Chapters (46)
- COVER PAGE
- PRAISE
- DEDICATION
- 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
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45
He tipped his head back on the rest, shut his eyes briefly. He’d picked up the old Pontiac last month in Dallas, and then driven it west on I-10. It was a three-day trip out to LA, and the first day-and-a-half was just straight freeway through flat grassland. He’d driven for hours with the windows down and the pedal almost to the floor, as if a hundred miles an hour on a south-Texas interstate would somehow purge him of experience. As if he could hit the brakes in California, and never again think about the crash, or the man on the balcony in Fallujah, headshot with a .308, or the young Saudi guy in Munich, kidnapped at four am walking home drunk from a bar. Grab him and clamp his mouth. Hood on his head, needle in his arm. Then the ride in the blacked-out van to the private jet, and the flight with no flight-plan to the black-site in Poland. Drop him off dazed and hear the screams through the walls.
He put all that behind him, and now here he was, wondering if maybe this time it was worth it.
He dropped Locke’s card back in his pocket and texted Erin, letting her know he’d be there in twenty minutes. He figured that was enough time to decide whether or not to tell her about all this.
SIXTEEN
SIXTEEN
He parked the Range Rover in the lot behind Santa Barbara PD. Erin emerged from the back entrance a minute later, stony-faced behind sunglasses. Vincent got out and held the rear door for her. She was talking on her phone—voicemail, he gathered. She told someone to call her back when they got the message, and then signed off with ‘I love you’ as she climbed in.
He tried to hear what was in the line: something maternal, or was it spousal? She’d mentioned the son and the ex, but Vincent wondered if there was a current partner.
He got in up front again, and Erin said, ‘They let you have the surfboard.’
Vincent said, ‘Yeah. I think they took pity because my room’s off-limits.’
Now would be a good time to tell her about his talk with Sly, but he found himself just sitting there quietly. The automatic gate slid back as they reached the street, and he pulled out onto Figueroa. Erin was on another call already—someone offering condolences, Vincent guessed. She had a blank look, and she didn’t offer much other than, ‘I know,’ and ‘Thank you.’ He figured listening to well-wishers could take some effort. All those people reaffirming that something terrible had happened. He listened to her explain that someone called Leonard was handling the funeral, and she didn’t know when the body would be released. Something about an event in LA tomorrow night, and she didn’t know if she was going to cancel or not.