BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

Peter had plenty of time to pull the ugly little automatic from his waistband.

43

Hands up,” Peter said. “You too, Bobbie, please. Let’s keep this nice and easy.”

He couldn’t afford to let Helene go to jail right now, not even an overnight holding cell, not with Roy still out there. Peter wasn’t crazy about the idea for himself, either. The last time he’d been in handcuffs, the white static had gotten out of control. The werewolf had taken over. People had gotten hurt. Peter didn’t want that to happen again.

The wind whistled across the naked branches. Bobbie was frozen on the bike. Falk’s hands were steady, held out from her sides while the muscles flexed in her jaw. She was living every trooper’s nightmare. “What about the guy you beat down and threw in the trunk of his own car? Was that nice and easy, too?”

“He ran us off the road,” Peter said. “He had night-vision goggles. He was hunting us. He was raising a military-style rifle. I was unarmed, so I did what I had to do to protect myself and Bobbie. When I hauled him out of the driver’s seat, he was trying to draw this pistol. It’s got the front sight filed off.”

Falk looked at Bobbie, who nodded.

Peter knew Bobbie would have told the cops at the farmyard about the other three men with guns and night-vision headsets. That fact would help validate Peter’s story. Plus any trooper worth a damn would want to take those guys off the road on general principles. Although Peter was pretty sure he’d blown all available goodwill by pointing a gun at her.

“Let me ask something else,” he said. “Do either of you know someone named Roy Wiley? Lives on the other side of the river?” He watched Falk’s face. She was the one with the badge. Bobbie would follow her lead.

Falk shook her head. “I’m stationed here, but I’m not from here. I grew up in Leola, four hours north.” Her emotions were locked down tight, because she was a law enforcement officer and Peter held a gun on her, but he saw a flicker of something cross her face. Not recognition, he thought. He hoped it was curiosity.

“Bobbie?” he asked. “How about you?”

“No. We both work a lot. Our free time, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Bobbie’s face was tense, but she wasn’t lying.

Falk hadn’t relaxed, but he could tell she was thinking hard. Unlike big-city cops, who usually had fellow officers nearby, state troopers often worked alone, in the middle of nowhere, with little or no available backup. As a result, they had a lot of autonomy in decision-making, and were taught to rely on their own judgment.

Peter was hoping Falk would use some of that judgment now.