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
Fourteen
Fourteen
“License and registration?”
Mason watched the deputy walk slowly up the gravel shoulder toward him. The rain had started again, that fine, insidious drizzle, and it had seeped under the neck of Mason’s slicker, soaked through his jeans and his boots and socks, chilling him with that damp that somehow seemed colder than any Michigan winter.
The deputy was the younger of Harwood’s two buddies. SWEENEY, it said on his jacket. As he approached Mason, his right hand crept down toward the holster on his hip. He glanced up and down the highway; the road was deserted. The lights from his truck smeared blue and red reflections against the wet pavement.
Mason said nothing as the deputy approached. Thought about the pistol he’d given back to Yancy, and decided for once in his life he’d been smart about something. No way he’d walk out of here if the deputy found a gun on his person; not a free man, anyway. These Deception Cove lawmen were itching to be rid of him. Heck, the deputy might well have shot him dead, claimed self-defense.
He still might, Mason thought.
“You hear me, Burke? License and proof of registration for this bike.” The deputy stopped a few feet away. Kept his right hand at his hip, eyed Mason over.
Mason shook his head. “No registration. I just bought this thing.”
“Driver’s license?”
“No, sir.”
The deputy’s lip twitched. “Proof of sale?”
Mason laughed. “Come on.”
“Yeah, okay.” The deputy took a step back, drew his pistol. “I’m going to need you to come on over to that truck with me.”
“Are you arresting me?” Mason asked.
“Now, Burke.” The deputy drew a bead on Mason’s forehead. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Second time in an hour that someone had drawn a pistol on Mason, and he figured this deputy wouldn’t be quite so easy to shake as Yancy had been. He climbed off the bike, kept his hands visible and his movements slow, walked up the edge of the highway to where the Explorer sat parked.
“Hands on the hood,” the deputy told him. “Spread your legs. I’m gonna search you.”
Mason obeyed. Stayed motionless as the deputy frisked him. Waited as the deputy pulled the wallet from his back pocket, the envelope with his cash.
“Guess you got used to this kind of treatment inside,” the deputy said. “Fifteen years of strip searches and group showers, huh?”
Mason smirked. “Are you flirting with me, Sweeney?”
“Am I…” The deputy might have laughed; Mason couldn’t be sure. But then something clocked him, hard, on the side of the head, and suddenly he was down on the grit beside the Explorer, staring up at the deputy and his gun. The deputy wasn’t laughing now.