Jeffrey watched the man put the cooler in the passenger seat of his black truck, then walk around to the driver's side. He opened the door and tossed Jeffrey a wave before getting in. Once the truck pulled away, Jeffrey could see the desk clerk peering out the window. He felt the kid's eyes on him as he knocked on the door.
Sara wasn't exactly smiling when she opened the door, but she hadn't called him a stupid asshole in at least four hours, so maybe his luck had turned.
The room was as dank as it was depressing; exactly as Jeffrey had remembered it from the night before. Sara had already removed the dark, multi-patterned coverlet off the bed. He wondered how much DNA had been transferred in the process.
She asked, 'What did our new best friend want?'
For you to do the autopsy on the body.'
'Why would he want that?'
'Good question,' he replied, sitting on the bed. He thought better of it and lay down on his side, bunching the pillows up under his head, kicking off his shoes. 'Add that to the long list of things I don't know.'
She walked to the door and checked the lock, then turned out the lights. In the dark, the mattress shifted as she got into bed. Like Jeffrey, she didn't bother to take off her clothes. He waited for her to curl up beside him, but she didn't.
Sara had once told him that even when they were divorced, she'd still had nightmares about getting a phone call in the middle of the night. It was something even cops couldn't joke about, that fateful call that told your wife or girlfriend or lover that your number had finally come up. Some coked-out idiot or stupid drunk had pulled a knife, squeezed the trigger, and there was nothing your loved ones could do but pick up the phone, wait for the words.
She must have been thinking about that today when Al Pfeiffer pulled the trigger. She must have been terrified that she was going to be trapped in the car, unable to help him, watching him die.
'Jeff?' He wasn't sure what he expected Sara to say to him, but as usual, she managed to come up with something he could have never anticipated. 'I was thinking about fixing the patio – maybe replacing some of those broken stones, making the wall a little higher so people can sit on it without their knees going up around their ears.' She paused. 'What do you think?'
He rolled over onto his back. A thin stream of light was coming in through the curtains and he could just make out her profile. 'I think the last time you messed with concrete, we had to borrow your dad's jackhammer.'
'The bag said it was self-leveling.'
He smiled at the familiar excuse.
'I want to do the autopsy.'
Jeffrey didn't know what to say. His initial response was to say no, but that was only because Jake Valentine had asked her to do it. 'I don't know that it'll get us out of here any sooner.'
Her silence told him she wasn't going to be easily swayed. Jeffrey tried to frame his next words carefully, offering, 'I can ask Frank to drive down here and pick you up after you're finished.'
'No,' she told him. 'I'm not going to leave you.'
'What if I want you to?'
The phone started to ring before she could answer. Jeffrey leaned over her and picked up the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Why are you still there?'
Jeffrey sat up so fast that he jerked the phone off the bedside table. ' Lena?'
'You can't be there,' she said, her voice a raspy whisper. 'Why are you still there?'
'Where are you?' he asked. 'Let me come get you.'
She started crying, sobs choking her words. 'Why…?' she cried. 'Why didn't they kill me instead?'
'Who?' he demanded, confused. 'Who are you talking about?'
'Just go,' she begged. 'You have to go before they-'
'Who's they, Lena? Who's after you?' All he heard was the staccato of her breath. ' Lena?' He pressed the phone to his ear. ' Lena? Are you there? Where are you? Let me come get you.'
The line went dead.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
NINE
Sara used her thumb to trace the pattern of dried blood on the BMW's steering wheel as she followed Jake Valentine's cruiser through downtown Reece. Shock or trauma or a combination of the two had managed to knock her out last night. She had slept more deeply than she had in months. Had Jake Valentine not banged on their door at seven-thirty this morning, she would probably still be in bed.
Up ahead in Valentine's car, she could see Jeffrey having an animated conversation with the sheriff. Sara hoped to God he was managing to get some information out of the man. Common sense told her this would not be the case. Jeffrey hadn't told Valentine about Lena 's phone call last night because he knew the man would trace the number. For his part, Valentine wasn't offering any updates on the manhunt. This morning, when he'd seen the cuts on Jeffrey's face and hands in the daylight, all he'd said was, 'Hate to see the other guy.'
Sara hadn't even noticed until then how badly he'd been hurt. She had always taken care of Jeffrey's body. Over the years, she had disinfected his cuts, rubbed arnica gel into his bruises, bandaged sprained ankles and broken fingers. After impromptu football games, she had iced his knee so he could walk the next morning. Hours he spent fixing things around the house were rewarded with long back rubs and whatever else she could think of to help him relax. Even after the divorce, when Sara couldn't stand to be in the same room with him, she had rushed to the hospital when a stray round of buckshot had lodged in his leg.
She hadn't seen him cut open his hand yesterday. She had seen the shotgun being fired into the air, then the second warning shot, close enough to stop her heart beating in her chest. She had watched Jeffrey lurch forward, sliding on the gravel, but she hadn't thought to check him out, to look for cuts and abrasions. All she'd been able to focus on was the absolute terror she'd felt each time Al Pfeiffer pulled the trigger, and her white-hot fury when Jeffrey had slowed the car afterward.
His foot had come off the pedal. Sara had thought something was wrong with the car. She had looked down, panicked, to see what was wrong, and seen exactly why the car had slowed almost to a full stop. She had looked at Jeffrey then, the way his mouth twisted up at the corner as Al Pfeiffer gave him that look. God, that look. Sara had wanted to slap it off his face. They were just like a couple of boys on the playground seeing who could kick the most dirt in the other's face before a teacher came along. Lena
