Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2) - James Patterson Page 0,64
interrupts me. “Don’t tell me,” she says. “Let’s just focus on getting out of this mess. If we’re not dead or in jail when this is all over, then we can talk about it.”
I lean forward and kiss her gently on the forehead.
“Take care of yourself,” I say. “I’ll try to visit again tomorrow night.”
To get back to town, I take a meandering route. I did the same thing when I drove out to the open space. At that time, I didn’t want to be followed. Now I want to misdirect anyone who might spot me on the road. I end up coming back into town from the opposite direction of the open space. I pass a patrol car and one of McCormack’s trucks, and I feel certain that the people inside are immediately calling their bosses to report where they saw me driving.
I tell myself that I’ll need to have an excuse ready for Harris tomorrow. My explanation will be simple: I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to drive around looking as well.
He won’t believe it, but hopefully my misdirection won’t tip my hand that Ariana is out in the open space.
When I finally climb the stairs to my apartment, it’s not far from dawn. I’m dog tired, having hardly slept in days, and I crash down on the bed still wearing my clothes and boots. I tell myself that I’ll just rest for a moment before getting undressed, but before I can get up, I’m adrift in a sea of blackness.
Out of the darkness comes a dream.
I’m back in the bank. This time, the robbers are Gareth McCormack and his father. And this time they take a hostage. It’s Ariana. Carson holds his gun to her head while Gareth, up on the bank counter, aims the AR-15 at me.
When he opens fire, I jerk awake in a cold sweat.
Bright daylight floods in from the window. My mouth is dry, as if I’m hungover. I feel like I can still hear the bang, bang, bang of the rifle, but then I realize it’s someone pounding on my door.
“Rory,” Jessica Aaron calls, her voice tense. “Open up. I want to talk to you. You had no right to rope Tom into your troubles.”
Chapter 69
AS I OPEN the door, Tom is running up the stairs to intercept Jessica.
“Now, Jess,” he says, “leave Rory alone. It was my choice. If you want to be mad at someone, it should be me.”
She ignores him and scowls at me. But there’s something in what she sees that takes some of the anger out of her expression.
“You look like hell,” she says to me. “Did you sleep in those clothes?”
“It’s been a rough couple of days,” I tell her. “I’m sorry about asking Tom to get involved. I just didn’t know what else to do.”
She exhales loudly. It seems she came here ready to fight, but my apology preempted her. More than that, my haggard appearance—which I’m certain includes puffy eyes, unshaven cheeks, unwashed hair—seems to give her a level of understanding of the pressure I’m under that no words could convey.
“Come in,” I say. “We can talk if you’d like.”
“No,” she says. “You get yourself cleaned up and ready for the day. Then come down and I’ll make you breakfast. We’ll talk there.”
As she walks back down the stairs, Tom says softly, “Sorry. I had to tell her. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“I would never ask you to lie to your wife,” I say, thinking about what I’m keeping from Willow.
I take a quick shower, run a razor over my stubble, and put on clean clothes. I pin my star to my shirt, wrap my gun belt around my waist, and position my Stetson on my head. I was groggy when I woke up, but now I’m awake and ready.
I’ve got to get to work and get this case solved. No one else is going to do it. The responsibility falls on my shoulders.
When I walk into Tom and Jessica’s house, Jessica sets a plate of huevos rancheros on the table and tells me to sit. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw the food. I brought Ariana a sandwich last night, but I forgot to eat dinner myself.
Tom has already begun eating. He seems more demure than normal, but I know he’s in the hot seat and doesn’t want to upset his wife more than he already has. As for Jessica, her anger seems to have dissipated.