Chapters (78)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- 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
- Acknowledgments
- Discover More
- About the Author
- Also by Owen Laukkanen
Harwood closed his eyes. Felt, for an instant, as if he stood on the top of a high bridge, poised to take the step that would put him over the side, send him careening out of control to the bottom.
But he’d taken that step a long time ago, he knew. He was already falling, and about the only thing he could control was how hard he was going to land.
Dale was waiting, breathing heavy, his eyes on Harwood. “You wait for my word,” Harwood told him.
He stood as high as he dared. Looked back toward the street and the cruiser, to Cole. Looked beyond to the neighboring houses, the faces watching through the windows.
“Cole,” he yelled back. “You make sure those neighbors keep their heads down, you hear? Make sure they know this is official police business.”
Sweeney hesitated. “Yeah, Kirby,” he said finally. “All right, but…”
He trailed off.
“But what, damn it?”
Sweeney didn’t answer. Just shrugged and pointed over to Joy’s black Suburban, still parked where Joy had left it.
Joy was nowhere to be seen.
* * *
Joy had circled around to the rear of Shelby Walker’s house.
He’d seen enough of the Keystone Kops show to know the deputies were miles out of their league. This wasn’t uncommon in Joy’s line of work, young men who wanted to play gangster, men with a strong command of hip-hop lyrics and action movie tropes, an inflated sense of ability.
Joy had worked with real men, before he’d come to America. He’d fought with killers over oil in his homeland, killers who would slaughter entire families before breakfast simply to prove a point. He bore his scars from this work proudly, badges of honor. He’d brought what he’d learned to America, where men like Kirby Harwood liked to pretend they were hard, and sometimes even believed it, right up until the moment when Joy showed them just how wrong they were.
These men were not hard.
They’d made mistakes, as people like Kirby Harwood always made mistakes, and they wouldn’t last long, not once Joy had solved this problem. These men had become a gross liability.
But for now they were useful.
Joy circled around to the rear of the house. Found the back door and paused in the shadows, drew his pistol. Then he crept up the back steps and tried the door handle, slow. The handle turned easily. Joy pushed it open and walked into the house.
* * *
Shelby gripped her dad’s rifle. Behind her, in the bed, her mama lay semiconscious, her eyes half-lidded and drowsy, her breathing heavy. Shelby could never figure out how much the woman gleaned about what went on around her these days. She wasn’t sure if she even knew she was still alive at all.