God."
Brody did no more than flick a glance in Recce's direction. "You're not going to get hysterical again. You're going to finish telling me what you saw."
"He got down, and he grabbed her by the hair and he slammed her head down, I think. It looked like… he strangled her." Replaying it, Reece rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, prayed she wouldn't be sick. "He strangled her, and her feet were beating the ground, and then they weren't. I ran. I screamed, I think, but it's so loud with the rapids, it's loud."
"It's a long distance, even with the glasses. You're sure about this?"
She looked up then, her eyes swollen and exhausted. "Have you ever seen someone killed?"
"No."
She pushed herself up, reached for her pack. "I have. He took her somewhere, carried her body away. Dragged her away. I don't know. But he killed her and he's getting away. We have to get help."
"Give me your pack."
"I can carry my own pack."
He pulled it away from her, sent her a pitying look. "Carry mine, it's lighter." He shrugged out of it, held it out to her. "We can stand here and argue about it. I'll still win, but we'll waste time."
She put on his pack, and of course he was right. It was considerably lighter. She'd brought too much, but she'd just wanted to be sure…
"Cell phone! I'm an idiot."
"That may be," he said as she dug into her pocket. "But the cell phone won't do you any good here. No signal."
Though she kept walking, she tried it anyway. "Maybe we'll hit a spot where it'll get through. It's going to take so long to get back. You'd make it faster alone. You should go ahead."
"No."
"But—"
"Who'd you see killed before? '
"I can't talk about it. How long will it take to get back?"
"Until we get there. And don't start that are-we-there-yet crap."
She nearly smiled. He was so brusque, so brisk, he pushed her fear away. He was right. They'd get there when they got there. And they'd do what they needed to do when they did.
And the way his stride ate up the ground, they'd be there in half the time it had taken her to do the trail in the first place. If she managed to keep up with him.
"Talk to me, will you? About something else? Anything else. About your book."
"No. I don't talk about works in progress."
"Artistic temperament."
"No, it's boring."
"I wouldn't be bored."
He shot her a look. "For me."
"Oh." She wanted words, his, her own. Any words at all. "Okay, why Angel's Fist?"
"Probably for the same reason as you. I wanted a change of scene."
"Because you got fired in Chicago."
"I didn't get fired."
"You didn't punch your boss and get fired from the Tribune ? That's what I heard."
"I punched what could loosely be called a colleague for cribbing my notes on a story, and since the editor—who happened to be the asshole's uncle—took his word over mine. I quit."
"To write books. Is it fun?"
"I guess it is."
"I bet you killed the asshole in the first one you wrote."
He glanced at her again, and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. Eyes of such an interesting green. "You'd be right. Beat him to death with a shovel. Very satisfying."
"I used to like to read thrillers and mysteries. I haven't been able to… for a while." She ignored the protesting muscles in her legs as they continued the descent.
She was supposed to walk differently now. going down inclines. Keeping the weight forward, stepping onto her toes rather than her heels. As Brody was.
"Maybe I'll try one. of yours."
He gave that disinterested shrug again. . "You could do worse."
Chapter 6
THEY WALKED AWHILE in silence, across the meadow, around the marshy pond. She'd seen ducks, she remembered, and the heron. And the poor, doomed fish. Her body felt numb, her mind hazed.
"Brody?"
"Still right here."
"Will you go with me to the police?"
He stopped to drink, then offered her the water bottle. His eyes were cool and calm on hers. Green eyes. Dark, like the leaves in late summer.
"We'll call from my place. It's closer than
Brody did no more than flick a glance in Recce's direction. "You're not going to get hysterical again. You're going to finish telling me what you saw."
"He got down, and he grabbed her by the hair and he slammed her head down, I think. It looked like… he strangled her." Replaying it, Reece rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, prayed she wouldn't be sick. "He strangled her, and her feet were beating the ground, and then they weren't. I ran. I screamed, I think, but it's so loud with the rapids, it's loud."
"It's a long distance, even with the glasses. You're sure about this?"
She looked up then, her eyes swollen and exhausted. "Have you ever seen someone killed?"
"No."
She pushed herself up, reached for her pack. "I have. He took her somewhere, carried her body away. Dragged her away. I don't know. But he killed her and he's getting away. We have to get help."
"Give me your pack."
"I can carry my own pack."
He pulled it away from her, sent her a pitying look. "Carry mine, it's lighter." He shrugged out of it, held it out to her. "We can stand here and argue about it. I'll still win, but we'll waste time."
She put on his pack, and of course he was right. It was considerably lighter. She'd brought too much, but she'd just wanted to be sure…
"Cell phone! I'm an idiot."
"That may be," he said as she dug into her pocket. "But the cell phone won't do you any good here. No signal."
Though she kept walking, she tried it anyway. "Maybe we'll hit a spot where it'll get through. It's going to take so long to get back. You'd make it faster alone. You should go ahead."
"No."
"But—"
"Who'd you see killed before? '
"I can't talk about it. How long will it take to get back?"
"Until we get there. And don't start that are-we-there-yet crap."
She nearly smiled. He was so brusque, so brisk, he pushed her fear away. He was right. They'd get there when they got there. And they'd do what they needed to do when they did.
And the way his stride ate up the ground, they'd be there in half the time it had taken her to do the trail in the first place. If she managed to keep up with him.
"Talk to me, will you? About something else? Anything else. About your book."
"No. I don't talk about works in progress."
"Artistic temperament."
"No, it's boring."
"I wouldn't be bored."
He shot her a look. "For me."
"Oh." She wanted words, his, her own. Any words at all. "Okay, why Angel's Fist?"
"Probably for the same reason as you. I wanted a change of scene."
"Because you got fired in Chicago."
"I didn't get fired."
"You didn't punch your boss and get fired from the Tribune ? That's what I heard."
"I punched what could loosely be called a colleague for cribbing my notes on a story, and since the editor—who happened to be the asshole's uncle—took his word over mine. I quit."
"To write books. Is it fun?"
"I guess it is."
"I bet you killed the asshole in the first one you wrote."
He glanced at her again, and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. Eyes of such an interesting green. "You'd be right. Beat him to death with a shovel. Very satisfying."
"I used to like to read thrillers and mysteries. I haven't been able to… for a while." She ignored the protesting muscles in her legs as they continued the descent.
She was supposed to walk differently now. going down inclines. Keeping the weight forward, stepping onto her toes rather than her heels. As Brody was.
"Maybe I'll try one. of yours."
He gave that disinterested shrug again. . "You could do worse."
Chapter 6
THEY WALKED AWHILE in silence, across the meadow, around the marshy pond. She'd seen ducks, she remembered, and the heron. And the poor, doomed fish. Her body felt numb, her mind hazed.
"Brody?"
"Still right here."
"Will you go with me to the police?"
He stopped to drink, then offered her the water bottle. His eyes were cool and calm on hers. Green eyes. Dark, like the leaves in late summer.
"We'll call from my place. It's closer than
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