Read Online The Bodies Left Behind by Jeffery Deaver - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeffery Deaver
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Back home in no time. We’ll go to Jake’s. You ever go there?”
Eyes on the lake, Hart said absently, “Don’t know it.”
Lewis scowled. “And you call yourself a Milwaukee boy. Best bar in town.” Peering along the shore, he said, “I think it was there.” He pointed at a spot about fifty yards to the south.
“Hart, I hit her in the fucking head. And her car’s in the water. She’s dead, either way, from buckshot or drowning.”
Maybe, Hart thought.
But he couldn’t shake the image of her back at the Feldmans’ house, standing in the driveway. She hadn’t scurried away, she hadn’t panicked. She’d just stood tall, brownish hair pulled back off her forehead. The car keys—keys to safety, you could say—in one hand, her weapon in the other. Waiting, waiting. For him to present a target.
None of that meant she wasn’t drowned, trapped in a two-ton automobile, of course, at the bottom of the spooky lake But it did mean she wouldn’t drown without one hell of a fight.
Hart said, “Before we go anywhere let’s just make sure.”
Another scowl.
Hart was patient. “A few minutes won’t hurt. Let’s split up. You take the right side of the road, I’ll do the left. If you see anybody, it’s got to be either one of ’em so just draw a target and shoot.”
He was going to remind Lewis not to say anything, just shoot. But the skinny man was already bunching his mouth up into a little pout.
So Hart just said, “Okay?”
A nod. “I’ll just draw my target and shoot. Yes, sir, captain.” And gave a snide salute.
HER CHEEK RESTED against a rock, slimy with algae. Her body was submerged in breathtakingly cold water, up to the neck.
Teeth clicking, breath staccato, cheek swollen. It seemed to push her eye out of the socket. Tears and sour lake water covering her face.
Brynn McKenzie spat blood and oil and gasoline. She shook her head to get the water out of her ears. Had no effect. She felt deaf. Wondered if a piece of buckshot or glass had pierced her eardrum. Then her left ear popped and tickling water flowed out. She heard the lapping of the lake.
After muscling her way out of the car, nestled intwenty feet of opaque water, she’d tried to swim to the surface but couldn’t—too much weight from her clothes and shoes. So she’d clawed her way to the rocks at the shore and scrabbled upward, desperate hands gripping whatever they could find, feet kicking. She’d hit the surface and sucked in air.
Now, she told herself, get out. Move.
Brynn pulled up hard. But got only a few inches. No part of her body was working the way it should and her wet clothes must’ve boosted her weight by fifty pounds. Her hands slipped on the slime and she went under again. Grabbed another rock. Pulled herself up to the surface.
Her vision blurred and she started to lose her grip on a rock. Then forced her muscles to attention. “I’m not dying here.” She believed she actually growled the words aloud. Brynn finally managed to swing her legs up and found a ledge with her left foot. The right one joined in and finally she eased herself onto the shore. She rolled through debris—metal and glass, and red and clear plastic—into a pile of rotting leaves and branches, surrounded by cattails and tall, rustling grasses. The cold air hurt worse than the water.
They’ll be coming. Of course, those two men’ll be coming after her. They wouldn’t know exactly where the car went in but they could find out easily enough.
You have to move.
Brynn climbed to her knees and tried crawling. Too slow. Move! She stood and immediately fell over. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. In panic she wondered if she’d broken a bone and couldn’t feel the injury because of the cold. She frisked herself. Nothing seemed shattered. Sherose again, steadied herself and staggered in the direction of Lake View Drive.
Her face throbbed. She touched the hole in her cheek, and with her tongue probed the gap where the molar had been.
Eyes on the lake, Hart said absently, “Don’t know it.”
Lewis scowled. “And you call yourself a Milwaukee boy. Best bar in town.” Peering along the shore, he said, “I think it was there.” He pointed at a spot about fifty yards to the south.
“Hart, I hit her in the fucking head. And her car’s in the water. She’s dead, either way, from buckshot or drowning.”
Maybe, Hart thought.
But he couldn’t shake the image of her back at the Feldmans’ house, standing in the driveway. She hadn’t scurried away, she hadn’t panicked. She’d just stood tall, brownish hair pulled back off her forehead. The car keys—keys to safety, you could say—in one hand, her weapon in the other. Waiting, waiting. For him to present a target.
None of that meant she wasn’t drowned, trapped in a two-ton automobile, of course, at the bottom of the spooky lake But it did mean she wouldn’t drown without one hell of a fight.
Hart said, “Before we go anywhere let’s just make sure.”
Another scowl.
Hart was patient. “A few minutes won’t hurt. Let’s split up. You take the right side of the road, I’ll do the left. If you see anybody, it’s got to be either one of ’em so just draw a target and shoot.”
He was going to remind Lewis not to say anything, just shoot. But the skinny man was already bunching his mouth up into a little pout.
So Hart just said, “Okay?”
A nod. “I’ll just draw my target and shoot. Yes, sir, captain.” And gave a snide salute.
HER CHEEK RESTED against a rock, slimy with algae. Her body was submerged in breathtakingly cold water, up to the neck.
Teeth clicking, breath staccato, cheek swollen. It seemed to push her eye out of the socket. Tears and sour lake water covering her face.
Brynn McKenzie spat blood and oil and gasoline. She shook her head to get the water out of her ears. Had no effect. She felt deaf. Wondered if a piece of buckshot or glass had pierced her eardrum. Then her left ear popped and tickling water flowed out. She heard the lapping of the lake.
After muscling her way out of the car, nestled intwenty feet of opaque water, she’d tried to swim to the surface but couldn’t—too much weight from her clothes and shoes. So she’d clawed her way to the rocks at the shore and scrabbled upward, desperate hands gripping whatever they could find, feet kicking. She’d hit the surface and sucked in air.
Now, she told herself, get out. Move.
Brynn pulled up hard. But got only a few inches. No part of her body was working the way it should and her wet clothes must’ve boosted her weight by fifty pounds. Her hands slipped on the slime and she went under again. Grabbed another rock. Pulled herself up to the surface.
Her vision blurred and she started to lose her grip on a rock. Then forced her muscles to attention. “I’m not dying here.” She believed she actually growled the words aloud. Brynn finally managed to swing her legs up and found a ledge with her left foot. The right one joined in and finally she eased herself onto the shore. She rolled through debris—metal and glass, and red and clear plastic—into a pile of rotting leaves and branches, surrounded by cattails and tall, rustling grasses. The cold air hurt worse than the water.
They’ll be coming. Of course, those two men’ll be coming after her. They wouldn’t know exactly where the car went in but they could find out easily enough.
You have to move.
Brynn climbed to her knees and tried crawling. Too slow. Move! She stood and immediately fell over. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. In panic she wondered if she’d broken a bone and couldn’t feel the injury because of the cold. She frisked herself. Nothing seemed shattered. Sherose again, steadied herself and staggered in the direction of Lake View Drive.
Her face throbbed. She touched the hole in her cheek, and with her tongue probed the gap where the molar had been.
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