He put the Kingsville map in the Bible, and set it on the desk where the guards were sure to find it. He knew if he walked out that door, somebody was going to die. He kissed the portrait, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt. But it was hard to get her smile, that look of challenge she’d always given him. He’d gotten her long dark hair right, maybe, the intensity of her eyes, the soft curve of her face that made her look so young. Then he slipped Soledad’s picture out from under his mattress. He looked up to make sure Zeke was really gone. Will felt the urge to hurry, too-to respond to the buzzer like a racetrack dog, burst out of his kennel on time. “Come on, boss!” Zeke hustled outside, his shirt still unbuttoned, his shoes in his hands. He’d had that feeling before, the night he lost Soledad.Įxactly at eight, the cell door buzzed open. He had a bad feeling about today-a taste like dirty coins in his mouth. He’d labeled most of the major streets, his old warehouse property, the two biggest banks in town, the home of the attorney who’d defended him unsuccessfully in court. Will looked over his map of Kingsville, hoping the police would take the bait. Will worried how the boy would do when he got back to the real world. He was in Floresville State for raping elderly ladies in a nursing home, which didn’t make him the worst sort Will had met. Zeke had a gap-toothed smile, vacant green eyes, a wide forehead dotted with acne. “Hell, just Independence Day.” Zeke grinned. He started doing waist twists, his elbows cutting the air above Will’s head. He opened his Bible and took out what he’d done last night-a map instead of a Bible scene.īehind him, Zeke slipped down from the bunk. Stuck on the walls with Juicy Fruit gum were eight years’ worth of Will’s sketches, fluttering in the breeze of a little green plastic fan. He shifted over to his workspace-a metal desk with a toadstool seat welded to the floor. Then one way or the other, Will would never have to have that dream again. “Up yet, boss?” Zeke called, excitement in his voice.Ī few more hours. In the berth above, his cell mate, Zeke, was humming “Amazing Grace.” Sunlight filtered through the barred window, refracted by lead glass and chicken wire. His fingernails had cut half-moons into his palms.

He’d been strangling them, one with each hand. He’d been dreaming about the men who killed his wife.

Books by rick riordan list