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
“Son, sometimes a dog just goes crazy,” he continued. “We think we know an animal, and then something triggers and it’s all of a sudden something wild again, something we’ve never seen. Happened to me more than once—I’ve had dogs. There’s nothing to it but to move on.”
“Not this dog,” Mason said. “All due respect, but I know this dog, sir. I just can’t accept that she acted out of turn.”
“So what are you asking? What is it you’re thinking you’ll do?”
“I want to talk to the dog’s owner at least. Deputy Harwood didn’t want to play ball, so I’d like to get her side of the story, hear what happened. If nothing else, I just want to understand why Lucy did what she did.”
The man said nothing for a while. Looked Mason in the eye and seemed to be weighing something.
“You were in prison?” he said.
Mason nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “There’s a man dead thanks to me, and I deserved to be in there because of it. And I don’t have any designs on going back, but this dog gave me a reason to get up in the morning. I figure I owe her something in return.”
The motel owner thought some more. Mason held his gaze. Had he made the right decision, being honest with this man? He hoped he hadn’t erased any glimmer of goodwill he’d cultivated here.
But he realized he felt comfortable, for the first time since his release, telling somebody who he was. He had no choice but to own it, build trust through integrity, and rely on human decency. He’d gambled that this motel owner was as decent a man as any in this town.
Finally the man squared up, seemed to come to a decision. “Winslow,” he said. “Owner’s Jess Winslow. Lives up on Timberline, little red house a quarter mile from where the road peters out. If she’s home, you’ll see a Chevy S10 in the front yard. Be careful out there, mind; she saw plenty of action, and she brought most of it back. You’re going to want to make your intentions clear.”
“Timberline,” Mason said. “I’m much obliged to you.”
“Don’t bring her any trouble, son. She’s been through enough as it is.”
“I promise,” Mason said, and he turned for the door.
“Son?”
He turned back.
“It’s a couple, three miles up to where Timberline meets the highway. If you’re planning on walking, you might want to wait for the rain to let up.”
Mason looked out into the parking lot, the same steady drizzle he’d been seeing all day.
“I might have just goosed Harwood into killing that dog,” he replied. “I don’t think I have time to spare.”
Seven
Seven