One Book in the Grave (9 page)

My eyes stung with tears at his words. “I’m…I’m angry, too, Derek.”

“I know.” He trailed his fingers along my forehead, smoothed my hair back. “Darling, I work in dangerous situations all the time. I’m used to it. I know how to protect myself. But you…the thought of you…” He shook his head, exhaled heavily. “The thought that you could be hurt and I would be powerless to stop it? That scares me to death.”

I slipped my arms around his waist and held him. The bar was beginning to fill with the noontime lunch crowd, but I didn’t care. If people didn’t like public displays of affection, they would have to get over it.

I pulled away finally and we both sipped our drinks in silence. After a minute, I faced him. “I need to rephrase what I said earlier. The
book
is the catalyst, not me. The book started everything. I’m just incidental.”

“You could never be incidental, darling,” he said, holding back a smile.

“Oh, stop it,” I said, smacking his arm, then rubbing the spot I’d hit.

“All right. I think you’re spot-on about the book being the catalyst.” He nodded as though it had already occurred to him, which it probably had. “Unfortunately, whatever the killer had in mind, I believe we’ve played right into his hands.”

My throat went dry and I glanced around the bar. “Do you think we were followed here?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I was careful to watch the cars all the way over here.”

“That was smart of you.”

“Occupational hazard,” he said, and drained the last of his beer.

“Must be. I never would’ve thought of it.” I tapped my fingers on the edge of the bar. “I’m more convinced than ever that Max had nothing to do with any of it.”

“You know him better than I,” he said, “but one thing is certain: someone wants him out in the open.”

“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” I said, then looked around for Gabriel. Right or wrong, we needed to get going.

As if he’d been watching for the right moment to return, Gabriel walked up just then. He plunked a ten-dollar bill on the bar and said, “Let’s go find this guy.”

We followed Sir Francis Drake Boulevard for almost fifteen miles. It was hardly a boulevard.
More like a two-lane country road,
I thought, as we wound our way up and down and around the rolling hills, through narrow, tree-shaded hollows and rich, open, green farmland, past pastures and ponds and farms so old they’d earned official state historic markers.

We were close to the ocean and I could smell it in the briny air. We drove higher into the hills, past cypress trees surreally misshapen by years of blustery winds blowing in from the rough northern California ocean.

“This is it,” Derek said, and carefully turned off onto a dirt road, then wound around another hill and climbed higher, past another two farms. Scattered across the hillside were black-and-white cows chewing grass. A wire
and wood-post fence separated the pasture land from the road.

“Are we there yet?” I muttered.

“There’d better be someone at home when we get there,” Derek said.

“And they’d better know where Max is,” Gabriel added.

Finally, Derek brought the car to a stop on the narrow verge. Up the hill on our left was a set of pitted stairs carved out of bedrock that led up another fifty yards to a two-story farmhouse.

“That’s the place?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes,” Derek said, opening his door, then glancing back. “This should only take a moment.”

“Maybe so,” Gabriel said, pushing the driver’s seat forward, then stepping out of the car. “But you’re not going alone.”

“I’m coming, too,” I said, unwilling to wait by myself.

“We’ll cause too much attention if we all go,” Derek insisted.

“Your English accent will cause more attention than anything else,” I countered. “And then there’s the Bentley you’re driving.”

Gabriel snorted. “She’s got you there.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ve lost control of the situation, haven’t I?”

“Not sure you ever had it, pal,” Gabriel said helpfully.

“True.” Derek shrugged. “Let’s go, then.”

We’d barely walked ten feet when the front door of the farmhouse opened. A tall, bearded man carrying a high-powered rifle stepped out on the porch and aimed the gun right at us. A dog stood at his side. It barked once and the man nudged him quiet with his knee.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered.

Derek swore under his breath as he held his arms up.

“Ah, hell,” Gabriel said, raising his arms high over his head. “That’s never a good thing.”

“Yes, it is,” I said, my voice unsteady. “That’s Max Adams.”

“Max,” I shouted, and waved my arms in the air, as if he couldn’t see me up close and personal in the crosshairs of his rifle. But would he remember me? I looked the same, basically, and I’d known him most of my life, so unless he’d developed amnesia, he couldn’t have forgotten me.

Three years didn’t seem like that long a time, but looking at Max now, it felt like ten years had passed. Except for the beard, I guess he looked the same, but on the inside, I imagined he must have changed a lot more than I had. For one thing, since faking his own death, he probably didn’t go by the name Max anymore. And living out here, day after day, all alone for three long years, could’ve turned him a little paranoid.

Guru Bob had pulled another fast one by giving us directions that led straight to Max. It was alarming to be facing Max suddenly and without warning, but now that we were here, I was excited to talk to him. I just hoped he wouldn’t start shooting. I had so many questions to ask him.

Starting, of course, with, Why did you lie to all of us for three years?

But there was more I wanted to know, too. Did he go outside his house much? Was he afraid to go into town because someone from his old life might see him? Did
he wear a disguise? Besides the beard, I mean. It wasn’t all that effective, since I had still recognized him.

What had happened to him three years ago that had been so awful that he’d staged his own death rather than face whoever had been tormenting him? Why hadn’t the police helped? Had Max missed us as much as we had missed him?

Did he kill Joe Taylor?

“Max! It’s Brooklyn.” I shouted his name several more times, and after many long seconds he slowly lowered the rifle.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yes, it’s me,” I shouted, then shivered from the cold air. The marine layer had obliterated the blue skies and now it looked like it might rain.

“What the hell are you doing here? Who are those guys?”

“They’re friends of mine. Guru Bob sent us.”

“Robson knows you’re here?”

“He gave us directions to find you.” I took a cautious step closer. He wasn’t pointing the rifle anymore, but he was still holding it, after all. “Can we please talk to you?”

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair and glared at us for another minute. He was probably wishing he could tell us all to go to hell, but hearing Robson’s name put the kibosh on that. “All right. Yeah, okay.” He waved us up the stairs, but he didn’t put down the gun, and I guess I couldn’t blame him.

I went first, climbing up the rocky, uneven steps. When I got close to the porch, I said, “This is Derek Stone and that’s Gabriel.” I turned to Derek and Gabriel and said needlessly, “This is Max Adams.”

“Call me Jack,” he said to the men, then looked at me and frowned. “What are you all doing here? What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, rubbing my arms and looking at the darkening sky. “Max—er, Jack, do you mind if we go inside? It’s cold out here.”

He clamped his lips together in a scowl, then exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on.”

As I stepped onto the porch, a gunshot blasted through the air.

Chips of wood went flying, and I screamed. Derek shoved me down on the wood planks and threw himself on top of me as a shield.

“Shit!” Max shouted, crouching in front of the door and grabbing the handle to open it. He shoved the dog inside and said, “Everyone get in the house.”

“Go, go!” Gabriel yelled.

Derek yanked me up and pushed me toward the door. Max clutched my arm and propelled me inside. I careened into the sofa and felt manhandled and bruised in a few places, but I was safe. The dog, a big yellow Lab, licked my hand.

Gabriel scrambled up the steps, bolted inside, and slammed the door.

“Anyone hit?” Derek asked.

“No,” Max said, checking the lock. He raced over to the picture window and whipped the curtains closed. “Damn it. You were followed here.”

“We weren’t,” I said with conviction, but I was wrong, obviously.

I looked at Derek, who stared warily at Max. Gabriel was watching him, too.
What is going on?

“We weren’t followed,” Derek said carefully. “But are you sure someone hasn’t been here all along, watching your house?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” He ran over to a side window, leaned his rifle against the corner wall, then used one finger to pull back the curtain an inch and stare outside. “I’ve been living here for years and nothing has ever happened. All of a sudden you three show up like the Mod Squad, and someone takes a shot at me. Pretty clear to me whose fault that is.”

“How do you know that shot was meant for you?” Gabriel said sagely.

Max glowered at Gabriel, then turned his narrowing
gaze on Derek. Abruptly he flicked his hand toward the door. “This wasn’t a good idea. I want all of you to leave now.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not yet. I need to talk to you. Besides, there’s a killer outside, so we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Well, don’t get comfortable,” he said, “because you won’t be here long.”

I threw warning glances at Derek and Gabriel, then walked over to Max. “Could we stop arguing for a minute so I can tell you why we’re here?”

He glared at me with the same dark look of suspicion he’d been wearing since we arrived. I stared back, silently willing him to remember better days when we were close friends.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Derek and Gabriel had positioned themselves at opposite sides of the picture window and were taking turns peering outside. I’d forgotten about the shooter in the past ten seconds or so. Luckily, my companions hadn’t. I pondered whether it might’ve been an errant hunter whose gun had gone off accidentally.

No, I didn’t really believe that, either.

Max and I continued our staring contest until I noticed the lines bracketing his mouth soften a bit and the storm clouds in his eyes clear. And just like that, he was the carefree Max I knew from my youth. Outwardly, anyway. There had to be demons inside him. How could there not be after all this time alone?

“Fine, Brooklyn. Go ahead and say what you were going to say.”

I smiled tentatively. “Can I have a hug first?”

He huffed. “Damn it, Brooklyn.” Two seconds later, he grabbed me in a tight hug. The dog barked cheerfully. I laughed in surprise, then buried my face in his barrel chest and breathed in his scent. After a moment, I eased back.

“You look good, honey,” he said, squeezing my arms affectionately.

“You do, too, Max. You look alive, and that’s a good thing.” I sniffled as misty tears fogged my eyes.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, ill at ease.

“Yeah, about that,” I echoed, then stepped back and punched him hard in the stomach.

The dog barked once.

“Ow!” Max rubbed his stomach. “What was that for?”

“Oh, please,” I said, shaking and flexing my hand to get the blood flowing again. “That hurt me more than it hurt you. And you know what it was for. You’ve been lying to all of us for three years.”

“It was important. Still is.” The dog came over and nudged his leg. Max patted his back, then glared at me. “You know, I always wondered if my enemies would ever discover I was alive, but I never figured it would be my friends who would lead them straight to me.”

Gabriel took a step forward. “You’ll want to ratchet back on the accusations, Jack.”

“Brooklyn didn’t lead anyone to you,” Derek retorted as he flanked me. “Your enemies know you’re alive. It was a matter of time before they found you. You’re lucky we found you first.”

“Lucky?” He snorted. “How the hell would they know I’m alive if not for you?”

“Because it didn’t begin here today,” I said softly. The Lab came over and sat in front of me, staring and panting.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I bent down to let him sniff my hand.

“It’s Buckminster,” Max said. “Bucky when he’s good.”

“Hello, Bucky,” I said, patting his back as I observed Max.

But Max wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Maybe he was starting to figure things out for himself. But then, obstinate to the end, he threw me another angry look. “Why are you here, Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, well, about that.” Now it was my turn to look uncomfortable. Glancing around for the first time, I
pointed at the couch and chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Before you get into it,” Derek said, first meeting my gaze, then looking at Max, “do you have a back door?”

“Yeah,” he said, jabbing his thumb toward a doorway. “Through the kitchen.”

“Good. Gabriel and I will circle the area, and if the shooter’s still out there, we’ll trap him from behind.”

“I’ll go with you,” Max said, grabbing his rifle from the corner of the room where he’d left it.

Bucky immediately stood at attention.

“Somebody should stay here,” Derek said, casting a quick look at me.

“It’s my land,” Max said.

Derek studied him. “Are you willing to return fire if it comes down to it?”

“Stone’s in security,” Gabriel said, as if that explained Derek’s question.

“What do you do?” Max said, scowling at Gabriel.

Gabriel shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. Right now, I’m your best defense against whoever’s out there shooting at you.”

Max’s jaw clenched as he glanced at me. I could see the turmoil in his expression. He was a big man and used to living on his own. But he didn’t have the same kind of killer instinct Gabriel and Derek possessed, and I could tell he was beginning to realize that.