Cemetery Road - Greg Iles Page 0,180

think about that. It’s just . . . it’s like everything suddenly went four-dimensional. I can’t believe you’ve carried that secret alone for thirteen years.”

“Not alone. I’d welcome carrying it alone. Max has known. That’s the hell of it.”

A dozen new questions rise, but I simply nod in the dark.

“The reason I didn’t tell you before,” she says, “is because I never wanted you to look at Kevin and think of Max. And I never wanted you to make love to me and think of Max.”

“I understand.”

“Would you tell me now if you felt different about me? I mean it.”

“Yes. I just wish I’d known about this when I saw you swing that hammer. I’d have run over there and helped you finish the motherfucker off.”

She squeezes my arm in the dark, then lays her cheek against my shoulder. I strain my ears, listening for the low note of an engine, but I hear only our ticking motor and the high whistle of crickets in the night.

“Whoa,” I whisper, gripping her arm. “The sky just got brighter.”

“I see it.”

A crazed drummer beats out an arrhythmic solo in my chest. I’m praying that nothing on this Explorer reflects light back to the eye of whoever’s behind the wheel of that vehicle. For the first time, I’m glad to be in Dixie Allman’s rust bucket. Without being obvious, I reach down and grip the butt of my pistol, then slide it up into my lap.

The headlight beams grow brighter, turning our windshield into a blue-white trapezoid. An isosceles trapezoid, I think crazily.

“I can’t take this,” Jet whispers, clenching my hand hard enough to cut off circulation. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

At the last moment I slide up in my seat, just high enough to see a sleek red car glide silently across my field of vision.

“Did you see that?” I ask. “I know that car. A Tesla Model S. Bright red. There’s only one in the whole town.”

“Warren Lacey,” she says, sliding up in her seat.

So much for Max dying quietly on the hill. Lacey is the doctor whose license Jet got suspended for a year. He’s also a certified Poker Club member. “Max called him,” I tell her. “That’s the only explanation. He’s definitely got another phone up there.”

“Damn it! What do we do now?”

“We can’t do much. But Max calling Lacey is a good sign. He could have called the sheriff, and he didn’t.”

“He could still be dead, right?” she asks. “He could have died after calling Lacey?”

“Absolutely. But we can’t count on that.”

“Marshall, can we please get the hell out of here? If Max leaves with Lacey and they lock the gate, we’ll be stuck.”

“No, we won’t. We can push down some fence posts with this SUV if we have to.”

“What if there are more people on the way? You want Russo and his thugs out here hunting us?”

“No. You’re right. It’s time.”

I pull the parking brake release, wrench the wheel right, and let the Ford roll down onto the road. Then I crank the engine and press the gas pedal harder than I should. The wheels spin in the dirt, then catch and throw us forward.

Squinting through the dark, I start down the perpetual curve that circles the dark hill in its slow descent. Beneath the overhanging trees I can hardly track the left edge of the road, but I can’t hold myself to a crawl. After ten seconds we’re going thirty-five, and in twenty we’re careening down the hill like two kids in a teenage death anthem.

“You want me to slow down?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“No!” she cries, bracing her arms against the dash as we fly through the dark.

She lets out a sigh of relief as we land on level ground. On the flats there’s enough moonlight to see, and I push the Explorer to sixty, then seventy-five across the bean field. Jet rocks forward and back as though willing the vehicle faster. When we finally shoot through the gate, which is standing open, it feels like blessed deliverance.

“My God,” she gasps. “My God, my God, my God. We made it!”

I click on my headlights and turn hard right onto the dark line of Cemetery Road, headed toward Bienville. After thirty seconds, something lets go in Jet. She shudders and sobs beside me. I reach out and take her hand, trying to calm myself as much as her. I haven’t felt this shaken since Iraq, and no one has even fired a gun tonight. What can she

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