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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

He realised too it was only because Erin was in the picture that he was giving this any thought. If he were rational about it, he’d be on his way out of town right now. Lamar had lied to him, so it was hard to muster any passion for vengeance. He didn’t owe the old man anything, even if he could have saved his life: a smaller measure of good luck, and Vincent would be dead, too. But with Erin it was different. She was caught in the middle, and she wanted answers.

He looked away and tried to think how this could turn into something he would regret. That was the essence of his career: reflecting on good-faith decisions and seeing that they were wrong. Hindsight was like that: it always showed up too late. And from what he had before him, he knew he had just one option. He couldn’t save her and then just walk away. He’d be stuck with the fact that he could have done more. And analysis was pointless, anyway. Feelings governed, and justified or not, he felt that he should help.

So Vincent looked at her and said, ‘Yes, I will.’

THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

She left him alone for ten minutes and went to speak with the detectives. She had an overnight bag she’d packed for the Berkeley trip, and she wanted to know if she could have it back. In theory, it was still on the table in her room, up at her father’s place.

Vincent thought: Your place now. Couldn’t help it.

He watched the TV while she was gone. A news bulletin told him the latest about the attack. Shots fired, multiple injuries, the old man dead. They played an audio recording: Erin being interviewed by phone as the shooting started. Some shock-jock asking how she’d transformed from a level-headed liberal in her twenties, to a neo-con and a hawk in her thirties. Vincent had wondered that himself, but the recorded Erin didn’t get a chance to answer, because the sound of gunfire cut in first—blips of static on the feed—and then the real Erin was at the wire-mesh window in the office door, and he hit the mute button as she stepped in.

She said, ‘Someone’s going to take you up. Just grab the bag and the Range Rover and meet me back here. And it’s a ten-grand bonus for every photographer you hit.’

He thought that was pretty eager, getting into murder jokes already.

She said, ‘I asked about the surfboard too, but I think they pretended not to hear.’

Odd thing for her to remember, at a time like this.

She said, ‘Apparently your room’s off-limits for a few days. If you need anything in the meantime, I can reimburse you.’