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
She’d given up on Afia. She wouldn’t give up on Lucy. Jess supposed that meant she’d have to find Mason Burke.
Eleven
Eleven
The drizzle had dissipated into a fine mist by the time Mason left the motel room the next morning, and as he walked down the hill into town, he could sense the sun, somewhere above, trying to burn through the clouds. He stopped at the diner and ate the same breakfast as yesterday, at the same table as yesterday, and when he’d finished his meal, he crossed the street to the sheriff’s detachment and asked to speak to Deputy Harwood again.
Harwood looked less pleased to see him the second go-around, though he made a nice try of keeping his smile fixed. He led Mason back to his office again, closed the door behind them. Went behind his desk and stood and spread his arms and looked at Mason.
“Well, Mr. Burke,” he said. “What can I do for you this time?”
Mason took his bankroll from his pocket. Counted out ten hundred-dollar bills. “One grand,” he said, laying it on the table. “A thousand dollars, cash money, and I’ll take that dog off your hands.”
Harwood clucked, tried for a sympathetic smile and didn’t quite get there. “That’s a generous offer,” he said, “but like I told you before, that dog’s not for sale. You want an animal, the pound out on the Indian reservation is sure to have a good selection of—”
“Thousand won’t cut it,” Mason said, interrupting. “I guess that means whatever Ty Winslow took from you is a sight more valuable.”
Harwood’s smile flickered. He looked Mason over again, and when the smile came back, it was something harder, something meaner.
“Are you looking to go back to jail, Burke?” he asked.
Mason said nothing.
“I did some reading about you.” The deputy gestured to his computer. “Mason Burke, thirty-three years of age, the last fifteen years a tenant of the Chippewa County State Penitentiary, Chippewa County, Michigan. First-degree murder, if I read that part right.”
Mason held Harwood’s gaze. Still didn’t say anything.
“Does that pretty young widow know you’re a murderer, Burke?” Harwood asked. “Did you tell her that part, when you told her you’d get her dog back?”
“I served my time,” Mason said. “What I did fifteen years ago has no bearing on what we’re doing here today.”
“What we’re doing.” Harwood clasped his hands together, cracked his knuckles. “What I’m doing, Burke, is attempting to dispose of a menacing dog, while simultaneously aiming to protect my town from the murderer who just showed up out of the blue.”
“That’s how you’re going to play it,” Mason said. “That’s fine.”