by Greg Iles
By the time she reached the fire, Ben and Jamie had charged into the creek and were splashing fifty yards downstream, searching for arrowheads and dinosaur bones. Chris got up and gave her a welcoming hug.
“What’s in the jar?” he asked, smiling.
She pulled off the clay lid and lifted out a bottle of chilled white wine. “My contribution,” she said. “Raising the tone a little bit.”
Chris laughed and took the bottle. “I hope you brought a corkscrew.”
She smiled. “Screw-off cap.”
He did the honors, then filled two styrofoam cups. They sat on the log a few feet apart and sipped slowly.
“How’s Ben doing?” she asked at length.
Chris looked down the creek. “He has some bad nights. He’s sleeping with me for now. But overall, he’s doing really well.”
“I’m glad.”
Chris looked at her. “I think Ben knew Thora better than I did.”
Alex had suspected this from the start. “Children see what’s there, not what we pretend to be.”
“What about Jamie?”
She smiled. “He’s much better. I think he misses Will Kilmer more than he misses his father. Will makes him think of his grandfather. My dad.”
Chris picked up a stick and poked the fire.
“How are you doing?” Alex asked.
“Physically? Or otherwise?”
“Both.”
“Not too bad, physically. I’m still having some strange symptoms, but Pete Connolly thinks it’s a reaction to the antidote drug. Dr. Tarver’s notes mention similar reactions in some of the patients at his free clinic.”
Alex had not been made privy to all the details of Dr. Tarver’s work. Chris had been treated by an army doctor authorized to administer injections taken from one of the vials in Dr. Tarver’s captured Pelican cases. That vial represented Chris’s only hope for neutralizing the cancer-causing virus that Tarver had injected into him. FBI director Roberts had repeatedly assured her that Dr. Tarver’s notes had been studied intensively by some of the best virologists in the country, and that they felt confident Chris would recover without a trace of the virus in his system. That was easy for Director Roberts to say, of course; he wasn’t the one who had been injected. But Chris had been given more technical information than she, and he seemed confident that he would recover his health in time.
Alex held up her glass in a silent toast. He touched hers, and they drank.
“What about otherwise?” Alex asked softly.
“Day by day. Penn Cage has helped me a lot.”
“How so?”
“He lost his wife to cancer when he was thirty-seven. Ben and Annie have become good friends. I think she helps him a lot with his ‘Why me?’ issues.”
“I could use some help with those sometimes,” Alex confessed.
“Yeah.” Chris leaned over and refilled her cup. “How’s the custody thing coming?”
“Jamie’s mine, no doubt. The judge upheld the clause in the original will. I’m Jamie’s godmother, and the will made it clear that if both Grace and Bill died, I should raise Jamie. So that’s that.”
“Have you thought any more about where you’re going to go?”
“The director offered me Washington again.”
“As a hostage negotiator?”
Alex nodded. “My old job back.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“I thought it was. But a couple of days ago, I got another offer.”
Chris’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“The SAC in New Orleans asked if I could be assigned to his office in the same capacity.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “Is John Kaiser behind that?”
She nodded. “I think Kaiser has a lot of influence down there. Anyway, there’s a lot happening in New Orleans now. Crime is really out of hand.”
“Sounds like a great place to raise a kid.”
Alex smiled ruefully. “I know. Kaiser and Jordan live across Lake Pontchartrain, though. It’s really nice over there. And it’s the South, you know? I think it’s time for me to come back home.”
Chris was looking steadily at her. “I think you’re right.”
She looked back at him for a while, then reached into her pocket and brought out a small plastic case.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s the original MiniDV of Thora and Lansing on the balcony.”
Chris scowled and shook his head. “Why’d you bring it here?”
“Not to upset you. It was in Will’s things, but I figure it’s yours.”
Chris was staring into the fire again.
“I thought you might want to pay Shane Lansing back.”
Chris reached out for the tape. She handed it to him.
“Lansing’s a bastard,” he said. “But he’s got four kids. If he makes a hell of his own life, so be it. I won’t be the one to break up his family.”
Chris dropped the tape into the fire. As the plastic melted, a harsh toxic odor rose from the flames. They stood and moved a few steps away.
“Leave the past in the past?” Alex asked.
He nodded, his eyes on hers. “You could try that, too, you know?”
Without warning, he raised his fingers to her face and touched the cluster of scars around her right eye. Alex flinched and started to pull back, but something steadied her, and she endured it.
“You hated Thora’s beauty, didn’t you?” he said softly, his fingers exploring the discolored flesh.
Shivering within, she nodded without speaking.
“Thora was perfect on the outside,” Chris said. “But inside…she was ugly. Selfish and cruel.”
“That doesn’t make this easier.”
He looked down into her face. “You must know those scars don’t matter.”
She smiled wistfully. “But they do. I know, because there was a time when I didn’t have them. And people treated me differently.”
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the worst scar, a purplish ridge of tissue beneath her temple. “Like this?”
So deeply was Alex moved that she felt driven to turn away, but Chris held her in place. “I asked you a question,” he said.
“Maybe,” she whispered, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. “Something like that.”
A high-pitched scream echoed over the water. They both looked downstream. Ben and Jamie were racing up the creek, splashing water high above their heads as they drew near. Jamie’s right arm was held high, and Ben was pointing at it as they ran.
“I think they’ve found something,” Chris said.
“Looks like it.”
Chris let his hand fall, then took her hand in his and led her across the warm sand. “Let’s go see what it is.”
Alex wiped her eyes with her free hand and followed him into the cool, clear water.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I am indebted to many individuals for their help in the writing of this novel. I am constantly amazed and gratified to see how generous people are with their time when they know they are contributing to a creative enterprise
First and foremost, I thank the physicians who gave of their time: Joe Files, MD, Rod Givens, MD, Tom Carey, MD, Jerry Iles, MD.
No reader should infer that the Medical Center in the novel is based on the University of Mississippi Medical Center. I did not visit the actual Cancer Institute there until my first draft was completed, specifically to minimize any accidental similarities that might occur. Anyone familiar with the real UMC will see that I have created a fictional hospital with a fictional staff. That said, I want all readers to know that Dr. Files and his colleagues have built a world-class facility in Jackson, especially as regards their bone marrow transplant unit. I urge all Mississippians, and all Americans concerned with providing healthcare to some of our nation’s most disadvantaged citizens, to support the UMC Cancer Institute with their dollars. You could not find a worthier cause.
&n
bsp; Second, many friends have supplied expertise that helped a great deal with this book. Mike MacInnis, a fine lawyer and great friend from my college days, helped in a pinch. Also Lee Jones, Clinton Heard, Kent Hudson, Betty Iles, Nancy Hungerford, and Curtis Moroney.
For his help in all stages of the process, my good friend and former editor, Ed Stackler.
My appreciation also to the professionals in the chain, primarily for seeing my books as more than business: Aaron Priest, Susan Moldow, and Louise Burke. Thanks also to Eileen Hutton at Brilliance Audio for her generous support of Trinity Episcopal Day School.
For their help with the remarkable and exciting cover shoot of a rather irritated cottonmouth water moccasin: Ben Hillyer (photographer), Keith Benoist (snake wrangler), Terry Vandeventer (herpetologist), Amanda Hargrove (bed provider), Melissa Morrison (decor), Jane Hargrove (beer and food and reminding us that “YOU’RE TOO CLOSE TO THE SNAKE!”).
At least one mistake of fact finds it way into each of my books, and some have more. The above experts are absolved of everything. All mistakes are mine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GREG ILES is the author of ten New York Times bestselling novels, including Turning Angel, Blood Memory, The Footprints of God, Sleep No More, Dead Sleep, The Quiet Game, and 24 Hours (released by Sony Pictures as Trapped). He lives in Natchez, Mississippi.