VIII

Case lay naked on the floor of the open, ground floor salon listening to Lyla play through the songs she’d been working on over the past month.  It had surprised him when he first heard her sing without a full band behind her and only accompanying herself on the keyboard.  She almost sounded like a different singer, but the strong, crystalline voice was pure Lyla.

At that time of night, she was invariably naked at the keyboard, her bare foot working the small pedal underneath and breasts quivering to the motion of her arms as she played.

The number of hours she could spend lost in the melodies taking shape in her mind continually amazed him.  It was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.  Even him.  The first couple of days he brought her drinks from the kitchen, but she’d been so startled he left her alone after that.  When she needed something, she’d walk to the kitchen in what would have looked like a daze to anyone who didn’t know her, but Case had soon learned her entire being was focused on creating music.

Whenever they had sex, they’d lie together a while – sometimes talking, sometimes not – but there was always a point where she’d get up and go downstairs to the keyboard.  Playing.  Writing.  Singing lines that would come to her and eventually flower into songs.

They went to the village center for breakfast every morning, and Shana would stop whatever she was doing and sit with them if there weren’t other customers demanding attention.  Nothing else happened like the first time he brought her there, but Shana often told stories about times past with Case.  He would frown disapprovingly while Lyla listened with a smile, snickering over the chances he and Shana had taken at being seen.

Shana’s tales always seemed to end with a none too subtle suggestion the two of them visit her after hours.  Case did his best to ignore her.  Lyla never said anything, but he could tell there was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

Two or three times a week, Izzy would show up with his usual entourage of two.  He always made a point of taking the closest possible seat to them and fawning over Lyla.  He was genuinely interested in how her new songs were coming along, and invariably offered the use of the studio in his house.  She always thanked him and turned him down, but he kept making the offer anyway.

News of the fire eventually ebbed to a quick, daily mention of how the investigation into foul play had yet to turn up any leads, and how Lyla and the unknown hero remained missing.  Speculation had begun, though, as to whether or not the two had fled the scene together.

No one had recognized the now famous sketch as being the former minor leaguer maybe on his way to the bigs until his much more famous fiancé, Kelly Nichols, had been injured in a car crash with Neil Bronson.  Nichols and Bronson had costarred in a top-grossing disaster epic.  The incident had brought Rawlins more media attention than his brief baseball career.  Suddenly, he’d become famous for being cheated on by a notorious, Hollywood party girl.

In the months following the scandal, Nichols and Bronson got married, but neither returned to their film careers due to injuries sustained in the crash.

It had taken a long time to cease mattering to Case.  The house Kelly and Neil now occupied in the village was supposed to have been Case and Kelly’s weekend getaway.

Now, Case found himself feeling thankful for his past.  He’d survived the hard parts, and realized they were all just steps down a road that led to where he was standing.  All that mattered now was living day to day with the woman who filled his house with music.

She was singing Walking Through Fire, one of the new songs.  They were all slow, torchy ballads heavily laced with blues as well as her French-Caribbean background.  The lyrics were thoughtful and more personal than any Case had ever heard her sing before.  He’d listened to her sing all of them a hundred times by now, and Walking Through Fire was his favorite.  She’d set to music the things they’d talked about that day standing naked out in the desert – about never having to wonder.

The way she sang about the hypothetical man in the song made him squirm.  He couldn’t imagine her writing such things about him, but she had and all he could do was try to separate himself from a man in a song who sounded like a myth.

The only light in the house now was the small, clip-on lamp on her keyboard, trapping her under a concentrated bubble of light that only deepened the shadows in the rest of the room.  He had asked her if she wanted to set up in a more secluded spot, like the guest room upstairs or the old style den off the salon, but she wanted an open space to work in.

He liked that she set up where she was, and the way her singing and composing had become an integral part of their lives.  It was as much a part of their routine as shopping or cooking.  At first, Case had thought it rang with a greater beauty than those other daily chores, but in the end, he realized the clearest music he’d ever heard was simply her being there.

He kept his eyes closed as he listened, even though the picture he held in his mind was of her just as she was, sitting naked at the keyboard.  Inhaling air.  Exhaling music.

And now that her new songs were close to being finished, more refined, she’d started singing through them without stopping to rethink her words and notes.  They were becoming like shoes that were breaking in, becoming more comfortable to walk around in.  And each time she sang them he could hear more of her heart and soul driving them.

As she sang her song about a pair of lovers who walk through fire yet only feel the heat of their mutual need, he reached between his legs and began fondling his cock.  He could have opened his eyes any time, but he could see her just as clearly with his eyes closed – the way her bare thighs were round and full as she sat on the bench – the way they parted just enough to reveal her smooth, bald pussy – the way her nipples would grow thick and hard and stand out from the quivering spheres of flesh between her arms as she played.

He listened and thought of her while his cock quickly grew into an aching stalk of hard flesh with his hand riding up and down its girth.  He lost himself in the swirl of sensations and sound, and the harder he throbbed, the more palpable the sense of her taste on his tongue and her scent in his head.

She got to the end of Walking Through Fire and launched into Unknown Hero without breaking stride.  There was only one thing better than having her sing privately for him, and that was holding her.  Or maybe just walking down the sidewalk in the center of the village together, their arms brushing as their bodies swayed to their strides.

His cock started leaking precum as he stroked.  Listened.  Stroked.  Saw her.  Stroked.  Smelled her.  Stroked.

She came to the end of the song and there was silence, except for the soft hitch of his breathing.  He opened his eyes and found her standing over him, watching him stroke his cock.  He didn’t stop and didn’t slow his pace.  He just looked at her from his place on the floor.

Her body was mostly in shadow, but the light from her keyboard cast bright lines along the tapering edges of her thighs.  The shape of her breasts and stiff nipples were barely highlighted the same way.  But then she turned her body just enough to let more light catch her features.  She planted her feet in a wider stance and thrust her hand between her thighs, raking her fingers along the furrow of her pussy.

“Geeeezuss,” Rawlins groaned.  He gripped his marble solid cock more tightly, slicking his precum over the shaft as he stroked.

“You were distracting me,” she told him, her fingers grinding deeper into her slit as she gazed down at his cock and hand.  “Just lying there stroking that cock while I sing.  Been wet for a while now, you know.  And it’s all your fault…makin’ me break my concentration.”

“Sorry.  Can’t seem to help it.  Never had a naked diva sing me songs in the wee hours before.”

“Hmm.”  She brought the other hand to her breasts and began manipulating her thick nipples.  “Never actually been a naked diva before.  And…usually people just clap their hands when they like a song.”

“This is what they do when they like something more than the song.”

“Oh yeah?  Like the singer’s wet pussy, for example?”

“A little oversimplified,” he said, fighting to breathe steadily.  “But yeah, that’s kind of the idea.”

“Keep stroking,” she said in a husky whisper as she stepped over him, her feet planted on either side of his head.

He couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to as she lowered herself down into a squat over his face.  The muscle and sinew in her thighs flexed as she sank down, the petals of her pussy separating.  She didn’t stop until her wet slit descended all the way to his mouth.

“Just keep stroking,” she repeated.  “Save your hands for yourself, and your mouth just for me.”

He would have responded, but she was already moving into a more comfortable kneeling position and pushing her syrup lacquered slit against his mouth.  As he lashed his tongue over her lips, she uttered a throaty mewl and peeled herself open.

“Keep…”  Breath.  “…stroking that cock…”  Breath.  “…and lick…”  Breath.  “…me…”

He glanced upward while he licked greedily at the coral slash between her splayed lips.  The whole front of her body was beginning to undulate with her deepening breath.  The combination of her body’s heat and flavor seemed to filter straight into his bloodstream through his mouth.  His lips and chin were soon covered in the seeping flow of her honey, and his cock was aching so hard he started rocking his hips off the floor to fuck back at his own, pumping fist.

The staggering rhythm of her breath made a counterpoint to the anxious grind of her pussy against his mouth.  His tongue was lashing everywhere, darting into her slick opening, lathering her peeled back lips and striking at her clit.  He was tongue fucking a constantly moving target until she finally angled her hips to gnash the bud of her swollen clit against his lips.  She held as still as she seemed able to manage while he trapped her nub inside his lips and sucked.

There was no other way to feel the hot force emanating from her core.  She needed this from him and she was begging and demanding all at the same time.  She was talking to him with her body, revealing her need to feel everything.  He loved her whimpering aggression.  Her feral openness.  Her unwavering drive to grind and gasp and let him know she needed this, and she needed this from him.

After a while longer, she leaned forward, bracing herself upright with her hands on the floor.  She moaned deeply and rode his mouth with fresh energy.  Her body started to shiver and he finally let go of his cock and brought both hands to her ass.  Kneading the tips of his strong fingers into the supple spheres, he slapped and ground his tongue against her pussy while she ground back and shuddered through a gasping climax.

A few seconds later she was walking backward on her hands and knees until she was straddling his hips.  He reached back down to hold his cock steady so she could wriggle onto it and finally sink down, enveloping the full length of his shaft inside her body.

Her locks hung down, lightly brushing his neck and chest.  As she began riding his cock, they swayed against him, swinging almost in tandem with the motion of her hard-tipped breasts.

Case melted into the carpet with Lyla rocking her body over him, squeezing and stroking his cock with her pussy.  He lifted his hands and ran them over the muscle and sinew playing below the surface of her skin, like some kind of damp silk that had come alive.

After the time he’d spent stroking himself while devouring her pussy, he was riding close to the edge of his self-control.  He couldn’t help grinding his hips off the floor to meet the pendulous rock of her hips.

“Just let it go,” she said between hard breaths.  “Give me everything.”

In a volley of mutually grinding thrusts, Case felt the hot squeeze of her pussy as she huffed her way through another climax.  Without thinking, he swatted her flank with a sharp smack and then gripped the taut spheres of her ass with both hands.  His muscles tensed all down the length of his body while he pumped his gushing cockshaft into the tight grip of her body, until he was nearly bucking her off her perch.

But they held on and remained connected, and when the spasms finally subsided, Lyla leaned forward and rested on top of his body.  Her cheek was against his chest and he looped his hands around the base of her spine.  It felt good to breathe against the press of her weight, as if there were something more than air moving in and out of him.

The silence was especially beautiful now.  It was tangible as desert silence.  He wanted to ask her more than he probably should.  Things about her life, her plans and music.  But he knew she was working through all of it in her own way, at her own pace, and there was no other way.  He wanted to ask her if her new songs had been her way of speaking to him, but there were too many possible answers and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them.

Not now.

“I think it’s time to take up Izzy on his offer,” she finally said.

The announcement surprised him.  She’d been friendly toward the old rocker, always happy to see him and genuinely entertained by his surreal war stories, but she’d been tight-lipped when it came to his interest in her new songs.

“Not working out for you here anymore?” he asked.  “Need a change of scene?”

“No, it’s not that.  It’s just that I think they’re finished now and I want to record them.  Just myself singing and playing some piano or guitar.  Simple.  The way you’ve been hearing them all this time.  No band.  No bells and whistles.”

He realized this meant a significant departure from anything she’d done before.  It did no good to assume she’d end up releasing whatever she’d record in Izzy’s studio, but that was probably what she had in mind, regardless of anything her manager might have to say about it.

Kilbourne would undoubtedly leap at the chance to have some part in helping her.  Since he’d escaped his own fame and the pressures of touring simply to stay alive, he’d told Case many times over how much he missed just making music.  His time in the village had had a lot to do with bringing him back to that.

The thoughts and questions running through Case’s mind felt random and disconnected.  Everything felt like it was poised on the brink of major change.  He’d known all along their idyll had a shelf life, but over the past weeks, he’d ignored everything but their daily existence.

Escaping to the village kept them safe, but Case knew there was always the danger of becoming too safe and falling into a false sense of security.  He had no idea how long it would take her to record the new songs, but it could only mean the beginning of her inevitable journey back to her real life.

“I’ll take you to see him tomorrow.”  His tone was empty of judgment or emotion.  It was the simple statement of a simple fact. 

“Good.  He doesn’t know it yet, but Izzy’s gonna produce my next album.”

Case smiled at that.  He ran one hand up her back to her shoulder and held a grip on her ass cheek with the other.  He knew Izzy would be excited at the prospect of working with a fresh, new talent like Lyla – someone who was everything he’d never been.

He knew she couldn’t see the expression on his face, but he was pretty sure she understood how excited he felt.  And a moment later, she still couldn’t see his face as his expression changed, as the smile faded and he thought of how soon everything would burst into flames all over again.

IX

Case took a deep breath and grabbed the sides of the podium.

There were only five reporters lined up on the row of folding chairs in front.  The podium seemed ridiculous now, and bothering to hire the function room at the Bryce Hotel had been overkill.  It was Izzy who’d set up the conference.  He didn’t have the same draw as in years past, but old habits die hard, and the once notorious heavy metal bad boy was set in his ways.  It hadn’t taken long to see why he’d vouched for Darien Trent so emphatically.

Trent had met Case at the hotel three hours earlier on the sole promise of a burned out has-been that it would be well worth his while.

Darien had been a television reporter on his way up the food chain while Izzy was on his way down.  They’d met in the middle, when Izzy was bouncing back and forth between courtrooms and rehab programs.  While most of the reporters back then couldn’t wait to make their reputations by hanging an aging junkie out to dry, Trent had treated him well.  The two had formed a connection based on mutual respect, and had even maintained a distant friendship ever since.

That was the reason Trent had gotten a private interview ahead of anyone else.

The anchor had shown up alone with a small, unobtrusive camera he set up and operated himself.  Case wasn’t fully convinced it wasn’t because he, too, was skeptical, but he was thankful for the simplicity nonetheless.

The interview itself lasted an hour, but Trent had made it easy.  The moment Case explained what he was there to talk about, the reporter seemed to trust his word right away.  He’d asked the necessary questions that proved the former third baseman’s credibility, but Case never doubted the man’s professional instincts.

The only thing now that seemed to pique the curiosity of the other reporters was that anyone as important as Trent had shown up to an event that, so far, threatened to be completely un-newsworthy.

“Thanks for coming,” Rawlins finally began.  “Some of you may remember me from a few years ago when I was still playing for The Starlings, and…from my engagement to Kelly Nichols at the time of her accident.”

No one so much as raised an eyebrow.  Yesterday’s scandals were yesterday’s news.

“Oh right…you’re, um…Carey Rollins?” one of them asked.

“Casey Rawlins,” he corrected patiently.  Then he spelled it for them, but no one bothered to write anything down.  “I’m here today to talk about the Shockley Park nightclub fire.”

Guarded curiosity came over their faces.  All except Trent.  He’d already heard more than any of the others would, and he had it down on video.  He was taking it all calmly, keeping an eye on the competition as much as on Case.

“There have been a lot of questions concerning the fire and everything that’s happened in its wake.  Not the least of which is the whereabouts of Lyla Simon.  Along with my own whereabouts, actually.  I was in the club that night.”  He paused.  “I’m the person who got Ms. Simon and a few other people out of the building before it went down.”

“Holy shit,” the one who’d fucked up his name said.

The group of five all whipped out their cell phones and started texting and firing off questions at the same time.  Trent had warned Case to expect this.  He’d figured the other news agencies were going to send their second and third string people.  He also predicted that once they found out what they were dealing with, they’d be on their phones trying to get the rest of their teams to the hotel before Case made his exit.  But thanks to the seasoned reporter’s help, the unknown hero’s exit had already been worked out.

“I am not here to answer any questions,” he raised his voice.  “I have a brief statement, and that will be all.”

He waited long enough for his last statement to sink in.  The small group finally went quiet, and Case went on with a blow-by-blow description of the fire from his perspective inside the building.  No one who’d been there would doubt his word.  He described the initial wave of panic and the subsequent rush to get out.  He explained how the spreading flames had cut off access to the main exit, leaving him, Lyla and the others trapped inside.

“Access through the back had been cut off intentionally, so it was necessary to break out.”  He’d only given details about how he’d broken through with the ax to Trent.  “At that point, I was able to help the few people who were still inside to get out to the street.  A couple of them were unconscious.  To them, I’d like to just say I hope they got whatever treatment they needed quickly and are all doing okay now.

“Honestly, I’m not even sure how many people I helped.  By then, everything was happening too fast to think about.  I know I went back in a couple of times, anyway, but the number of people claiming I helped them get out is more than what really happened.

“Shortly afterward, I escorted Lyla Simon away from the scene at her request.  It’s hard to describe how it feels to come through an experience like that, but Ms. Simon decided she needed privacy.

“She’d like her manager, band members, family and all her fans to know she’s alive, well and completely unharmed.  In fact, she’s already well into working on a new recording of songs inspired by the whole experience.  She’s hoping everyone will be patient with her just a little longer while she’s still working her way through this process.

“Working on her new songs has been great therapy for her.  She just wants everyone to know she’s safe and how much she appreciates everyone’s patience and respect for her peace and privacy.”

That was when Case stepped back from the podium and slid out through the side door.  Trent was waiting, as expected.  He’d brought one of the folding chairs from the function room out with him and wedged it under the handle to block the door.  He’d warned Case the other reporters would try to follow no matter what he said about not answering questions, and someone was already twisting the door handle from the other side.

“You did a good job,” the reporter said.  “You could give Izzy lessons.”

Case smiled and shook the other man’s hand.  “Thanks for your help.”

“Just be careful in the parking lot.  The news is already all over social media by now.”

“You’re a good man, Darien.  But I hope I never see you again.”  Rawlins could hear the reporter’s laugh as he spun on his heels and fast-walked toward the exit at the end of the corridor.

When he got to his truck he sat behind the wheel a while and scanned the lot.  He needed to catch his breath.  The real shitstorm was only beginning, and by the time it finally let up Lyla would be gone.

There was nothing out of the ordinary around the hotel lot, but it wasn’t long before a couple of vans with news logos pulled in.  So far, everything was going the Trent said it would.

He started the truck and headed for the exit to the street, glad at least this part was over with.  He was anxious to get back to the quiet privacy of the village and enjoy whatever time he had left with Lyla.

When he pulled to a stop before exiting onto the street, an old blue Crown Vic with the paint blistering off the roof and hood pulled in.  In the moment the two vehicles were side by side, the other driver looked up and spotted Case.  They made eye contact, and a spark of recognition flashed between them.

Rawlins felt a hot flush of adrenaline go through him.  He knew.  He didn’t know how.  He just did.  Maybe it was something about the look in the man’s eyes.

He pulled into the flow of traffic, and by the time he clearly remembered seeing that driver’s face before, the Crown Vic was already in his rear view mirror.  He’d seen the man in the club that night, hanging out on his own at the bar.  Every detail of every second inside now came back to him with chilling clarity.

His blood ran from hot to cold.  He knew.  The feeling ran too deep to be wrong.

He took it slow to the freeway, making it easy for the big blue V8 to keep up.  For the next hour and a half, he had time to think about the twisted distortion of a man who was following him – the kind of man who could do what he’d done.  By the time they were onto the desert flats, he’d gotten his breathing and heart rate under reasonable control.  He knew where he wanted to go, but he didn’t want to get out of the truck until he knew he could keep himself steady.

All he had to defend himself was the extra lug wrench under the seat.  He started to laugh at how ridiculous he was probably going to look getting out of the truck brandishing the tool as a weapon, but then he thought back to what Lyla had been saying ever since that night.

Nothing touches us but us.

They’d walked out of a burning building together and made love less than a mile away.  She’d walked naked into the desert where rattlesnakes and sidewinders barely noticed her.  They’d walked through that crowded mall anonymous as a pair of ghosts.  Now she was creating the greatest music of her career, and he’d told the whole world she was alive and well, and getting ready to sing her heart out for everyone.

No matter what the man following him turned out to be, Case held onto his faith in what Lyla had said.  They hadn’t come through all that they had for it to end here and now.  He was going home to her.  He didn’t know how, but he knew he was.

He pulled down a seemingly forgotten gravel road into an area spotted with scrub and a few Joshua trees.  The sun was less than an hour off the mountainous horizon to the west.

The Crown Vic stopped about twenty feet from his truck.  Case shut off the engine, grabbed the lug wrench and got out.  The driver of the other car got out and took a few steps closer, still keeping a cautious distance.  He was slender, and not more than five-six or seven.  He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with thinning, sandy brown hair that hadn’t been cut in a while.  There was a gun in his right hand, which he didn’t bother raising – yet – and something Case couldn’t make out in his left.

“I knew that was you,” the man said.  “I mean, even that night in the club – the night I set the fire – I recognized you.  I used to go see you play.  That sketch they put up of you on TV sucks.”

“That’s TV for you.”

“Yeah.  Nothing but mayhem, violence and death.”

Case kept quiet and watched him.

“Too bad about that Nichols bitch,” the other man went on.  “You’d a been with the Dodgers by now.”

“Fuck the Dodgers.”

The man laughed.  Then he held up his left hand and let a small key dangle from between his thumb and index finger.  “Know what this is?  You meddling fuck?”

Rawlins tightened his grip on the wrench.  He looked at the key, but kept a closer eye on the man’s other hand.  “Wild guess?” he replied.

“Sure.”  The man had a smile like a boy and eyes like a snake.

“The key to the back door.”

“Very good.  For a guy who was never good for anything but swinging a big stick at a flying ball.”

“And what are you good for….”  He trailed off, giving the man a chance to tell him his name.  But he only grinned again.  Case wondered if he could fling the wrench at him hard and fast enough to stun him before he could raise the gun.  But he waited.

“Burning people alive,” he finally said.  “Of course that always upsets my paying clients who just want nice, clean insurance settlements.  But me?  I love the chaos.  And the screams.”

Case just nodded.

“The club,” the other man went on.  “That was supposed to be just another insurance fraud.  Fuckin’ shithole.  But waiting ‘til it was packed full of people?  That part was for me.  Shit.  Can you imagine the rush of burning three hundred people alive?  I’d probably be the first since Hitler.  And someone famous?  Well, semi-famous anyway.  And that pretty and talented?  I could’ve turned that howling bitch into a legend.”

“You already have,” Case said.  “A living one.”

“Mmm, yeah.  Well about that.  You really fucked everything up.  You fucking robbed me.  Even the owners of that outhouse tried to stiff me.  Me!  But the point, my friend, is that you robbed me of an opportunity that comes along maybe once in a lifetime.  Okay, maybe twice or three times.  But fuck it.  The minute I saw that stupid sketch on the news I knew I had to make you pay your bar tab.

“But if it makes you feel any better, I really hate shooting people.  I mean, what’s the fun in that, right?”

“Yeah, that really seems kind of beneath you.”

“Don’t worry.  I’m just gonna shoot you in the leg.  I have a spare can of gas in the trunk for the fun part.”

The arsonist stopped to laugh.  That’s when Case heard the rattle and spotted the snakes slithering out of the nest the other man was standing too close to.  He was too busy laughing to notice anything else.  The ex-ballplayer cocked his arm and whipped the lug wrench.  It hit the arsonist hard on the shoulder.  He staggered backward toward the snakes’ nest and Rawlins dove for the ground, rolling head over heels once and coming back onto his feet a few yards from where he started.

The freak had probably stumbled as much out of surprise as the force of the blow, and by the time he had a chance to raise the gun he was wildly firing into the sand trying to hit the snakes that were striking him.  Case figured he’d gotten bit at least four times.  There were two dead snakes in the sand near where he was lying, while the others slithered away from the gunshots.

Rawlins approached him and saw he’d shot his own ankle in the process.  The whole thing had lasted about twelve seconds.  He leaned over and picked up the gun, then squatted down beside the shivering sociopath.

“Never been bitten myself,” he said.  “But I gotta imagine you’ll feel like you’re on fire pretty soon.  At least around all those bites.  You might even like that.”

“Help me,” the man groaned weakly.

Case yanked up on the man’s belt and reached under him to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.  He pulled out the driver’s license.

“So…Nicholas Ducaine.  It’s getting real hard to move, right?

Ducaine nodded.  His face was contorted into a mask that might have engendered compassion, but Case could only marvel at the justice of his plight.

“I could kill you here, but I’ve never taken another life.  I might’ve, though.  Before saving those people from the fire you started.  If it weren’t for them, I’d probably feel pretty good about killing you, knowing I was doing the planet a favor.  But saving a life changes you.  Kind of like taking one changes you in another way.  A mis-wired failure of nature like you could never know that kind of feeling, and there’s no way I’d ruin it just to put you out of misery you don’t even know you’re in.  But…I am gonna make sure you never set another fire.”

Case held Ducaine’s arm down by the wrist and set the gun barrel point blank against his right hand.  Then he pulled the trigger.

“Fuck!”  It was an attempt at a full scream, but his breath was already severely constricted.

            “Just lie still as you can.  Soon as I get where I have a signal I’ll call for an ambulance.  And the cops, of course.  I’ll send them your GPS coordinates.  With a little luck they might even get to you before dark.”

For a minute or two, Case didn’t know quite what to do next.  He just kept squatting down by Ducaine, who seemed to have lost the ability to speak by now.  It didn’t matter.  He’d heard enough to keep his stomach turning for months.

At last, Rawlins stood up and kept firing the gun into the sand until it was empty.  Then he let it drop, turned to get back in his truck, and drove back out the way he came.  As soon as his phone was showing a signal again, he pulled onto the shoulder and texted the GPS coordinates to Darien Trent’s phone.  Then he hit the number and told him to call 911 for an ambulance and police.

“Just get out there as fast as you can.  I figure I’ll be hearing back from you pretty soon anyway.”

He disconnected and shot back onto the road.  He was going to be hours later than expected.  Lyla would be worried.  By now she’d probably seen the news and was wondering why he wasn’t back yet.

At least he hoped she was, and he almost felt bad about it.