She stared at him and then looked away. “A lot of things.”

“I like it,” Matty said.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shrugged, feeling obstinate. Feeling tired. “A lot of things.”

Cozy heat hushed from the fan while car tires crunched the snow. Hum of the engine. He let his eyes close.

Her voice: “Where do you want to go?”

For a long minute he considered the question.

“Somewhere far,” he said.

Her response was casual: “Okay.”

But Jack heard it in her voice. The pact made with him. Earnest.

A vow.

He gave himself a moment longer, eyes closed, to ponder the brief world inside the car. This small sanctum. Warmth, peace. Sufficient to maintain. Everything outside the sweeping counter opposite. The storm. Dispassionate, coldly coming.

He turned his head and watched her, the little heart on her wrist fading in and out of focus.

If he could stop the clock hand. If.

“First there’s something I have to do.”

XXIX

Sometimes even now I catch the sense of him. Flash of memory. The way he moves. His smell, the gentle solidness of his voice. The way he doesn’t talk too loud. The way he takes what he is given and never acts like he knows more than you.

You could love someone like that.

Anyone with a heart could.

When Doyle turned onto the tree-lined driveway, he saw a long, black cloud pluming above the trees. Thick haze of smoke. He reached the house and got out.

He covered his mouth.

Smells stained the air: burning paper, aluminum. Sewer gas. Red embers. He stood in the blur of blue-and-red lights, looking across the fire trucks at the house. Stalks of exposed walls smoldering in the cold air. Shapes of household items. A blackened bed. An armchair.

Midge came forward. Grime covered her uniform. Her whole face was sooty. Around her neck she wore a pink scarf, darkly smudged.

“Sheriff,” she said. “We’ve got a heck of a mess here.”

“Anyone inside?”

“No, sir. He’s got two vehicles registered. No sign of either.”

“Hmm.”

“House was empty till just a month ago. You know who bought it?”

“I do know, Midge.”

“You think we got a meth operation here?”

“No, Mr. Bardem is above all that. This man is something different.”

They stood watching the firefighters spray water at what remained of the porch. Steam came off the wood like smoke.

“It’s a curious thing,” Doyle said, “this house burnin’ down.”

“I hear you. They ain’t been here two weeks.”

He glanced at her. “What do you mean ‘they’?”

“I mean Bardem and his girl,” Midge explained.

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope. Daughter.”

“How’d I not know this?”

“I don’t know, sir. They just moved in.”