country-boy grin.
Reece sat perfectly still, but in his mind he tugged on the chains binding his hands and feet, broke free and overpowered the deputies.
Hearing a chinking sound, Reece checked outside. Sleet mixed with snow peppered the windows.
In about an hour they would be in Alto. Reece could almost hear the gate closing behind him, could feel the walls shrinking to encompass him in a cage from which he would never escape.
Guilty. Guilty of murder in the first degree. He would never forget listening to the verdict being read or seeing the faces of the twelve jurors as they watched him during the trial. Not once had any of them looked at him with pity or uncertainty. He'd known, in his gut, that they would never set him free. B. K. Stanton had been the wealthiest and most powerful man in Newell, and Reece Landry had been the only suspect in his murder.
What the hell had he expected? The deck had been stacked against him since the day he was born. No one who lived on Lilac Road had a chance of gaining respectability, least of all the bastard son of a dirt farmer's daughter who had given her heart and her body to a married man.
He had grown up in Newell, in that tar-paper shack on Lilac Road, across the street from the local whorehouse and a half mile away from the best bootlegger in the county. He'd grown up hard and tough and just a little mean. Being born a bastard, raised in poverty, with a son of a bitch for a stepfather did that to a boy.
He had learned young that it didn't pay to care about anyone or anything except himself. The only person he'd ever loved, the only person who'd ever loved him had been Blanche, his beautiful, badly used and abused mother. But when he was twelve she'd died and left him with her sadistic husband.
He'd wondered why Blanche had ever married Harry Gunn. She had told him once that they were lucky to have Harry, someone to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs, that not just any man would be willing to take another man's leavings.
And that's what he and his mother had been-B. K. Stanton's leavings.
The screech of tires coincided with the sudden jolt that sent Reece forward in his seat, only the safety belt stopping his headlong dive through the Plexiglas partition. The car somersaulted off the road, rolling over and over, landing right side up again as it skidded straight into the side of the mountain. A loud blast, the shattering of glass and screams of the startled deputies blended with the cry of the violent winter wind and the clink of frozen rain hitting the vehicle. The car's tumultuous movement tossed Reece about inside the back seat, despite the restraint of the safety belt. He grabbed in thin air for something to help him keep his balance as the car scraped along the side of the mountain, caving in the side of the car where Reece sat, then coming to a crashing halt as it ran head- on into an immovable object.
The pain in his head blinded Reece momentarily, a purple blackness swirling in front of his eyes. Running his hand over his face, he felt the wet warmth of his own blood. Another pain shot through his leg, the one caught between the seat and the crushed side of the car. He snapped the safety belt open, struggling to move. Tugging fiercely, he freed his trapped leg. Pain shot through his leg, and a sharpness caught his breath, sending an intolerable ache through his chest.
With his vision lost, Reece’s other senses took over, intensifying the pain of his injuries, creating a sour taste in his mouth and alerting him to the sweet, sickening smell of his own blood.
What the hell had happened?
Reece's vision cleared to a blurred fuzziness. Pale light, then streaks of colors floated in front of him. He heard the deep moan of another man and wondered who else was hurt.
When he tried to move, every inch of his body protested as intense pain warned him to stay still. Slowly, with the fuzziness fading and forms taking shape, Reece's vision cleared. Trying not to jar his body or move his head, he scanned the inside of the car. The Plexiglas partition was still intact, but the front seat was now shoved several inches into the back. The side of the car where Reece had been sitting was dented, caved in enough so that the glass had shattered, but a huge limb blocked escape by that route.
Forcing himself to endure the pain, Reece turned his head, knowing his only hope was to kick out the right window. Did he have the strength? Would it matter if he did?
He had no idea what condition Jimmy Don and Harold were in, whether they were dead or alive.
Reece tried to move again. Excruciating pain took his breath away. He tried again, lying down in the seat and positioning his feet. He kicked at the window. Once. Twice. Nothing. Then, garnering all his strength, Reece gave the kick all he had, crashing the window.
He eased his big body through the opening, the howling wind eating through his coveralls, the torrent of wet snow sticking to his hair and face like drops of chilled glue.
Landing flat on his face, Reece struggled to stand, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. He had to get up. He had to check on Jimmy Don and Harold. With his ankles shackled together, he found walking on the frozen ground difficult.
Reece couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd ached so badly, when every muscle in his body had cried out for relief. He wondered if he'd cracked a couple of ribs. Just how the hell was he going to escape when it was all he could do to breathe?
Knowing he couldn't leave without checking on the deputies, Reece crawled on his knees to the front side of the car. Fighting his pain and struggling against the wet, freezing sleet mixed with snow that hammered his unprotected head and face, Reece grasped the door handle and pulled himself to his feet. His leg ached like hell.
The sheriff's car had ended its wild ride with its left side butted up against the mountain, the hood crushed, like a squeezed accordion, into an enormous old tree. Snow blew into the car through the shattered windshield, covering both deputies. Reece tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. He called out to the men inside, knowing he couldn't leave them to die. Reece rammed his shackled fists through the window.
Peering inside he saw that Harold Jamison had been crushed by the steering wheel. He lay slumped over, his bloody face turned to one side, his sightless eyes staring off into space. Harold had been crushed to death, his body trapped. Jimmy Don moaned, but didn't open his eyes. Reece laid his hand on the man's shoulder. 'I'll get you some help. Just hang on.'
Reece scanned his surroundings, seeing only the sleet and snow that obscured his vision and limited his ability to navigate. The highway couldn't be more than a few yards away, could it? Maybe he could flag down a passing car or truck. But who in their right mind would be traveling in this weather? And if he flagged down a car for help, how would he explain not staying around until assistance arrived?
Then he remembered the radio in the car. Maybe the communication device was still operational. It was worth a try. Reece reached over Jimmy Don, checked the radio and sighed with relief when he found it still working. He radioed for help, giving the dispatch as much information as his limited knowledge permitted. When he was asked to identify himself, he cut the conversation short. He had to get away before it was too late. He'd done what he could to help Jimmy Don. It was probably more than the deputy would have done for him, under similar circumstances.
Reece winced, as much from the cynicism of his thoughts as from the constant pain in his head and body. He squeezed Jimmy Don's shoulder.
'I've radioed for help. Just hang in there.'
Jimmy Don opened his eyes, his mouth trembling. He struggled to speak, but only a groan passed his lips. His body shook, then jerked. His head fell back against the seat.
'Jimmy Don!' Reece sought a pulse, but found none.
He knew what he had to do in order to survive, but he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of disrespect rifling Jimmy Don's corpse. He did it just the same, finding the keys that would free his hands and feet. Free! Free to run? Free to be hunted down and killed? No! Somehow, some way, he'd get away, he'd go back to Newell and find the person who'd killed B.K. Fate had intervened, giving him a chance to prove his innocence.
If he'd thought having the key would solve his problems easily, he'd been dead wrong. After several tries, he decided it was damned near impossible to insert the key and unlock the handcuffs. Cursing under his breath when he dropped the key to the ground, Reece lowered himself to his knees and retrieved
Placing the key in his mouth, Reece lifted his hands and lowered his head. Damn but this was going to be tricky. He tried and failed, then tried again. Help should be arriving before too long. He didn't have all the time in the world to get away, but it looked like it just might take him half a day to free himself. On the fourth try, he inserted
