“Tylenol was the best they had,” he said. “I figured the whiskey would do a better job.”
Ledger ripped open the little yellow cardboard tabs and popped the caplets into his mouth. They stuck to his tongue as he twisted the cap off the whiskey. He washed them down with a swig of—he checked the label—Filthy Smoke, then took a second swig.
That took the edge off the pain.
He twisted the cap back on and put the bottle down between his feet.
“Do you know where the used bookstore is in town?” he asked.
“Why the fuck would I?” Wren asked.
Ledger gave him the address. Then he sat back and closed his eyes. That lasted all of two miles before Ledger opened them again and urgently gestured for Wren to stop. As the truck pulled to the side of the road, Ledger popped the door open and leaned out to puke bile, whiskey, and two half-digested painkillers onto the pavement. Right in front of a nice little house with a swing set on the half-dead lawn.
With a mental “Sorry” for the homeowner, Ledger hung there until Wren grabbed his shirt and pulled him back into the pickup.
“Thanks,” Ledger muttered. He wiped his forehead and leaned back in the seat, jaw clenched. “How long do we have?”
Wren didn’t answer. That wasn’t a good sign.
Ledger watched the road for a minute, trying to estimate how long it would take to get to town. The math did not math in his favor. Ledger knew what that meant. His best plan right now would be to grab the wheel, yank it to the side, and drive the truck into a fence post. Wren would survive. Ledger hopefully wouldn’t.
It would be quick. Quick enough.
Ledger just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He mightknowthat he’d run out the clock and was out of options, but he didn’t believe it.
Hehadthe answer. He could get Earl his death—and no one deserved it more. If he just had a couple more hours—one more hour—he’d be free and clear. It was soclosethat Ledger couldn’t see how to let go of it.
“I didn’t want to die there,” Ledger said suddenly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wren turn his head toward him. “In Bell’s house, by his knife. So thank you, even if you don’t think you did me a favor.”
“It would have been quicker.”
“Yeah. But this way, I’m going to die the way I lived,” Ledger said. He tilted his head back against the seat. “Arguing with a pissed-off client about a contract.”
Wren snorted.
The engine growled as he put his foot down slightly, and the pickup surged forward. The blur of corn and trees sped by. The flickering lights of the carnival on the outskirts of town were just visible, bright and bold against the cloudy night sky.
It hadn’t been cloudy a minute ago.
Wren braked hard. The pickup screeched to a halt, and Ledger was thrown forward against the seat belt. He threw up his hand to catch himself, palm braced against the dash, and nearly puked again as the pain washed over him in a red, dizzying tide.
“What—” he went to ask.
Then he smelled it. His knack didn’t bother to dress it up this time. Earl was coming on a red wind that smelled of old blood. Gallons and gallons of old blood.
Wren turned off the engine and got out of the cab. He walked down the middle of the road, watching the sour black clouds thicken and roll in.
Ledger finally got out of the car, still green and unsteady from renewed vertigo, and walked over to join him.
“Out of time,” Ledger said.
Wren reached for Ledger’s hand… and pressed the keys to the truck into his palm.
CHAPTER23
“GO.”
Ledger closed his fingers around the keys, but he didn’t move. He looked from the dark front of Earl’s approach and then back to Wren.
