The Bodies Left Behind

into the ground, presumably to make sure it was loaded and cocked.
    “Graham!”
    He ignored his wife. In a low, threatening tone he asked Hart, “Who’d I talk to when I called? The dead one or you?”
    “It was me,” Hart said.
    Graham turned the square automatic on Hart, who gazed past the muzzle, his gray eyes calm.
    “Graham,” she whispered. “Everything’s going to be fine now. Help me, honey. I need some plastic hand restraints. Look in the glove compartment.”
    Her husband continued to stare into Hart’s eyes. The gun pointed unwaveringly at his head. The triggerpoundage was very light. A twitch was enough to release a round.
    “Graham? Honey? . . . Please.” There was desperation in her voice. If he fired it would be murder. “Please.”
    The big man took a deep breath. He lowered the gun. Finally he said, “Where? The restraints?”
    “Graham, please, give me the gun.”
    “Where are they?” he snapped angrily. He kept the pistol. Brynn noticed Hart smiling at her.
    She ignored it and answered her husband, “The glove compartment.”
    He stepped to the car. “I don’t see any.”
    “Try the trunk. They’ll be in a plastic bag. Maybe a box. But first, call it in. The radio’s on the dash. Just push the button, say who you are, say ten-thirteen and then give the location. The engine doesn’t have to be on.”
    Staring at Hart, Graham picked up the microphone and made the call. Frantic responses came from a half dozen deputies and troopers but, bless him, he said only what was necessary: location and the situation. He dropped the mike on the seat and popped the trunk.
    Hart kept his eyes on Michelle, who stared back with pure hatred. He smiled. “You came close, Michelle. Real close.”
    She said nothing. Then he turned to Brynn and, in a voice that only she could hear, asked, “At the camper back there, after you crashed the van?” He nodded at the vastness they’d just come through. “When I was out of it, just lying there. You saw me, didn’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “My piece was nearby. Did you see that too?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you go for it?”
    “The little girl was going to fall. I went after her instead.”
    “One of those hard choices.” He nodded. “They do present themselves at the worst possible times, don’t they?”
    “If they didn’t, then they wouldn’t be hard choices, would they?”
    He gave a faint laugh at this. “Well, say the girl hadn’t been there. Would you have taken my piece and killed me? Shot me while I was out?” He cocked his head and said softly, “Tell the truth . . . no lies between us, Brynn. No lies. Would you have killed me?”
    She hesitated.
    “You thought about it, didn’t you?” He smiled.
    “I thought about it.”
    “You should have. You should’ve killed me. I would’ve, it’d been you. And you and me . . . we’re peas in a pod.”
    Brynn glanced at Graham, who couldn’t hear the exchange.
    “There have to be a few differences between us, Hart.”
    “But that’s not one of ’em. . . . You’re saying you would just’ve arrested me?”
    “You forget. I already had.”
    Another smile, both his mouth and his gray eyes.
    A truck roared past. An occasional car.
    Then Graham called, “I’ve got them.”
    Which was all Hart needed. As Brynn glanced up he sprang to his feet. He wasn’t close enough to get to her—Brynn had made sure of that. But that wasn’t his intent. He jumped over the body of his partner and sprinted the twenty feet to the highway. Brynn’s shot missed him by an inch. She couldn’t fire again because of the oncoming cars. Not even looking, Hart sprinted into traffic, an act of pure faith. He could have been killed instantly.
    He made it to the center lane, froze, then leapt aside as the driver of a Toyota SUV swerved in panic. The vehicle rolled onto its left side and, in a shower of sparks and a hideous screech, skidded along the shoulder and right lane, missing the women and the child by feet. They dove to the ground, pure instinct.
    The SUV jettisoned plastic and glass and metal bits and finally came to a rest, the horn wailing and airbag dust rising from the empty window frames.
    A dozen other cars and trucks skidded to a stop. And before Brynn could draw another target on Hart, he’d run into the far lane, leapt over the hood of a stopped sedan, dragged out the driver—a man in a suit—and climbed in. He sped onto the median and accelerated past the stopped