Dangerously close.
Almost brushing.
Her breath was hot.
Hotter than sin.
“You’re an evil man,” she said.
32
With every second that passed, Waverly’s throat got tighter and tighter. No menacing silhouettes were coming down the dock but one could spring out of the cold black thickness at any second.
“Su-Moon, hurry up.”
“I am hurrying up.”
A moment passed.
Waverly kept her eyes fixed on the wooden planks that disappeared into the eerie weather.
A distant light washed through the darkness, faint and vague, bringing a luminescence to the rain.
It wasn’t close but it was something.
Did headlights pull into the parking lot?
“We need to go,” she said.
“One more drawer.”
“Make it quick, I might have seen headlights.”
“Hold on, I found a file.”
A moment passed, then another.
“What are you doing?” Waverly said.
“This is weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“Quiet, let me read.”
Waverly’s chest tightened.
Breathing got difficult.
Suddenly what she feared would happen did happen.
A dark shape came down the dock, hunched against the weather, walking fast but not so fast as to lose a grip on the slippery wood.
“He’s coming!”
There was no time to get off the boat, the figure was that close.
Waverly stepped inside, closed the door and made sure it was locked. Su-Moon already had the candle blown out. Waverly met her there.
“What do we do?”
“Can you swim?”
“No.”
The room had a door at the back wall. They opened it to find a narrow swim platform.
They stepped onto it and shut the door behind them.
The rain assaulted them.
It was a billion frozen needles.
The boat rocked, ever so slightly but enough to indicate that someone had stepped onto the front deck. Waverly checked around the edge of the boat, which stuck out ten feet past the edge of the finger. They couldn’t reach it, not without getting into the water.
A narrow fixed ladder led to the roof.
They headed up, laid flat on their stomachs and got motionless.
Lightning arced across the sky.
The marina lit up.
The water was choppy.
Waverly suddenly had an image of it swallowing her down and sucking the last breath out of her lungs.
33
Ten miles down the road a small prairie town popped up. On the main street of that town was a hillbilly-looking bar called the Coyote’s Breath. A couple of dozen pickup trucks were parked in the vicinity together with a smattering of cars and a handful of motorcycles. One of those pickup trucks was white with a black tailgate.
River drove by slowly.
The place had no windows but the door was propped open.
The interior was long and narrow. A bar ran down the right wall. The stools were filled with rough-looking drunks fondling brown bottles.
“Did you see ’em?”
January shook her head.
“No, but I can smell ’em.”
River did a one-eighty, circled back and scoped it a second time before pulling over at the end of the drag three blocks down and killing the engine.
“I’m not sure exactly how to do this,” he said.
“Let’s forget it.”
He grunted.
“That’s not an option.”
She tugged on his arm.
“If you go in there you’re dead,” she said.
He kissed her and said, “Stay here.”
“River, no!”
He already had the door open.
“I’ll be back.”
A louder and louder thunder pounded in his chest as he headed up the street.
He had no gun.
He had no knife.
He had no club.
When he got to the door he took a deep breath, crossed his chest and stepped in. A jukebox somewhere near the back was spitting a hillbilly twang from crumby speakers. The air was thick with smoke and stale beer. The floor was scuffed linoleum, buried with butts and peanut shells.
River got onto the bar, grabbed a bottle of beer and smashed it on the edge of the counter.
