Taking a long swallow of his drink, he felt the calming effect of icy vodka running down his throat. In the full-length mirror, he examined his naked reflection. Still muscular. No flab. Just a little gray in his hair and a few wrinkles near his eyes to give a nod to Father Time.
He was sweating from his workout, his muscles warmed, his uniform pressed neatly and hanging on the door. He’d come here, to his hideaway, to settle himself down. The pressures of being sheriff were more than he’d imagined, but he assumed they would ease off and he would calm down once things were settled, once Grayson kicked off and he was totally in control.
He’d covered his tracks, meeting with people in Missoula, playing his part, then before returning to Grizzly Falls, making a last trip to his sanctuary.
It wasn’t the same without his beloved pictures, but he had to leave them, wiped clean of prints and DNA, of course, at the cabin where that cretin Verdago had holed up. It had been so easy to coerce him into playing along, the smell of money had always been an enticement to Maurice, in the army, years before, and while he was a private citizen. It didn’t hurt that Brewster had figured out that Verdago had iced Joey Lundeen and had used that knowledge as added incentive for the fool to go along with his scheme.
The woman, though, Brewster hadn’t counted on her, so he’d had to take her down. What he hadn’t expected was that she would open the door dressed as some kind of cheap porn star. He’d felt an exquisite pleasure at pulling the trigger on her, even though inside the cabin he took a major chance with ricochet. But that hadn’t happened.
Not with his aim.
She’d dropped the second she’d recognized him, her eyes widening, fear just beginning to show.
He licked his lips at the memory of her quick, horrified expression.
When Brewster had told Verdago to find a hideout, he’d thought the man would have more resources and wouldn’t use a cabin owned by his damned girlfriend’s family. Nor should he have ever brought her along.
That was the trouble: Maurice always thought with his dick, and that was a sure way to get a man into trouble.
You should know, his brain taunted, and he thought about the tape he’d made with “Kitty.” That woman had been a wildcat in bed, unlike his frigid wife who seemed to think that sex was just an act to make babies. Whenever he’d suggested anything a little outside of her comfort zone, she’d started quoting Bible verses against fornication, even though they were married.
It all stemmed from her ultimate humiliation at being two months’ pregnant with Jane at their wedding. As if anyone cared.
The upshot had been that while she’d been a horny little hellcat before the nuptials, after their wedding, she’d turned stone cold.
It was her damned fault that he took up with Kathryn after all those years of masturbating in the shower and trying to stay faithful to an ice goddess.
Years of it.
And his life was all too quickly playing out.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
He was about to don his uniform, when he heard it. Far in the distance. A vehicle’s engine.
Probably on the road a good two mil
es away.
And yet.
The engine passed and he decided to finish his drink. Then he’d return to his real life and find a way to ensure Grayson’s death. There would be others to dispose of as well, but those would have to be the victims of accidents.
Soon, he thought. Very soon.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Faster! Faster! Faster!
She couldn’t make the miles pass quickly enough. Heart pounding, determination pushing her, Pescoli drove like a madwoman. Passing tractor trailers, cutting corners, speeding through yellow lights, all the while her light bar flashing brightly, she headed into the hills.
Again.
Though she told herself to slow down, she couldn’t. She felt time passing, and it seemed to her that every second she wasted was another chance for Brewster to wreak his havoc, either on the sheriff or someone else on his hit list.
How had she been so foolish as to think he was a decent cop, how had her instincts failed her so badly? She’d always been at odds with him, though mainly over their children, but lately, after he’d saved her life, she’d tried like hell to find the good in him while her gut instincts had warned her.
Get over it, she told herself as she started winding her way into the hills. She got the light bar and then managed to get a call into Alvarez, who didn’t pick up. Leaving a voice mail, Pescoli kept driving, closer and closer to the cabin.