections from Wagner?s Ring Cycle. She was in a Wagner mood and pressed the gas pedal. The speedometer needle edged past ninety-five just as ?Ride of the Valkyries? began.
Maybe she?d look into stripping the VIN number and exchanging license plates. She wouldn?t mind keeping the Mustang, tear-assing around the country for a while. No, it wouldn?t work. Too many of these new rentals had tracking devices. They could zero in on her from orbit with all the satellites and shit. Nikki would know how to disable it. Lizzy didn?t.
Two minutes later, she saw the red-and-blue lights in her rearview mirror.
?Shit.?
She pulled over and the state trooper pulled in behind her. He didn?t immediately come up to her window, and Lizzy figured he was running the plate. Finally, he came up to the driver?s side and rapped a knuckle on the window. She rolled it down.
?You want to turn that down?? he shouted.
