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
The bike raced past. Archie knew a little bit about motorcycles, and he was pretty sure what he’d seen was, indeed, a Harley-Davidson, which happened to be the same kind of bike that Rory’s dad owned. A Sportster model, in blue, 1200 cc.
But there was something more curious than the bike itself. It was who was sitting on it.
“Mom?” Archie whispered.
It had only taken the bike a second to cross his field of vision, but he was pretty sure he’d seen his mother. It was a woman, no doubt about that. Skirt hiked up high so she could straddle the bike. She wasn’t wearing a helmet or goggles, so he could see her long, brown hair trailing behind her in the wind.
The Arrivals had heard the motorcycle, too.
Fresh meat.
The cars farthest away from Archie were pulling out of formation to follow the noise of the bike, like animals picking up a scent.
Could it really be Mom?
There was that old picture in her bedroom, of her with Dad, in their biker leathers. He’d never paid that much attention to it, thought maybe it was a photo from a Halloween party or something. Pretended to be a couple of badass Hell’s Angels. Sure, he knew his dad loved bikes and could fix them and had owned some in the past.
But seriously?
He wanted to run from the shelter of the loading bay, out into the parking lot, flag down this biker. Because if it was his mom, odds were the person she was looking for—
He could hear the bike coming back.
Even though he couldn’t yet see it, he started jumping up and down and waving his hands like a castaway on a desert island trying to catch a pilot’s attention.
“Mom!” he screamed. “Mom!”
In a millisecond, the motorcycle sped past. And half a second later, so did six Arrivals, all in pursuit.
The woman on the bike had not glanced Archie’s way. But seconds later, it made another pass. Maybe she’d spotted something in her peripheral vision on her previous pass: the boy’s frantic waving. The bike was heading straight for the loading bay area.
Archie waved.
His mother waved.
The Arrivals, unable to turn as sharply or as quickly as the bike, were struggling to keep up. But if they could corner Sandra in the loading bay . . .
Sandra aimed the bike for the concrete steps. Archie thought: No fucking way.
It was stunning enough to discover your mom could drive a motorcycle. It was something else to consider that she might undertake climbing a set of steps with it.
But that was exactly what she did.