The Goodbye Man. Jeffery Deaver
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Now he was three feet below the crest. He rested for a moment and controlled his breathing, preparing himself for the contortion that was coming next: a mantle—the maneuver climbers use to top out at the summit. He gripped a crack with his left hand, brought his left foot then right up to a nub nearly even with his elbow. His right hand aiming for an outcropping near the top, he extended both legs from the crouching pose and rose to the edge, grabbing the rock he’d sought.
Shaw slowly lifted his head. He half-expected to find Adam aiming at him.
No, the suspects were ten feet away, still facing in the other direction.
Adam: “I don’t know. Probably twenty minutes. They weren’t sure.”
“My parents’re going to be worried.”
“I keep telling you: this’ll be worth it.”
“I just wish I could get them a message.”
“Not after that shit at the church.”
Shaw’s left hand found a secure oak sapling and he pulled himself to the surface, breathing hard … while trying to do so silently. This was not easy.
He crouched, tapped the Glock with his hand to remind himself exactly where it was holstered. He then moved toward them, glancing back and forth from Adam’s hands to the ground in front of himself, aiming for the most quiet places to step.
Nine feet, eight, seven. Shaw paused as the boys looked up the road.
Were the neo-Nazis approaching?
Or Welles and his band?
Don’t worry about it now.
Just like he’d planned the ascent, he planned the takedown.
And executed it.
Keeping his Glock in the holster, he came up behind Adam and in a fast, firm gesture gripped the stubby revolver, pushing downward first so that the hammer wouldn’t catch and pulling it free.
“The fuck!” Adam rose and turned. Before he could even draw back to slug the intruder, Shaw’s fist slammed into his gut. The young man grunted and dropped to his knees, cradling his belly.
Shaw pocketed the Smittie and drew his Glock, aiming toward, though not at, Erick.
“No, man, please … No!” His eyes were wide. “Who—”
“The fuck,” Adam repeated. “I’m going to puke.”
“Then do it and get it over with. We don’t have any time. You’re both in danger.”
“You hit me.”
Erick whispering, “Who are you? What’s—”
From his back pocket, Shaw handed Erick two of the zip ties he always carried with him. “On his wrists, hands in front. Then do your own. Now.”
Wide eyed, Erick took the off-white nylon strips. He glanced at them, figuring how they worked.
Adam grunted, “You’re a cop, you gotta identify yourself. Otherwise an arrest isn’t legal.”
“That’s not true, and I’m not a cop.” He said to Erick, “I’m here because of your parents.”
“Mom, Dad?”
He pointed at the zip ties. “Now. I’m not going to tell you again. There’re men nearby who want you dead. I can save you. Do it.”
Erick eyed Adam, who rose slowly. He said nothing but looked both sick and disgusted.
“You have to—”
“The wrists. Now!”
Erick zip-tied Adam and then held his own hands out to Shaw.
“No, do it yourself.”
He did, and Shaw gave a tightening tug. Their hands secured in front of their bodies wasn’t as secure but it was a safer way for them to climb to the Kia, which was fifty feet above them on the steep hill.
Adam said in a harsh, desperate voice, “Please, man. Let us go. You have to! This is all fucked up. You don’t understand.”
“We’ll talk later. Now, move!” Shaw gestured them along the road. “We have to get up that hill.”
The three of them broke into a jog, Shaw ready to grab or trip either of them if they tried an escape.
Erick whispered, “My parents?”
“They offered a reward to find you.”
This seemed to bewilder him.
“I couldn’t call them. The police would be tapping their phones.” A nod toward Adam, who was apparently the source of this warning.
“I’m parked on top of that hill.” Shaw gestured. “We have to get up there now.”
“Who wants to hurt us?” Erick asked.
“Local deputies. I thought they’d arrest you and hold you until detectives got here from Tacoma. But I’m pretty sure they want to kill you instead.”
“Why?”
“Later. On the drive.” They were almost to the spot where they could start the climb to Shaw’s car.
He said, “I saw you on your phone. You were calling somebody to meet you here. Who?”
“Nobody.”
The young man was lying—a conclusion that was obvious both from his tone and from his glance at Highland Bypass, the road from which presumably the “nobody” would soon emerge to meet the boys.
Shaw glanced at Erick, who said only, “I … Nobody.”
Didn’t matter, Shaw supposed, as long as they were out of the area in the next few minutes.
At the shallowest portion of the hill, where Shaw had walked down from his car, he had them stop. He pointed. “Up there. Climb slowly. The grass can be slick.”
Erick looked up and began to climb, his palms ahead of him gripping large clumps of grass and plant stalks to pull himself forward. He slipped and Shaw climbed up a few yards to help him to his feet.
Shaw glanced at Adam. “You. Now.”
The young man was looking around him. Shaw wondered if he was going to sprint down the road, and he tensed and readied himself to pursue.
“Hey, dude!” Adam called out. Erick looked down at him. “Remember what I told you. Your brother and everything? It’ll be all right. I promise.” A gentle smile crossed his face. He was muttering some words. One was “Goodbye”—and then something else that Shaw couldn’t hear.