Hour Game (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 2)

It was all coming to an end, though. He understood quite clearly that this would be his last ride. Surprising how fast it had come. He was very strong and healthy, and yet his life expectancy had topped out at age forty. Yet when it was done, he would have accomplished everything he’d set out to do. How many people could claim that? He’d lived his life exactly on his terms, not his father’s or his mother’s or anyone else’s. His alone.

It was a lie he told himself every day.

He opened the cooler and pulled out the single beer he’d put in there before he’d been arrested. He hadn’t known then that he’d need the boat, only that he might.

The beer was warm, of course, all the ice long since melted. But it tasted so good. He held up the metal against his face and rammed the throttle to full forward. The Mercs woke up from their wimpy cruising speed, and the boat screamed to seventy nautical miles per hour and then beyond. The hills that rose up from the man-made lake flew past him; the thousands of trees dotting their skin were silent sentinels to his last hurrah. The Charge of Eddie Lee Battle and His Trusty Light Brigade. God, was he in his ele

ment.

“Into the breach once more,” he screamed to the dark, flashing skies as the rain started to pour. He licked the drops off his face. “A man’s greatest virtue is the courage of one against all. When it seems darkest, then there shall be light, if only from the pulse of one beating heart,” he proclaimed, quoting the purple prose of some long-dead Civil War–era writer who’d probably never shouldered a musket in his life. As if on cue the sky was suddenly lit by a billion-candlepower stab of lightning and the thunder roared as the storm began to unleash itself.

The scream of the Mercs matched Mother Nature decibel for decibel. The wake behind him was enormous, but the ride was smooth, so damn smooth, high up on plane as he was. Almost three-quarters of the thirty-five-foot boat was out of the water, blowing right through three-footers now. He was a frigging jet. Nobody could catch him.

Nobody!

CHAPTER

94

MICHELLE PACED IN HER

room at Casa Battle like a caged beast looking for any possible opening to squeeze through to freedom. King had gone to Sylvia’s for dinner. Why that bothered her she wasn’t sure. Well, maybe she was sure. She hadn’t been invited. And why exactly did that surprise her?

She finally bolted from her room, took the main stairs two at a time and went into the family room. She hadn’t seen Remmy all day. Dorothea was probably asleep. She slept a lot. Who could blame her? She was ruined financially, had a drug problem, was still suspected of murdering Kyle Montgomery, and her husband had turned out to be a deranged killer and was on the loose. If it were Michelle, she’d probably sleep for the rest of her life.

She stopped when she saw Savannah coming down the hall. The young

woman was no longer dressing like her mother. Perhaps the invincibility of Remmy Battle was wearing thin. She had on low-slung jeans that showed the top edge of her black thong panties, a short off-the-shoulder blouse and no shoes on her feet, the toenails painted a candy-apple red.

She looked up in surprise when she saw Michelle there, as though she wasn’t even aware the woman had been staying with them all this time.

“How’s it going, Savannah?”

Savannah’s face clouded over. “Oh, just great. Father dead, sister-in-law a vegetable, mother whacked out, brother a serial killer. How’s it going with you?”

“Sorry, poor choice of words.”

“Forget it. It’s not like you’ve had it easy either.”

“Compared to your family, I think everyone on earth has had it easy.” She paused, wondering whether to simply go back to her room and sulk. Rejecting that option, she said, “I was going to make some coffee. You interested?”

Savannah hesitated before answering, “Sure, it’s not like I’ve got any plans.”

The two women sat on a couch in the family room with their cups of coffee.

Michelle looked toward the window where the rain was starting to ping against the panes. “Sounds like a storm is really blowing in,” she said. “I hope Sean gets back soon.”

“He’s at Sylvia’s?”

“That’s right. He just went for dinner.”

“Are you two sleeping together?”

Michelle flinched at this blunt question. “Who, me and Sylvia?” she joked.

“You know who I mean.”

“No, we’re not. Not that it’s any of your business.”