Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- 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
- 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
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
The library was daunting, but it was the only room left. Beaufort, nervous after the unexpected visitor, practically ran down the four or five aisles of books, as much as one could run in such a tight space, scanning the titles for one that would provide a clue that the thing was tucked inside between the pages. But he didn’t know what title that would be, nor if the thing was actually small enough to be contained within a book. In frustration he kicked the books on one of the bottom shelves so hard they tumbled out the other side. That was okay, it just looked like more vandalism.
He turned this way and that, seeing nothing as the shelves in the middle of the room extended up to within a foot of the ceiling. The only thing left in the room was a closet with two sliding doors.
He looked at his watch. What the hell was he doing looking at his watch? What difference did the time make? With a shrug he pushed the door on the right to the left.
Shelves in there as well, from the ceiling of the closet down to the floor.
More books. More. Fucking. Books.
He seized the sliding door and ripped it off its track, with a curse throwing it down one of the aisles where it bounced off a shelf and landed on the floor. First frightened by the unexpected visitor, and now enraged by his failure to find what he was looking for in his carefully plotted search of the house: These were feelings Beaufort was not accustomed to. He imagined Hickock and Smith somewhere in hell, Hickock laughing at him.
Beaufort slumped on the floor and looked at his watch and wondered where the woman was right now.
Twenty–seven
I was on an eight percent grade now, going around a turn, and aware from the trip up that the road continued like this for over a mile before entering a long straightaway that led from the mountain. I pumped the brakes to get as much out of the hydraulic system as possible. Nothing.
Speeding up now with the mass of the car on a downward slope, I didn’t dare to look at my speedometer but figured I was doing almost forty miles per hour and the emergency brake would only zig or zag the car ferociously. Zigging I go over the cliff. Zagging I hit the boulders on my right—and then bounce off and go over the cliff.
If I tried turning off the ignition I’d lose my power steering and at this speed would never be able to make the hairpin turns.