The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [154]
“Wes, I told you to leave!” Boyle shouts, finally turning my way.
It’s the first time I get a good look at his eyes. Even in the dim light, they glow like a cat’s. Brown with a splash of blue.
In the distance, a car door slams with a metal chunk. Boyle jerks to the left, following the sound. The tall shrubs block his view, but the way he freezes, leaning in to listen . . . like he knows someone’s coming.
“We gotta go!” he insists, suddenly frantic as he pulls O’Shea’s gun from the mud and pockets it.
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
Refusing to answer, he furiously rolls the unconscious O’Shea like a log, flipping him on his back. “Help me get him up!” Boyle demands.
Without even thinking, I move in, grabbing O’Shea under his left armpit. Boyle grabs the right.
“Were you following me?” I add as we lug O’Shea to his feet.
Boyle ignores the question, cutting in front of O’Shea and dropping to one knee. As O’Shea topples forward, Boyle hoists his shoulder under O’Shea’s midsection, boosting him up like he’s lugging an old rolled-up carpet.
“I asked you a—”
“I heard you, Wes. Get out of my way.” He tries to step around me. I sidestep, staying in front of him.
“You were following me? Is that to track them down or—?”
“Are you paying attention, Wes? Nico can be here any minute!”
I stumble at the words. My mouth goes dry, and I swear, every sweat gland in my body opens.
“Now get the hell out of here before you get both of us killed!” Shaking his head, Boyle rushes around me with O’Shea on his shoulder. I spin back and watch as he plows down to the end of the dog run.
“Where’re you taking him?”
“Don’t be stupid!” he calls out, shooting me one last look and making sure I get the point. “There’ll be time for chatting later.”
In the distance, as he turns away from me, Boyle’s black windbreaker camouflages everything but his bald head. Draped over his shoulder, it’s the same for O’Shea, whose pale neck shines as his head dangles toward the ground. Boyle yells something else, but I can’t hear it. At the clip they’re going down the tree-lined path, they quickly fade in the darkness. The sun’s already set. And I’m once again standing in silence. In shock. All alone.
Behind me, a car door slams in the parking lot. On my left, a cricket’s chirp scratches the night air. The drizzle continues and another twig cracks. Then another. It’s more than enough.
Spinning back toward the parking lot, I run as fast as I can. Another car door slams. This one’s quiet—like it’s on the very far end of the lot. No time to take chances. Scooping up my wallet, house keys, and the photo, I dart between the lampposts, back to the parking lot. As I cut between two cars, no one’s there.
After stuffing my wallet back into my pocket—and the photo back inside the ankle of my sock—I run through the lot, searching row by row and scanning the hood of each car. Along every metal roof, the overhead lamps cast a circular reflection that ripples with each raindrop. Still no one in sight. It doesn’t make me feel any safer. If Boyle’s been following me the whole time, then anyone cou— No, don’t even think about it.
Shifting into a full sprint, I plow toward Lisbeth’s car, rip open the door, and practically dive into the driver’s seat. The car’s still running. My phone’s still sitting on the armrest.
Flipping open my cell, I frantically punch in Rogo’s number and throw the car in reverse. But as I listen to it ring, all I can think about is who Rogo’s traveling with . . . and how many questions Dreidel was asking . . . and how—somehow—O’Shea knew I was talking to Lisbeth. Rogo and I were convinced that Dreidel couldn’t hear anything from our last conversation, but if we were wrong . . .
Jamming my thumb against the End button, I hang up, replaying Boyle’s words