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Back Deception Cove Save as PDF
Chapters (78)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Forty-Three
  50. Forty-Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Fifty-Seven
  64. Fifty-Eight
  65. Fifty-Nine
  66. Sixty
  67. Sixty-One
  68. Sixty-Two
  69. Sixty-Three
  70. Sixty-Four
  71. Sixty-Five
  72. Sixty-Six
  73. Sixty-Seven
  74. Sixty-Eight
  75. Acknowledgments
  76. Discover More
  77. About the Author
  78. Also by Owen Laukkanen

“Just thinking on how you and Jess used to have that thing together, back in the high school days, remember?”

“Yeah,” Harwood said. “So?”

Whitmer winked at Sweeney. “Well, I guess you mustn’t have impressed her all that much, boss,” he said. “Seeing as how she sure hates your guts these days.”

Harwood felt his muscles tense up, involuntary. “I used her up till I was good and done with her, Dale, and then I traded her in on the cheerleading captain,” he said. “I guess Jess still holds a grudge.”

Whitmer nodded, still smirking. “Yeah, I guess so.” Then his smile faded. “And the drifter, boss? What do you want we should do about him?”

Harwood relaxed a little bit. Pushed Jess from his mind. “Run him out of my county,” he said. “By any means necessary.”

Twelve

Twelve

At first pass, Mason had assumed the building that housed the Cobalt Pub was abandoned, if not condemned. But today, looking past the graffiti tags, the boarded-up windows, and the wind-worn posters for long-ago musical acts, he found a black, windowless door, and when he pulled the door open and peered inside, he found himself in a bar, just like Hank Moss had promised.

Barely nine thirty in the morning and already doing business, the Cobalt was a long, narrow room, a bar along the right wall and a row of tables on the left. The place stank of sweat and stale beer and urine, the light dim enough to hide most of the filth on the walls, the floor, the countertops, though nobody would ever have made the mistake of calling the place clean.

A couple of old men sat drinking alone at the bar. Toward the back, three more men sat at a table. They looked middle aged, though in the shadows Mason couldn’t be sure. Their eyes followed him as he found a seat at the bar.

The bartender was an older guy too, a white beard and thick, muscled arms. He nodded at Mason as he sat down. “What can I get you?”

“Beer,” Mason replied, and the man took a greasy glass from a rack and filled it from an unmarked tap.

“Three bucks.”

Mason slid him a five. “Looking for someone,” he said. The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Guy named Ty Winslow. You know him?”

The bartender snorted. “You’re a little late, bud,” he said. “Ty drowned in the chuck about four months back.”

“Well, dang,” Mason said. “I guess that’s that.”

“Guess so.” The bartender moved on, and Mason nursed his beer. Wondered what he was drinking, where it had come from, whether it was branded or somebody’s basement home brew. Figured it didn’t matter; nobody who came to this place was going to be a connoisseur.