Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- 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
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Then his left eye fizzed, static coiling through and around him—a great gray wave higher than his head—and it went out like a bad light.
—
HE STAYED UPRIGHT, THOUGH—on point—turning sideways so he had the full benefit of his good right eye. Amé was at the window, gun at high-ready—up by her shoulder—using the muzzle to move the blinds aside a fraction. Danny flanked the door opposite; he was on the left, she was on the right, the door between them. They moved with a certain silent understanding, as if they had been doing this forever—as if an invisible string bound them together. But he ended up with his bad eye toward the wall—the kitchenette at his back—and the rest of the apartment behind him might as well have been the dark side of the moon. Worse, the door pulled open toward him, meaning Amé would be exposed to whatever was on the other side—she’d have to take the first shot.
For a second or two he would truly be blind, completely cut off from her by the arc of the swinging door, making not only his bad eye meaningless, but Danny himself useless. He could shoot through the door if he had to, stitch rounds through the cheap wood at a hard angle, but until he got around the other side and cleared the gap, Amé would be all on her own. The space was no bigger than his outstretched arms, and it would be quick—no more than a fucking eye blink—but it would be enough. There was no way to change their positions now, and she wouldn’t let him anyway. She wasn’t afraid of whatever was on the other side of the door. She wanted to face it first, she always did.
She looked over, raised her chin toward the door.
Ready.
The apartment was dark, but not impenetrable. There was a lamp in the back bedroom that leaked pale blue light into the front, and the window by the kitchen that Danny had been staring out earlier was also lit faintly by the uncertain glow of a farway streetlamp.
A hint of a hint of light.
The crooked blinds by the front door bled their own radiance.
Amé was mainly wrapped in shadows, a single luminous halo around one eye. Light gleamed off her gun, the Saint Michael pendant at her throat.
Then there was that sound again . . . someone shuffling on the top step. Breathing. There was a small landing there and nothing more.
Barely enough for one person to stand.
Danny wanted to give it a second to see if that person standing there knocked. Maybe it was one of the other deputies, or Modelle Greer herself; maybe something had woken the old woman up and she was scared . . . even as Amé settled her weight on the leg curled beneath her and took steady aim at the door’s heart.