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Back The Devils You Know Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. PRAISE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  45. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  46. SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45

Memory again: the night of the crash, sitting in the open door of the helicopter as it arced away, children reaching up through the dust. He blinked, but the vision didn’t fade, because there was Freeman below him with an arm raised, hand open. Red bubbles on his lips as he tried to speak.

The arm was still raised when he got there, and Freeman still seemed to be staring at the window, like that was where everything went wrong. Vincent knelt and spoke in his ear, a whisper. Like trying to coax him back from where he was going.

‘Casey, what happened?’

Holding his hand now, one of Freeman’s in two of Vincent’s. The gun on the tile beside him. Training said clear the house, but instinct said they’d fled. The man still alive was in the Navigator.

Vincent said, ‘Was it Sly? Was it Sylvester Crow?’

Freeman’s eyes slid across to him. ‘Thirty million …’

‘What? What’s thirty million?’

‘No time. We can’t do it.’ A wheeze. ‘We can’t pay. We can’t pay. We can’t pay …’

‘Who can’t you pay?’ Patting the back of his hand now. ‘Casey, who can’t you pay?’

No answer.

Vincent checked his pulse—wrist, neck—nothing. He swore and ran a hand through his hair as he sat back on his haunches. Above him in the living room, he could hear Erin: ‘Dad, Dad … Dad.’

He felt faint for a moment: the stress of conflict, or maybe just the weight of luck—good or bad, whatever you called it in this case. Maybe just madness. Horror.

He went back up to the living room and found Erin hunched over her father, cradling his head, her face tear-streaked. Vincent crouched beside her, wanting to be there but not sure what to do. Wanting to offer comfort, but not wanting to intrude, or to tell her something hollow.

She said, ‘Is Freeman dead?’

‘Yes.’

He could hear her breathing. At some stage, he would have to tell her his mistake. He should have grabbed the Colt from the Lincoln. He could have followed the shooters in through the front door, and he might have been fast enough to do something. Help Freeman, or Tanner. Of course in the moment, he’d seen it as binary: save Erin, or her father. And probably—if he were honest—there had been part of him clinging to his goddamned principle: save them without a gun. Now he’d lost lives and his stupid rule.

He said, ‘Why don’t we wait outside?’

Her eyes were squeezed shut, dripping tears. She stroked her father’s hair.

Now he heard sirens.

TWELVE

TWELVE