Decker had the disorienting vision of the ever larger spinning Caddy appearing like flashes of a strobe light through the Olds’s front windshield, it, too, spinning. At once the Caddy wasn’t there anymore. It must have gone off the road, Decker thought, frantic. Simultaneously the Oldsmobile lurched. The texture of the surface beneath the car became soft and mushy. Grass! The Olds’s right-rear fender struck something. Decker’s upper and lower teeth were knocked together. Outside, metal crumbled. A taillight shattered. The Olds jerked to a stop.
“Are you okay?” Esperanza’s voice shook.
“Yes! Where's Giordano?”
“I see his headlights!” Esperanza gunned the engine, urging the Olds away from a tree it had spun into, fishtailing across the edge of a muddy field, aiming toward the interstate’s access ramp. Ahead, the Caddy roared out of a ditch and sped toward the chaos of traffic on the interstate.
“You killed the father.” Esperanza’s breathing was strident. “If you kill the son, Beth Dwyer’s problems are over. There’s no one to pay off the contract on her. Giordano’s men will stop hunting her.”
“You sound like you don’t approve of my methods.”
“I’m just making observations.”
Ahead, Giordano sped onto the interstate, forcing other cars to veer out of his way. Horns blared.
“Giordano has a million dollars in that car,” Decker said.
“What?”
“It’s a payoff to Brian McKittrick, the price for killing Beth. Ninety minutes from now, he expects it to be delivered to him.”
Esperanza raced onto the interstate after the Cadillac. “But what if it isn’t? Maybe he’ll let her go.”
“No. McKittrick’s crazy enough to kill her out of spite,” Decker said. “The money has to be delivered to him. Maybe I can use it to get him to lead me to Beth. As it is, Frank obviously has no intention of delivering the money. He’s heading south. The drop-off site is a couple of miles north of here.”
Despite the downpour, Esperanza risked pushing the accelerator to seventy, veered into the passing lane, and surged forward, approaching the Cadillac five cars ahead in the right lane. Rain pelted the windshield. The wipers could hardly clear it. Unable to go faster because of the car ahead of him, Giordano veered into the passing lane and accelerated. The Cadillac’s spray struck the Oldsmobile’s windshield and made it impossible for Esperanza to see. With a curse, he swerved into a break in traffic in the right lane, only four car lengths away now.
Inexplicably Giordano slowed, dropping back. In a moment, the Cadillac was parallel to the Oldsmobile. The Cadillac’s passenger window was down. Giordano raised his right arm.
“He’s going to shoot!” Decker yelled.
Esperanza tapped the brakes. When Giordano fired, the Olds had dropped back just enough that the bullet passed in front of the windshield.
Giordano reduced speed more, dropping back farther, trying for another shot.
Decker lunged toward the floor to grab the pistol that he’d thrown into the car when they left Giordano’s house. Giordano fired. The bullet punched a hole in the driver’s side window, zipped past Decker’s head, and crashed through the far side window in the back. In front, a section of the safety glass disintegrated into jagged pellets, spraying Esperanza’s face.
“I can’t see!” Esperanza shouted.
The Olds wavered.
Giordano aimed again.
Decker fired. The report inside the closed space was agonizing, like hands being slammed against Decker’s ears. There hadn’t been time to open the back window. The bullet blasted a hole in the glass, passed through Giordano’s open front window, and blew a chunk out of his windshield. Giordano flinched and, instead of firing, had to use both hands to correct his steering.
The Olds wavered again as Esperanza struggled to see. Decker bent frantically over the front seat and grabbed the steering wheel. About to hit a car in front, he swung sharply to the left, crossed into the passing lane, and slammed against Giordano’s Cadillac.
“Keep your foot on the accelerator!” he yelled to Esperanza.
“What are you doing?” In a sightless frenzy, Esperanza pawed chunks of glass from around his eyes.
Bent over the front seat, Decker steered harder toward the Caddy, walloping against it. He thought he heard Giordano scream. The third time Decker whacked the Caddy, he forced it off the road. In terror, Giordano veered toward the grassy median strip, hurtled down a slight embankment, and surged up an incline toward approaching headlights in the opposite lanes.
Decker followed, almost parallel to the Caddy, feeling a jolt as the Olds left the interstate. He cringed from the loose feel of the steering on rain-soaked grass. His stomach dropped as the Oldsmobile rose, and suddenly he was streaking diagonally past headlights speeding toward him.
“Brake!” Decker yelled to Esperanza. “Hard!”
The Olds had hurtled across two lanes of traffic before the brakes engaged. The wheels skidded, shrieking across wet pavement, throwing up gravel on the shoulder. Horns blaring, traffic rushed past. Ahead, Giordano skidded sideways, crushed bushes, snapped through saplings, and disappeared down a rain-swept slope.
Decker swung the steering wheel in a furious effort to avoid going straight down the slope. He had no idea how steep the drop was or what would be at the bottom. All he did know was that he had to reduce speed even more. “Keep your foot on the brake!” he yelled to Esperanza.
The Olds skidded nearer to the drop. Veering, Decker swung the steering wheel harder, gravel flying. Afraid that the Olds would flip over, he was equally afraid of a head-on impact against a tree. The Olds spun, its tail end pointing toward the slope where the Caddy had disappeared, and suddenly halted, banging Decker’s ribs against the seat he leaned against.
“Jesus,” Decker said. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” Esperanza pawed more chunks of glass from his blood-smeared face. “I’m starting to see. Thank God my eyes weren’t cut.”
“I’m going after him!” Decker grabbed his pistol and raced from the Olds, assaulted by cold, lancing rain. Vaguely aware that headlights were pulling off the interstate behind him, a car stopping to investigate what seemed to be a terrible accident, he ignored the distraction and studied the dark, wooded slope.
The Caddy’s headlights blazed upward from it, as if the car had twisted going down the slope and was now resting on its back end. Decker didn’t dare make himself a clear target by going straight ahead and exposing himself to the Caddy’s headlights. Instead, he hurried to the right, entered the darkness of the rain-swept trees, and climbed warily down a steep, slippery slope. After what he judged to be thirty feet, he reached the bottom, turned left, and crept toward the glow of the Caddy’s upended headlights, ready with his pistol.
11
Branches snapped. Rain hissing down through the thickly leaved trees obscured the sound. Decker listened harder. There! Another branch had snapped. Near the car.
Decker crouched, trying to blend with the undergrowth. A shadow moved through the trees. Partially silhouetted by the illumination from the Caddy, a man lurched into view. He held his stomach and bent forward, stumbling. Groaning, the figure lost his balance and staggered to Decker’s right, away from the lights of the car, swallowed by the dark woods, but not before Decker saw that what the man had been clutching wasn’t his stomach but, instead, the briefcase.
Decker crept through the trees after him. Although he didn’t have much time, he didn’t dare hurry. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. At once other noises unnerved him: voices behind him, on the top of the slope. Risking a glance backward, Decker saw rain glinting through several flashlight beams that were aimed down toward the Cadillac. A car had stopped as he went down the slope. Other vehicles must have stopped, also. He could only pray that one of them had not been a police car.
Shifting deeper into the woods, Decker followed the route he thought Giordano had taken. Behind him, people climbed awkward
ly down the slope, shuffling through bushes, bending branches, talking loudly. The commotion they made prevented Decker from hearing any noises that Giordano might make ahead of him. He had to avoid the flashlights, stooping, trying to conceal himself in the undergrowth, searching. The money, he thought. I can’t get to Beth if I don’t have the money.
He took a tentative step forward into the darkness and at once felt nothing beneath his shoe. Another slope. About to fall, his momentum tugging him over, he grabbed a tree and dangled, then struggled back onto a slippery stretch of rock. Rain streamed down his neck, his clothes clinging coldly to him. He breathed deeply, trying to steady himself. He had no way of knowing how far down the drop went, but its pitch was extremely steep. If Giordano had toppled over, it would be impossible to climb down and find him in the dark.
Back at the Cadillac, the flashlights scanned the trees. They’ll spread out and try to find the driver, Decker thought. If Giordano didn’t go over the edge, if he’s still alive, he’ll move as far from those flashlights as he can. But which way? Forced to make an arbitrary decision, Decker turned to the right.
If not for the chest-high branch that he had to stoop under, the rock that Giordano clutched would have struck Decker’s skull instead of his bent-over back. The pain of the blow was matched by its surprise. Dazed, Decker was knocked to the ground, dropping his pistol. In a frenzy, Giordano attacked from the darkness. Decker rolled, feeling the fierce rush of air as Giordano tried to hit him again with the rock he clutched. It missed and struck the wet ground with a muffled wallop. Decker kicked, knocking Giordano’s legs from under him. Giordano’s full weight landed on him, almost knocking his wind out. Squirming, Decker felt the edge of the steep slope next to him. As Giordano raised the rock to strike it at Decker’s face, Decker grabbed Giordano’s wrist to stop the blow. At the same time, he felt the ground give way beneath him. He and Giordano were suddenly in the air, falling through the darkness, striking an outcrop, rolling, falling again. With shocking abruptness, they jolted to a stop.
Despite being out of breath, Decker couldn’t allow himself to hesitate. He struck at Giordano, who lay next to him, but in the dark, his blow glanced off Giordano’s shoulder. Giordano had kept his grip on the rock, and although his aim was hampered by the darkness, he managed to graze Decker’s ribs, almost doubling him over. The additional pain made Decker furious. He came to his feet and chopped with the side of his hand, but Giordano stumbled back, avoiding the blow, and swung with the rock. Decker felt the brush of wind as the rock barely missed his face. Wanting to get close to block the next blow, he lunged through the darkness, thrust Giordano back, and heard him gasp when they struck something. Giordano stiffened, his arms outstretched. He trembled. His breath sounded like a leak coming out of an inner tube. Then his arms sank, his body becoming motionless, and the only hiss was that of the rain.
Decker didn’t understand. Straining to catch his breath, he braced himself to continue the struggle. Slowly, he realized that Giordano was dead.
But somehow the body was still standing.
“I told you I heard something!” a man yelled. Flashlight beams arced through the storm-shrouded trees. Footsteps pounded close to the rim of the slope down which Decker had fallen.
I can’t let them see him! Decker thought. He rushed toward where Giordano remained eerily upright. Tugging, he felt resistance and understood sickly that Giordano had been impaled on the jagged stump of a broken-off branch.
The voices and footsteps rushed closer. Have to get him out of sight, Decker thought. Lowering Giordano’s deadweight to the ground, about to drag him deeper into the murky trees, Decker became paralyzed by a flashlight beam that caught him squarely as it glared down from the bluff.
“Hey!” a man yelled.
“I found him!” Decker shouted. “I thought I heard a noise down here! I managed to climb down! I found him!”
“Holy ... !” another man yelled, aiming a flashlight. “Look at all the blood!”
“Can you find a pulse? Is he alive?” someone else yelled. “I don’t know!” Decker shouted. The glare of the flashlights hurt his eyes. “I think what I heard was him falling! The drop must have killed him!”
“But there’s a chance he might be alive! We have to get an ambulance!”
“His neck might be broken! We don’t dare move him!” Rain streaked down Decker’s face. “Is anybody up there a doctor?”
“We need an ambulance!”
Guided by their flashlights, several men were working down past trees on the muddy slope.
“Why did he come this way?” A man reached the bottom. “Couldn’t he see the interstate back there?”
“He must have banged his head in the wreck!” Decker said. “He was probably delirious!”
“Jesus, look at him!” One of the men turned away.
“He must have hit something when he fell!”
“But what about the woman he was with?” Decker said.
“Woman?”
“I heard her voice!” Decker said. “She sounded like she was hurt! Where is she?”
“Everybody!” a man yelled. “Keep looking! Someone else is out here! A woman!”
The group spilt apart, scanning their flashlights, quickly searching.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Decker retreated into the darkness. He climbed the slope, slipping in the mud, grabbing exposed tree roots, bracing his shoes on outcrops of rock. Any minute, the group would wonder what had become of him. He had to get away before they suspected he wasn’t part of the search team. But I can’t leave without Giordano’s briefcase. It wasn’t with him when he fell. Where is it? If the searchers get their hands on the money, there’s no way I can save Beth.
Heart pounding, Decker reached the top and spotted more flashlight beams near the wrecked Cadillac. Temporarily he was concealed by undergrowth, but the searchers might soon investigate this area. Breathing hard, he crouched, trying to get his bearings. Where had Giordano attacked him? Was it to the right or the left? Decker swung to stare down toward what in the darkness he could barely tell was Giordano’s body. He replayed the struggle at the bottom of the slope. He calculated where they had landed. To reach that area, they would have had to fall from Decker’s left. Giordano must have attacked from—
Decker squirmed on his hands and knees through the underbrush. At the same time, flashlights started coming in his direction. No! Decker thought. He had never felt such a powerful surge of adrenaline. He didn’t think his pulse had ever been so rapid. Pressure built behind his ears. The briefcase. Have to find the briefcase. Need the briefcase. Can’t save Beth without the briefcase.
He had almost crawled past it before he realized what he had touched. Fearing that his heart would surely burst from relief, he grabbed the briefcase. At the same time, his foot nudged something behind him near the edge of the slope. His pistol. He had dropped it when Giordano struck him with the rock. As he shoved the pistol into his jacket, he dared to hope that things might actually work out. He still had a chance to save Beth.
But not if the flashlights came any closer. What if one of them belonged to a policeman? His clothes smeared with mud, Decker crawled farther through the undergrowth, straining not to make noise. He came to where he thought he had initially descended into the trees. Staring behind him, he waited for the flashlights to shift toward an area away from him. The first chance he got, he crept swiftly up through the trees and paused at the edge of the interstate. Vehicles rushed by in the rain, tires hissing, headlights glaring. On the shoulder, several cars had stopped. Most of them were empty, their occupants presumably having gone into the trees to help search for survivors of the wreck. One of the cars was a police cruiser, Decker saw in dismay, but it, too, was empty, although probably not for long.
The police car was next to the Oldsmobile. Esperanza sat in the Olds, slumped behind the steering wheel. Even from a distance, it was obvious that his face was bloody. I can’t wait any longer, Decker thought. He quickly em
erged from the trees, tried to use his body to shield the briefcase from anyone looking at him from the trees, and walked swiftly along the side of the interstate.
Esperanza straightened as Decker got in the Olds.
“Can you see to drive?”
“Yes.”
“Go.”
Esperanza turned the ignition key, put the Olds in gear, and sped out into traffic. “You look like hell.”
“I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.” Decker stared behind him to see if they were being followed. It didn’t seem so.
“I wasn’t sure when or if you’d come back,” Esperanza said.
“And I wasn’t sure if you’d stay with the car. You did the right thing.”
“I’d make a good getaway driver. In fact, I was a good getaway driver.”
Decker looked at him.
“When I was sixteen,” Esperanza said. “You’ve got the briefcase.”
“Yes.”
“What about Frank Giordano?”
Decker didn’t answer.
“Then Beth Dwyer has one less problem.”
“It was self-defense,” Decker said.
“I didn’t suggest otherwise.”
“I needed the briefcase.”
“A million dollars. With that kind of money, some men wouldn’t think about saving anybody.”
“Without Beth, I wouldn’t save myself.”
TEN
1
“Jesus, Decker, this is crazy. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up killing yourself,” Esperanza tensely murmured, lower than a whisper. “Or else you’re giving McKittrick the chance to do it for you.” But they had argued about Decker’s intentions for the last hour, and Decker had made clear his determination. This was the way McKittrick expected the drop-off to happen, and by God, this was the way it was going to happen.
Decker felt Esperanza lean into the backseat of the Oldsmobile. He felt Esperanza grab his shoulders and tug him out into the rain. His instructions to Esperanza had been to avoid being gentle, to be as rough as someone would expect a hit man to be with the corpse of someone he had just killed.