Read Online A Darker Justice by Sallie Bissell - Free Book Online

mother’s murder, years before. That killer had vanished into the mountains just like Rudolph. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “The mountains can do that.”
    They drove north in silence. Even though traffic was light, Safer tailgated the cars ahead of them as if they were intentionally impeding his progress to North Carolina. Mary pulled her seat belt tighter, grateful that they weren’t driving in the everyday lethal, take-no-prisoners Atlanta traffic.
    Before they crossed into North Carolina, they stopped at a service station to get the less expensive Georgia gas. As Safer filled up his tank, Mary went into the little convenience store and bought black coffee and two peach fried pies, hopeful that sugar and caffeine might turn him into a less dour traveling companion.
    “Here.” She gave him a bright smile as she set the coffee and pastries on the hood of the truck. “Have some Appalachian cop food.”
    He looked at her strangely, as if nobody had ever given him anything before. Opening one end of the fried pie wrapper, he scrutinized the small, oblong tart, then folded the wrapper back up and returned the pie to Mary. “Thanks. But I don’t normally eat dessert for breakfast.”
    “Neither do I,” replied Mary. “But neither do I normally pack my gun to spend Christmas Eve twisting an old friend’s arm into being guarded by the FBI.”
    Safer just shrugged, so she ate both fried pies while he paid for the gas. By the time he’d climbed back in the truck, she’d pulled out the sketch pad she’d packed and was drawing large circles with a pastel pencil.
    “You an artist?” Safer glanced at her lap.
    “I’m a hobbyist,” Mary replied. “My mother was an artist.”
    “I understand she was quite gifted.”
    Mary looked over at him. “How would you know?”
    Amazingly, he blushed. Mary watched as his cheeks blossomed like crabapples above his dark beard. “They tell us these things when we enlist civilian aid,” he finally stammered.
    “You’ve read my jacket,” Mary snapped, suddenly sorry that she’d bought him anything to eat. “What else do you know about me, Agent Safer?”
    His look darkened. “That you’re half Cherokee. That you grew up here, in the Nantahala. That your artist mother was murdered when you were eighteen,” he said. “Then you went south, where your paternal grandmother enrolled you in Emory University. There you studied law and became a crackerjack DA. That you’re excellent in the woods and you’re like a daughter to Irene Hannah.”
    Mary stared at him, realizing that he must also have read that the last time she was up here she succeeded in killing one man and tried very hard to kill another.
He knows all of that,
she thought, her anger shrinking into a cold little knot of discomfort.
    “You got it.” At least he had the decency not to mention everything. “I’m a real whizbang in the forest.”
    “That’s what I understand,” Safer said, for once his voice soft with apology. “And that’s why I’m glad you’re here.”
    She turned back to her drawing. They rode in silence as the road curved up into foothills that were warm brown in the winter.
    “So what about you?” She looked at him.
    “What about me?”
    “What’s your story? You know an awful lot about me. Seems hardly fair for me to be riding up here with a total stranger. How long have you been with the Bureau?”
    “Not that long, actually. Seven years ago I was teaching Russian at the University of Memphis.” Safer smiled as if recalling a pleasant vacation.
    “You speak Russian?”
    He nodded. “I’m a Russian Jew. My great-grandfather emigrated from Kiev just after the First World War.”
    Mary blinked. No wonder the guy had the air of a Cossack. “Okay,” she said. “So why did the Bureau drag you out of your classroom and give you a gun?”
    “Actually, they dragged me out to transcribe some wiretaps. The Russian Mafia was infiltrating businesses along the Mississippi River, and