Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Foreword
- 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
- Praise for Linwood Barclay
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
Kyle smiled again, as though impressed by Derek’s bargaining efforts. “We have a deal. Five hundred thousand. Just get me off this goddamn rock.”
“No,” Derek said.
“But—”
“I just wanted to see how high you’d go.” He opened up the napkin and looked at the melting ice. “I hope they’ve got more of this, because I’m in the mood for a scotch.” He pushed back his chair and stood. He looked longingly toward the bar, then back at Kyle, who was also getting to his feet.
“If I was you,” Derek said, “I’d find my way to the ferry. Should still be running. On foot, going cross-country—which right now is probably the safest way to go—you might make it in an hour. I’ve heard others talking about headin’ that way. I’m gonna hunt up that drink. I’d invite you to join me, but you should get a move on.”
Brandon Kyle studied his former employee for another three seconds, trying to think of some great parting shot, and, coming up with nothing, turned and started walking.
The man who’d been behind the counter was now standing just outside the door, arguing with some other people who were trying to get him to accept a wad of cash in exchange for a boat to get them off the island.
He slipped quickly behind the counter. There were several shelves and a set of three drawers to one side.
The shelves were filled with paperwork, postcards, a cordless credit card machine, a phone book, maps, and Garrett Island guidebooks. When Kyle didn’t find what he was looking for among those items, he started pulling out the drawers.
He found the Glock in the middle one.
Kyle quickly tucked it into an inside pocket of his sport jacket, then walked out of the yacht club.
Derek’s suggestion, that he head for the ferry, struck him now as a good one. All he had to do was figure out how to get there.
Twenty-Five
Lillian Bridgeman, her hands gripped tightly on the wheels of her chair, pulled herself back up her driveway another full rotation.
Squeak.
She’d managed to conquer the tickle in her throat and had not coughed again, but the Arrival at the end of her drive, with poor dead Daniella trapped beneath it, had heard her wheelchair that so desperately needed a shot of WD-40.
The Arrival was starting to turn into her driveway.
Lillian was only one more full rotation away from the ramp that led back up to the front porch of her home. But her aging arms were already screaming with pain. The ramp, with railings on both sides, was slightly wider than three feet, definitely narrower than the car. Once she was on it, she believed she’d be safe, so long as she could hold her position, didn’t roll back.
Lillian plotted out how she would accomplish this.