Shadowfires. By: Dean R. Koontz

had done it. That would even give Sharp an excuse to kill Shadway and

Mrs. Leben, “They wasted poor damn Peake, so there was nothing else I

could do.” Sharp might even come out of it a hero. On the other hand,

Peake couldn’t just step out of the way and let the deputy director cut

them down, for that would not satisfy Sharp, if Peake did not

participate in the killing with enthusiasm, Sharp would never really

trust him and would most likely shoot him after Shadway and Mrs. Leben

were dead, then claim one of them had done it. Jesus.

To Peake (whose mind was working faster than it had ever worked in his

life), it looked as if he had only two choices, join in the killing and

thereby gain Sharp’s total trustH)r kill Sharp before Sharp could kill

anyone else. But no, wait, that was no solution, either “Not much

farther,” Sharp said, leaning forward in his seat, peering intently

through the windshield. “Slow it to a crawl.”

-no solution at all, because if he shot Sharp, no one would ever believe

that Sharp had intended to kill Shadway and Mrs. Leben-after all, what

was the bastard’s motive?-and Peake would wind up on trial for blowing

away his superior. The courts were never ever easy on cop killers, even

if the cop killer was another cop, so sure as hell he’d go to prison,

where all those seven-foot-tall, no-neck criminal types would just

delight in raping a former government agent. Which left-what?the

horrible choice and only one, which was to join in the killing, descend

to Sharp’s level, forget about being a legend and settle for being a

goddamn Gestapo thug.

This was crazy, being trapped in a situation with no right answers, only

wrong answers, crazy and unfair, damn it, and Peake felt as if the top

of his head were going to blow off from the strain of seeking a better

answer.

“That’s the gate she described,” Sharp said. “And it’s open! Park this

side of it.”

Jerry Peake stopped the car, switched off the engine.

Instead of the expected quietude of the forest, another sound came

through the open windows the moment the sedan fell silent, a racing

engine, another car, echoing through the trees.

“Someone’s coming,” Sharp said, grabbing his silencer-equipped pistol

and throwing open his door just as a blue Ford roared into view on the

road above them, bearing down at high speed.

While the service-station attendant filled the Mercedes with Arco

unleaded, Rachael got candy and a can of Coke from the vending machines.

She leaned against the trunk, alternately sipping Coke and munching on a

Mr. Goodhar, hoping that a big dose of refined sugar would lift her

spirits and make the long drive ahead seem less lonely.

“Going to Vegas?” the attendant asked.

“That’s right.”

“I spected so. I’m good at guessing where folks is headed. You got

that Vegas look. Now listen, first thing you play when you get there is

roulette. Number twenty-four, cause I have this hunch about it, just

looking at you. Okay?”

“Okay. Twenty-four.”

He held her Coke while she got the cash from her wallet to pay him.

“You win a fortune, I’ll expect half, of course. But if you lose, it’ll

be the devil’s work, not mine.”

He bent down and looked in her window just as she was about to drive

away. “You be careful out there on the desert. It can be mean.”

“I know,” she said.

She drove onto 1-15 and headed north-northeast toward distant Barstow,

feeling very much alone.

26

A MAN GONE BAD Ben swung the Ford around the bend and started to

accelerate but saw the dark green sedan just beyond the open gate. He

braked, and the Ford fishtailed on the dirt lane. The steering wheel

jerked in his hands. But he did not lose control of the car, kept it

out of the ditches on both sides, and slid to a halt in a roiling cloud

of dust about fifty yards above the gate.

Below, two men in dark suits had already gotten out of the sedan. One

of them was hanging back, although the other-and bigger-man was rushing