Sleepwalker (16 page)

“So how does a seemingly intelligent, grown man wind up becoming a thief, anyway? The whole rotten childhood, raised in poverty, never-had-a-chance story every guy in prison tells?”

“I had a nice, middle-class childhood, thank you. I’m a thief because it’s a relatively easy way to get a hell of a lot of money.”

“No remorse.”

“None. What about you? You’re young, attractive, smart. How’d you wind up being a cop? Oh, I know, I bet your dad was one, right, and you’re determined to do Daddy proud.”

In an annoyingly skewed way that was actually kind of the truth. Mick refused to validate his mockery with an answer. Fortunately, just ahead she caught sight of another, more clearly defined, break in the trees that she hoped … believed … knew was the boat ramp, which came with the gravel road they were seeking.

“There it is. The gravel road.” Not wanting to take her hands out of her pockets to point, she nodded toward it triumphantly.

“Well, look at that. And here I was afraid that you were stringing me along.”

“You know what? You’ve got some real trust issues.”

“In my experience a person tends to stay alive longer that way.”

“You could try living a law-abiding existence. I’ve heard it does wonders for the life span.”

He laughed. Then, as they reached the edge of the road, he glanced toward the lake and immediately stopped. Walking
and
laughing.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“They’re leaving.” Mick felt a spurt of relief as she stopped, too, and followed his gaze.

The helicopter zoomed off in the direction of the city, and Uncle Nicco’s house, with four lights now skimming across the surface of the lake behind it. Clearly someone was at the wheel of the
Playtime
and had turned her running lights on. All vehicles appeared to be moving fast. The good news was, they were moving fast
away
.

“If we’re lucky, it’ll take them a while to get organized,” he said.

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“It’s still going to take them a while to get organized.”

Despite the anxiety that had her every nerve ending stretched tight as a bowstring, Mick had to smile. “Do you take nothing seriously?”

“Some things. Remind me to tell you which ones someday. In the meantime, how about you make a guess as to how far you think that main road out of here is.” They were once again on the move, on the gravel road by this time, which made walking a little easier, although the pebbly surface was rutted and slippery in places beneath the blanket of snow. Squinting through the veil of snowflakes along the direction in which they were now headed, which was away from the lake, he frowned.

“Route 92?” she answered. “I don’t know precisely. The only time I was ever on it was when my sister drove down to pick me up because it was a Friday night and I had to go to work the next day and the others
had decided to spend the night on the boat. At a guess, I’d say—eight miles.”

“A little less than two hours’ walk, then, probably, in this weather, as long as we keep moving. Always provided we don’t come across something promising in the way of transportation in the meantime.”

“Or we don’t get cell phone service or find a phone so we can call for help.”

“Not happening.”

“What, is calling for help right up there with stopping and asking for directions? Real men don’t do it?”

“If I thought the help you mean to call would do more good than harm, I’d be fine with it.”

“Any help beats freezing to death. Or getting caught by Uncle Nicco’s men.”

He didn’t reply, which Mick took as tacit admission that she was right.

“You hanging in all right?” he asked after a while.

“As well as can be expected. As well as you, I guarantee.” Which didn’t mean she wasn’t slowly turning into a solid block of ice. Now that they had turned their backs on the lake, the night seemed darker and colder than before. The thick, black miasma of the forest felt more menacing the deeper into it they got. Just enough moonlight filtered through now to illuminate snow-laden tree branches swaying by the side of the road, and to allow her to see some little distance along the narrow white ribbon of snow they were following. All around, trees creaked and branches snapped. The falling snow whispered. The air smelled of pine and damp and cold. The wind seemed to have picked up, but since it was blowing in from the lake, at least their backs were to it. Tramping along beside him, she smacked her feet down on the underlying gravel a little harder than she needed to, in a bid to keep the circulation going in her already numb feet.

“We don’t find your fishing store, or a vehicle to ‘borrow,’ or manage to catch a ride of some sort on that main road, we’re going to be walking for a while. All night, maybe. You up for that?”

“I’m up for anything I need to be up for. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of cold out here, and I’d really rather not walk all night if we don’t have to. Remember that phone of yours? I hope that, once we’re in range of a signal, you’ll be smart enough to let me call somebody for a ride.
I’ve
got friends who can keep their mouths shut, and who also won’t just abandon me to my fate. And, yes, I’m talking about your buddy Jel—whoever.”

“You just can’t let things go, can you?” Through the darkness and snow she could see his smile. “And his name’s Jelly, if it makes you feel any better to know. Not that it’s going to do you any good. It’s not his real name.”

“Of course it’s not,” she sniffed. “What criminal uses his real name? I bet you’ve got a cool nickname, too. Want to tell me what it is? That Ali thing is getting old.”

“See, the thing is, I like the way you say it. Sounds kinda hot.”

Knowing he was deliberately needling her, she refused to rise to the bait.

“I take it you’ve got plans to meet Jelly somewhere tomorrow.”

“Think I’m going to discuss my plans with a cop?”

“Hey, right now we’re on the same team.”

“Which will last about as long as it takes us to get out of here. You want to chat, tell me about your sister. I’m actually surprised you have one. I would have pegged you for the kind of girl who grew up with a passel of brothers.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded, and in response he smiled again.

“Not a thing in the world. Do you just have the one sister? Older or younger?”

“You won’t even tell me your name. Why should I tell you about my sister?”

“Fair enough. Nothing personal, I get it. Okay, so why don’t you tell me what your plans are for when we get back to civilization? How long do I have before you try clapping those handcuffs of yours on my wrists again and hauling me in?”

That was so precisely what she intended to do that Mick was momentarily at a loss for words. Then she rallied.

“Think I’m going to discuss my plans with a thief?”

“You know, we could call a truce. No cop, no thief. Just two people who got caught up together in an unfortunate situation and are going to go their separate ways as soon as they safely can. No harm, no foul.”

“We could.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Before Mick could think of a crafty way to answer his question that wouldn’t put him on his guard but was not an out-and-out lie, something blinked at her from about twenty feet up in a tree to the right of the road. Steps faltering, her attention riveted, she stared and caught at his arm.

“What’s up?” He looked down at her hand on his arm, then followed her unblinking gaze to the thing in the tree. “Yo.”

But by then the eight small, glowing orange spheres suspended in the tree that had initially thrown Mick for a loop had sorted themselves out in her mind so that they made sense.

“They’re eyes,” she said with relief. “I think it must be a family of raccoons. See that structure they’re on? I think it’s a deer stand. I think it’s a family of raccoons watching us from on top of a deer stand.”

They were already walking again. It was too cold for standing about. The snowfall was heavier now, and wetter. The wind whistled through the trees, wrapped around them, chilled Mick to the bone. Despite the layers she had on, she could feel goose bumps racing over her skin.

“So how does a cop from a big-time urban area like Detroit know anything about raccoons and deer stands?” They were moving side by side now, their arms brushing, staying close in an instinctive effort to generate warmth. The snow crackled underfoot. There on the gravel, with the entwined branches overhead deflecting the brunt of the increasing snowfall, it was only a few inches deep.

“My dad and a couple of his friends used to hunt. Sometimes he’d take me with him.”

“Your dad the cop?”

“You are fixated on that, aren’t you? Why? Because you were once a cop yourself?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

Mick hesitated. But, after all, she really had no secrets. He was the one with something—probably many somethings—to hide.

“Fine. Were you a cop?”

“Nope. Is—was—your dad a cop?”

“Yes.”

“Is or was?”

“Was. He’s retired. Were you in the military?”

“Hey, I only agreed to answer one question.”

“You were in the military,” she said, more confidently than she actually felt. Not answering a question sometimes was as revealing as answering it, as she had learned from experience.

“Speculate all you want.”

“It’ll be easy to check. All I have to do is search the military databases for your picture later.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“You know there’s no way you’re going to get away with this. Even if you didn’t leave any fingerprints behind—which I’m betting you did—your picture is there on the security camera. All they’re going to have to do is run it through the right computer database, like the military or
prior arrests or even driver’s licenses, and your identity will pop up. After that, it won’t take them long to find you. Uncle Nicco has contacts like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You let me worry about that.”

Mick found it annoying that he didn’t sound particularly worried.

“But don’t you see, the best way out of this for you is to let me arrest you and take you in. I’ll make sure you’re protected, and once you give a statement, once law enforcement knows about the money and the pictures, Uncle Nicco and his men lose their incentive to kill you. They’ll be too busy trying to stay out of jail themselves.”

The wind tossing around the branches overhead grew stronger as she spoke. The volume of sound from what she feared was a heightening storm increased. Creaks and groans and a rapid-fire pitter patter that she guessed was the snow raining down through the trees were almost loud enough to drown out the crunch of their footsteps. Uncomfortably aware of the pelting quality of the snowflakes hitting them, Mick hunched her shoulders against the onslaught and fought the urge to shiver. If she started, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Once law enforcement knows about those pictures, your uncle Nicco loses his incentive to kill
you,
” he pointed out.

“I’m aware.”

“So you’re not going to go all family solidarity and keep your mouth shut about what you saw?”

“I’d be a fool to, wouldn’t I?”

“You would. I just wasn’t sure you realized it.”

A huge rush of wind made the treetops sway as if they were dancing. From somewhere on high, a large amount of snow slid off to land with a heavy plop beside the road. Mick jumped, and looked, and as her head came up she realized that what was spilling down on them now was no longer just snow. It was mixed with sleet, and was starting to fall heavily despite the canopy overhead, coating everything in a slithery layer of ice.

“This is bad,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the storm. Moving even closer to the man beside her for whatever protection from the elements the bigger bulk of his body might provide, she found little relief. Already her flannel pants were growing damp. Luckily, the sleet rolled right off her coat. He wasn’t so lucky. Remembering the cotton fleece of his hood, she grimaced in sympathy: soon it would be soaked through, just like their pants and anything else that wasn’t waterproof. The night had gone from uncomfortable to unbearable in a matter of minutes. Much as she hated to acknowledge it, she was starting to get tired. And she was so,
so
cold. Dangerously cold. Unless the sleet stopped, it was only going to get worse.

“Hopefully it won’t last too long.” His head bent and his shoulders hunched against the onslaught. Even though his face was turned toward her, his words were hard to hear over the wind. “If we can find some shelter, our best bet is probably to wait it out. How sure are you there’s a fishing store on this road?”

“There used to be one. I don’t know if it’s still there.” Besides his dark form, and a few shadowy trees near the edge of the road, silvery sheets of mixed snow and sleet were all she could see every way she looked. She was shivering openly now. Her teeth chattered. Her legs felt heavy as lead. Her feet slipped and slid on the road, the snowy surface of which was now shiny with ice and pockmarked from the constant bombardment of pellet-like droplets. “If it
is
still here, we should be close. I think.”

“I hope so.”

She slipped again, nearly falling to her knees. He caught her with a grab at her arm. As she regained her balance, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close against him. Mick was surprised, then appreciative, as she realized that he was doing his best to both shelter her from the heightening downpour and provide support against the increasingly treacherous conditions underfoot. Under
such dire circumstances, they had to rely on each other. Their best chance for making it out of this lay in working as a team. She wrapped her arm around him, too, burrowing her hand up under his jacket for warmth and protection from the wet, hanging on to his waist by clutching a fistful of his sweatshirt. Like that, huddled close, bent against the storm, they trudged on. They spoke only a little after that, and then for what felt like a long time not at all. In Mick’s case at least, it took every bit of strength and endurance she had just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.