Six Years - Harlan Coben Page 0,57

of a lead I had and how well that lead would stand up to flashlights and bullets. Probably not very big or well. I once again considered the idea of surrendering and taking my chances. I once again didn’t like it.

I heard Stocky say, “Just back off, Jed. We can handle this.”

“It’s my land,” Jed replied. “Too much land for you two to cover.”

“Still—”

“My property, Jerry.” There was snap in Jed’s voice. “You’re on it without a warrant.”

“A warrant?” It was Stocky. “You serious? We’re just worried about your safety.”

“Me too,” Jed answered. “You got no idea where this murderer is hiding, right?”

“Well—”

“For all you know, he could be in the house. Hiding. Waiting for us. No way, bro—we are staying out here with you.”

Silence.

Get up, I told myself.

“I want everyone to stay in sight,” Stocky said. “No heroes. You see something, you scream for help.”

I heard murmurs of agreement, then flashlights sliced through the dark. They were spreading out. I couldn’t see people in the dark, just the bouncing beams of light. It was enough to know that I was really screwed.

Get up, dumb ass!

My head reeled in agony, but I managed to get to my feet. I stumbled forward like some kind of stiff-legged movie monster. I had made it about three steps, maybe four, when the flashlight sliced across my back.

I quickly jumped behind a tree.

Had I been spotted?

I waited for someone to call out. No one did. I kept my back against the bark. The only sound now was my own breath. Did that beam of light hit me? I was pretty sure that it had. But I didn’t know for sure. I stayed where I was and waited.

Footsteps coming toward me.

I wasn’t sure what to do. If someone had spotted me, I was finished. There was no way I could get away. I waited for someone to shout for help.

Nothing, except for the approaching footsteps.

Wait a second. If I had been spotted, why hadn’t anyone called out? Maybe I was okay. Maybe I had been mistaken for a tree or something.

Or maybe no one was calling out because they wanted to shoot me?

I tried to coldly consider that for a moment. Suppose, for example, it was Jed. Would he call out? No. If he called out, I might run and then Stocky and Thin Man Jerry would be on me too and it would be harder to kill me. But suppose he had spotted me with his flashlight. What then? If he had indeed seen me, if he knew that I was hiding behind this very tree, well, maybe Jed could sneak up on me alone, gun at the ready, and . . .

Ka-boom.

The footsteps were growing louder.

My brain tried to do that quick-calculating-reptilian thing again—it had already saved me, right?—but after a second or two of neuron burning, I came to a rather startling yet obvious conclusion:

I was finished. There was no way out.

I tried to gather my strength for a big-time sprint, but really, what would that do? I’d expose myself for certain and in the condition I was in I’d never get far. I’d either get shot or captured. Come to think of it, those seemed to be my only two choices now: shot or captured. I preferred captured, thank you very much. The question now was, how could I maximize my chances of captured over shot?

I didn’t have a clue.

A beam of light danced in front of me. I pressed my back into the tree and went up on my tippy-toes. Like that was going to help. The footsteps were getting closer. Judging by the sound and the brightness of the light, I would guess that someone was within ten yards of me.

Options flew in and out of my brain. I could stay here and jump the guy. If it was Jed, for example, I could disarm him. But any struggle on my part would not only reveal my location for sure, but if it wasn’t Jed—if it was, for example, Stocky—then it would be open season on using deadly force on me.

So what to do?

Hope that I hadn’t been spotted.

Of course, hope wasn’t a plan or even an option. It was wishing. It was fanciful thinking. It was leaving my fate in the hands of, well, fate.

The footsteps were only a yard or two away now. I braced myself, unsure what to do, leaving it to that reptilian part of my brain, when I heard a whisper.

“Don’t say a word.