One Hundred Ten
brIAR CROCKETT IS standing at the picture window, staring out at the lake and the lights of the seaplane, glass in his hand like some kind of nightcap, when the front door opens and closes.
“Told you I need another little minute, Bo,” he says without turning around.
“Take all the time you need,” I say.
He turns slowly, clearly trying to keep his usual calm about himself, trying not to act surprised as he walks to his desk and puts his drink down next to an open suitcase I can see is filled with cash.
I point at it. “Your go bag?”
He’s once again got that curious look back on his face.
“Silas,” he says.
“If you’re wondering why Bo just let me stroll in here,” I say, “he’s currently got a gun stuck in his ear.”
Briar nods, then sits down at his desk, as if about to officially call this meeting to order. He absently reaches over to the suitcase and closes it.
“Now that you’ve done that,” I say, “how about you keep those hands where I can see them?”
“You’re armed, of course.”
“And dangerous, as luck would have it.”
We can still hear the plane outside, see the lights flickering through the huge picture window, making his face go in and out of shadows.
“Well, we seem to have a situation here, don’t we?” Briar says in that familiar soothing voice of his.
“Going someplace?”
“My situation isn’t the one to which I’m referring here, Silas,” he says. “It’s yours, actually.”
“In what way?”
“I’m just wondering if you’ve checked in with Mrs. Webb in the past hour?” he asks, voice still soft. “And your dear, sweet grandmother?”
He slowly holds up his hand, shows me that he’s only reaching for his drink as he takes another sip.
I feel as if there’s a hand as cold as ice squeezing my heart now. Feel my heart start beating again the way it had when I’d been chasing down his son.
It takes all the strength I have in me and all the will not to show him that.
To tell myself to just keep breathing in and out.
I know all this man wants in the world is to get a rise out of me.
“As a matter of fact,” I say, “I just did.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“One of us is.”
“I never bluff,” he says. “It’s why I’m about to walk out of here, past you and past whoever your friend outside is, and get the gun out of Bo’s ear and go get on that plane waiting for me. After that, you’ll never see me again.”
He smiles.
“But if I don’t make one phone call before I do,” he says, “you’ll never see your girlfriend or your grandma again.”
“You’re bluffing,” I say this time, hoping to God that he is.
“Are you willing to bet their lives that I am, Silas?”
Because of the impasse we’ve reached, I am thinking about taking out my gun with one hand and my phone with another, and finding out for myself.
Instead, I ask: “You know what happened to your sons tonight?”
Another smile. “I still have friends in law enforcement,” he says. “So I know about them, and know about poor Nash Hader and his deathbed statement, so to speak. Another reason why I’m afraid this has to be goodbye.”
I wonder if Jake is wondering what’s taking me so long. I keep trying to read Briar Crockett as if we’re across a poker table from each other.
“Go ahead and make your call,” I say. “I can’t risk it.”
“Not calling my bluff, Silas?”
“Guess not,” I say. “You win.”
Briar says, “I always do.”
But when he reaches into the top drawer of the desk, he doesn’t come out with a phone, he comes out with a gun that I see has a pearl handle.
My gun is in my hand faster.
I shoot Briar Crockett in the right shoulder, exactly where I was aiming, before he can get off a shot, the pearl-handled revolver falling out of his hand as he falls back in his big, leather-backed chair.
“Still got the quickest release around,” I say as I hear the sirens outside, and then Jake is coming through the door and I’m already on my phone hearing Tay tell me that she and EJ are just fine, thanks for asking.
Then I feel as if I might just be laughing and crying with relief all at the same time and getting a look from Jake as if the whole night has finally caught up with me.
“Silas,” Tay says, “are you okay?”
“Now I am,” I tell her.