Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
I don’t even know what she said.
She walks toward the hallway and the linen closet, and I fall into a reclining position on the sofa, dropping my pack and the bag beside my feet. I close my eyes and concentrate hard on trying to control the spins.
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Eight
Feels like a faucet running in my head. Maybe tinna…what the fuck’s it called?
“Frank!” I hear but can’t place it.
Eyes feel glued shut.
Try to open them.
See red through eyelids.
Light.
Tinnitus.
“Frank!” Again.
Leslie?
Eyes open.
She’s standing over me.
I must have fucking blacked out. I don’t remember shit or how I got here.
Leslie is fully dressed. What the fuck?
I’m on her sofa, covered with a soft blanket, and my head is on a pillow. Shoes off.
“Frank, it’s time for you to get up.”
There’s firmness in her voice. Not something pleasant.
I remember where I was before here.
Fuck.
Did I say that out loud?
“Leslie.”
I push myself up to a sitting position. Still a bit light-headed. Pants are still on, and I’m wearing the T-shirt that was under my regular shirt. My belt is off, along with my gun, mags, and handcuffs. I turn to notice they’re on the end table. The blanket is over my legs. Faucet turned off in my head, but left me with a throbbing headache.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost four in the afternoon.”
“Damn. Are you kidding me? I slept that hard?”
“I let you sleep because I’ve been trying to figure out how to approach this.”
Approach?
“Approach what?” I say, still groggy. “Oh, last night. I don’t even know how I got here. Sure as hell hope I didn’t drive.”
I have to cup my hands over my face, rub my eyes. I look at her after.
“A tough night on surveillance. Must have gotten stupid with what I had left in a bottle of Jameson. So much going on.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember the last time I got that drunk. I think I blacked out.” I shoot her my best playing-dumb look.
I got a feeling that won’t help, because I finally notice my backpack on the floor at the other end of her coffee table, not where I left it, and the cocaine test vial that I used at the house on Riggs—still filled with bright blue liquid—also on the coffee table along with the white shirt I wore, now spread out as if to display the blood that’s heavily soaked the right sleeve, and the bloodied tactical gloves. Then, on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, my brown shoes, the right one with dried-up spots of blood soaked into the fine leather. Displaying evidence?
What can I say other than “I can explain”?
Fifty-Nine
Fifty-Nine