she ran a stop sign, garnering a blast of his horn. The noise startled her and she jerked the car to the other side, throwing Jared up against his door. It took his foot off the accelerator.
'Up ahead.' Jared pointed. 'Back behind Sapp Brothers. I left a car for us, so we can dump this one.' But before Melanie could get to the intersection, she heard a siren. And before she saw the black and white in the rearview mirror, she knew it was coming for them.
CHAPTER 15
4:33 p.m.
Melanie wished she could wake herself up. This had to be a fucking nightmare. Things couldn't possibly have gone so wrong, so fast. Even her vision seemed blurred, the buildings and landscape a swirl of concrete and green speeding past the car windows. Only the buildings and landscape weren't moving. She was. Fast. She was overwhelmed by a sensation of slipping and sliding as if out of control on black ice.
Jared's voice came to her in a muffled monotone. She could make out one or two words: 'faster,' 'turn.' It was difficult to hear over the whining sound that filled her head. Difficult, and yet she could hear Charlie retching in the back seat. He must still be on the floor. She couldn't see him in the rearview mirror. All she could see were red and blue flashing lights and the cruiser's grill so close that it looked like shark's teeth ready to bite and swallow them whole.
But through all the chaos she could still hear Charlie, her poor Charlie, retching and gagging. The sour smell of vomit filled the car, and Melanie felt her own stomach lurch. It wasn't the smell of vomit that nauseated her. It was something else…warm and rancid yet almost sweet.
'Get back on 50,' Jared yelled at her. 'Get the hell out of this maze.'
She took a sharp left only to realize it was another parking-lot entrance and not an intersection.
'Fuck,' Jared screamed at her. 'There. Turn there!'
Where he was pointing looked like another parking lot. She missed the turn, jumped the curb and heard the sickening crunch of metal as the bottom of the car scraped the concrete. But the sound wasn't as awful as Jared's continued commands. He kept yelling at her to get back on Highway 50. She had no idea which way that was. She had lost all sense of direction. All she could see were buildings and parking lots and access roads. She twisted the steering wheel until the screech of tires told her to stop. The force spun the car around, almost a U-turn. And there on the other side of the cruiser barreling down on her was the traffic of Highway 50.
'Jesus Christ,' Jared muttered, but he no longer dared to reach for the steering wheel or attempt to step on the accelerator.
Melanie held her breath. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to become invisible. She wanted to get the fuck out of here and go home. The black and white began to skid, avoiding hitting her by mere inches, the cars so close she could see the officer's face under the wide-brimmed hat. He was young. That much she could tell. And she thought he looked more surprised than angry. She heard another crunch of metal and squeezed her eyes shut, expecting to feel some impact, some repercussions. When she opened them again, Jared was twisted in his seat, staring out the back window.
'You did it, Mel. You fucking did it.'
She didn't turn around. She didn't look in the mirror. She didn't want to know what she had done. Instead, she stepped on the accelerator and headed for the intersection. At the stoplight she hesitated.
'South,' Jared told her. 'Turn right. We want to leave Douglas County, remember?'
She glanced at him and only then did she notice the front of his coverall was wet and stained. That was when she recognized the smell that filled the car. It wasn't just Charlie's vomit. It was blood.
CHAPTER 16
4:46 p.m.
Platte River State Park
'So you think I have no life?' Andrew revived the subject as he shoved aside his plate and drained his second bottle of Bud Light. He rarely finished one.
Tommy sliced another chunk off his filet and stuffed it in his mouth. He had left his cell phone out on the table after losing the connection and trying to call back whoever had called him. He had pretended the phone call had been no big deal. Yeah, right. That's why he kept glancing at it as if expecting it to ring. 'I'm just calling it like I see it, Murderman.'
'Murderman.' Andrew still smiled at the nickname Tommy and the other Omaha detectives had given him. Actually he liked it enough to use it for his e-mail address. That they had even bothered to give him a nickname had been a sign-an odd one, but still a good one-that the group approved of him.
He sat back in the wrought-iron chair, part of the bistro set on the screened-in porch. They had chosen to eat out here despite the stifling humidity. Andrew glanced at the sky. If only it would just rain and get it over with, but the thunderheads kept their distance, preferring just to threaten. The wind, however, had picked up, and the breeze was refreshing. It brought with it the scent of pine needles and the lulling sound of cicadas.
Andrew watched his friend devour a forkful of deli potato salad, following it with a bite of the garlic bread he had grilled alongside the filets. One thing Andrew had learned through his friendship with Tommy was that cops could eat no matter what the circumstances or surroundings were. He had watched Tommy chow down on a blood-rare porterhouse steak while showing Andrew Polaroids of a dismembered corpse.
Watching his friend, he realized, not for the first time, how very different the two of them were.
'You know, we probably wouldn't have even liked each other as kids?' The beer was starting to give him a buzz.
'I don't know about that,' Tommy said. 'You want that last piece of garlic bread?'
Andrew shook his head. 'Seriously, though. You played tackle football in the middle of the streets during the summertime. I hid between chores on the farm just so I could read.'
'We didn't play in the streets,' Tommy corrected him, getting up from the table. 'We played in the parking lot behind Al's Bar and Grill,' he added now from inside the cabin as he pulled the last two beers from the fridge.
'You and your friends would have picked on me. You probably would have called me a sissy or a wuss.'
Tommy handed him one of the bottles before sitting back down. 'Kids do stupid stuff.'
'Even now, you have to admit we're pretty different. You're South Omaha Polish dogs with kraut. You're an usher or some flicking thing at Saint Stanislaus. You coach Little League for your four daughters.'
'I see what you're saying,' Tommy said. 'You're saying we reversed roles or something, right? You saying I'm the wuss now?'
Andrew laughed. He knewTommy was humoring him, indulging his buzz. The beer seemed to have had no effect on Detective Pakula.
'You investigate murders. You step over corpses, collect maggots, poke around entrance and exit wounds. I just write about it.'
'And you do a hell of a job.' Tommy held up another forkful of potato salad in a salute.
'You deal in real life. I deal in make-believe.'
'So what's your point?' But there was no impatience in his friend's tone, only curiosity.
'I guess I understand why you think I have no life.'
'Oh, I see.' This time Tommy sat back, finally realizing Andrew was serious and not joking around. 'I didn't mean your work. I meant your personal life. When was the last time you were in a relationship? Or wait, I'll make it easier for you-when was the last time you got laid?'
'I told you there was someone I was interested in.'
'Oh, that's right. A woman who's already sort of involved in a long-term relationship. The one who lives about
