Page 143 of The Grave Artist
“No,” Heron agreed and found a camera on a two-lane highway that connected to others leading to the nation’s southern border.
“Who the hell picked him up?”
Selina frowned. “There was something else. He got a call. I heard him answer it. Then he stepped away, outside, so I couldn’t eavesdrop. Sothatone wasn’t fake.”
Carmen said, “If you didn’t hear it, it won’t do us any good.”
“I didn’t say that.” Selina offered a smile.
“How do you mean?”
“The tone when he looked at caller ID and answered? And he said, ‘Hey.’”
Carmen glanced at Heron before turning back to her sister. “It was romantic.”
Selina nodded. “Exactly.”
Chapter 68
Damon appreciated a beautiful woman who knew how to handle a fast car.
Maddie Willis wore shades and a baseball cap to keep her hair out of her face and gripped the wheel like an F1 driver on the track. He’d called her as he fled from Miss Spalding’s house, after getting Tristan Kane’s alert that his house in Malibu was being raided.
He thought again about the place.
Part of him was heartbroken, given the Demeter and all the other artwork he’d have to leave behind.
But there was no choice. Flight was his only salvation. Besides, he had plenty of hidden money. He’d settle somewhere out of the country—South America, probably—and begin his collection anew.
His avocation too.
Bludgeon, drowning, grave sites.
Bludgeon, drowning, grave sites . . .
They were barreling along one of the California highways—not a camera-rich freeway, of course—headed south. He glanced over at Maddie’s profile as she whipped the vehicle through a curve. “You like speed.”
“I dated a race car driver once,” she said. “He taught me how to take a curve without losing velocity. You start on the outside edge ofthe roadway, then ease to the inside lane at the apex, then accelerate to the outside again.” She gave him a wink. “He’d tell me, ‘Go in slow and out fast—like sex.’”
Damn. Could she get any hotter? “I’m just glad you’re putting distance between me and—”
He stopped short, unsure how to finish the sentence. He didn’t want her to worry that an array of troopers would materialize in her rearview.
“I’ll take care of you,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
He began to relax. And was thinking maybe a miracle had happened—and he’d finally found the right woman. Not twisted like Miss Spalding, and not innocent like Felicia. No, Maddie was that perfect mix of sexy and cunning and homicidal that would complement his cold-blooded nature.
Overcome with uncharacteristic emotion, he turned to her. “Hey, a thought?”
“Hm?”
He was oddly reluctant to continue. It was as if a lot—a huge amount—was riding on the question. Then he blurted, “Let’s run away together. Keep heading south to Mexico. Then figure out a way to get to a country without extradition.”
Maddie didn’t answer, and he began to worry that he’d stepped over some boundary. Then she said, “You know, I’ve always liked Latin America. Great food. Nice people. Beautiful villas.”
After a moment she added, “As long as there’s somebody to share it with.”
“It’ll take some time to access my accounts,” he said, thinking in practical terms about life on the run.
