Johannsen thought it was funny. Beck considered Scott’s butt an affront to the dignity of The Bureau. But then it had been Beck’s eye on the telescope.
"Okay, so he knows we’re up here," Johannsen said philosophically.
"So he won’t try anything," Beck spat out.
"Hey, that’s okay with me," Johannsen said.
"We’re here to arrest people," Beck reminded [...]
Scott climbed the hill. He hadn’t talked about Steadman before, and now he wouldn’t talk about the FBI men. The visitors had known about Steadman and hadn’t mentioned it. Of course they don’t trust you. But they also know you’re harmless.
Behind the cabin, Xavier clicked his tongue and shook his head as he tried to [...]
“I tell you he’s cooperating,” Steadman told Beck.
“Didn’t say he wasn’t,” Beck replied, watching the FAX machine.
“Then why all this?” Steadman asked, gesturing from the machine to the back of his office, where FBI agent James Johannsen hovered over Scott.
“Their names,” Johannsen breathed into Scott’s face.
“I told you. Yula, Tenner and Xavier,” Scott replied.
“What kind [...]
Deputy Steadman parked the patrol car on the old logging road at the back of Tilson’s Ridge. Much of the mountain was bare now, a victim of clear-cutting. Steadman followed what used to be Tilson’s Creek, now a dried mixture of dirt and memories. He’d come here with Susan, when it was a forest, before [...]
They were gone when Scott woke. Disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Scott looked at his watch. 11:05.
“Damn!” Scott cursed.
“I’m right here,” Yula’s voice came from outside. Her bright face peeked in the door of the cabin. She smiled and Scott smiled back.
“I thought you’d gone,” Scott admitted.
“We’re still here,” Yula told him. “Tenner and [...]
Scott crept from his cabin at 1:10 in the morning. His backpack held the camera and tripod, extra rolls of film and a thermos of hot coffee. Scott clutched the shotgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He would use the flashlight sparingly. Don’t want them knowing you’re out here.
Scott stepped down [...]
Why do we love only the music from a certain period of our lives. Just that one brief slice, when everything was alive. The rest is just marking time. Who “marks” time anyway? Throw out the calendars, get rid of the watches. Why am I tossed, flotsam and jetsam, with [...]
Should have stopped for coffee, Roger Harrison told himself as his face drew a forty-foot skid mark across three lanes of I-5.
Where’s Helen? And Katie? Buckled up for safety? Didn’t you get air-bags? Driver’s side or both? Cost too much you cheap ba–
Roger felt himself floating down a long tunnel [...]
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