Here Comes the Night (24 page)
Read Here Comes the Night Online
Authors: Linda McDonald
Tags: #Fiction, #Retail, #Suspense, #Thrillers
Neither his arrest nor his lawyer’s promise of immediate
action to bail him out had much effect on Buck. All he had been able to hear
when they came back into his interview room was that Angie had confessed to her
part in Gordon’s murder, even said she had put Buck up to it. He had never
wanted or expected such an admission from her.
Buck had wanted her to be free of it all. It was the only
thing he could do for her now. He had put it all on the line and lost. There
was no need for her to say anything, and he didn’t understand why she had done
it. Even he was holding out, waiting for a conviction that was bound to come,
but making them prove it.
But Angie had given it all up, and without a lawyer. That
wasn’t like her, not to dig in her heels and try everything before caving in.
The detectives said flat out that she did it to help avert a capital murder
charge for him.
“She’s got it bad for you, Buck,” Edgars said as he cuffed
him.
“Didn’t even try to wiggle out from under it,” Horse said,
some amazement in his voice. “We don’t get many like that.”
A few minutes later Buck was left alone in a cell that he
realized looked like where he’d be for a lot of years. He sat on the edge of
his bunk, staring blankly at the graffiti on the walls and the stainless steel
toilet.
There was no surge of energy or enlightenment. The thought
drifted in and out of his head that Angie had loved him after all. He felt so
grateful to know that.
He lay down on the bunk, an outstretched shadow of himself.
He thought of her pale breasts, her clean smell, her narrow feet, her laugh.
Buck had lost himself in her, because he wanted to.
Outside the sun crept through lifeless clouds, washing over
the sidewalks of Stockyards City. The afternoon train, smelling like hay and
manure, blew its whistle as it chugged its way into the station. Cowboys moved
about their business up and down the streets.
High above them, inside his cell, Buck Dearmore’s eyes
finally closed, with the strange, unexpected relief that only the guilty can
know.
With nowhere left to run, he lay down his weary bones and
rode the ache in his heart into a deep, throbbing sleep.
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Here
Comes the Night
Copyright
© 2013 by Linda McDonald
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used
in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Pure
Gumption Press
Cover
design © Tammy Rogers, Moxie Design
Linda
McDonald
www.LindaLeeMcDonald.com
I am so grateful for my rocking writing group, who
workshopped this book and provided direction, insight, and encouragement: Ron
Collier, Ranell Collins, Rick Lippert, Jennifer Lindsey-McClintock, and Gaylene
Murphy. Special thanks to Ron for legal advice, and to my talented friend,
Gaylene, who wrote the book blurb description and brainstormed story ideas when
this was still in the formative stages. Her suggestions and advice always make
me look so much better.
Thanks to Stephanie Bond for her encouragement, advice, and
technical support and to Jeanne Devlin and The Roadrunner Press, who first gave
me professional confidence.
With appreciation to Oklahoma’s Center for the Book for
recognizing my debut novel,
Crimes of Redemption
, as the 2013
Book of the Year in Fiction, and my readers and friends who have been so kind
and supportive.
And deepest thanks to Karl Jackson, my dear friend, without
whom this would not be possible.
For
Karl
Debut Novel
Reviews for Linda McDonald’s debut
novel,
Crimes of Redemption
,
winner of the 2013 Book of
the Year in Fiction.
“This is one of the few books one
cannot put down.”
—Elliot
Mazer,
producer, executive
“McDonald’s writing is vivid,
flowing and logical. . .her style allows the reader to comfortably understand
the action without sacrificing one moment of suspense or the dilemma the
characters face.”
—Elizabeth
Hurd,
The Oklahoman
“The pace never slackens as the
author takes the time to explore the backstories of the supporting players. .
.It is an intriguing tale of relationships and the healing, redemptive power of
love. I do look forward to reading Linda McDonald’s next work.”
—Linda
Hitchcock,
Book Trib
“I love the characters. . .they are
all flawed in one way or another. The story flows seamlessly and at times makes
you wonder about justice. . .or lack of it. An enjoyable read all around.”
—Linda
Strong,
Net Galley
“The early chapters of this novel
read like a Cormac McCarthy novel. The violence and the depth that develops in
the characters is almost
No Country for Old Men
.”
—John
Plavelle,
Net Galley
IN
THE LION’S MOUTH by Linda McDonald
Available
Now from Pure Gumption Press
A young couple, a friendly beachcomber, lots of bullets and
plenty of death. It all starts innocently enough with Carrie and her new
boyfriend driving her father’s RV to south Texas. When they get stuck in the
sand on Boca Chica beach, Leo, a seemingly easy-going local, comes to their
rescue and pulls them out. But after midnight, a wounded and far more intense
Leo returns, now hunted by killers. Gun in hand, he forces the couple to help
him escape. Once they’re back on the road, the danger–and number of
enemies–grows. Leo and Carrie, tightly held
In the Lion’s Mouth
,
face a harrowing gauntlet of secrets stretching from Texas to the streets of
Matamoros. A fast-paced thriller with colorful characters from both sides of
the border.
Carrie Jo Murray knew the second the R.V. hit soft sand that
it was bad. One minute they were rolling down a firm road on Boca Chica Beach
and the next she had steered it off course into a sand mound. It landed with an
abrupt thump, the front end pitched down.
“No, no, no.” She slammed her hands on the steering wheel
and hung her head. Then she looked over at Jason, her boyfriend of six weeks,
sitting on the passenger side. “Please don’t say I told you so.”
He gave her a sympathetic but knowing smile, then teased her
by imitating her own words. “‘Oh, I got this, it’s my dad’s R.V. I’m driving.’”
Jason had told her when they exited Texas 191 to let him
drive when they got to the sandy beach part, since he knew the area. But she
had gotten so excited when they saw the Gulf water, she couldn’t give up the
wheel. Now she was going to have to eat some crow.
Carrie got out of the driver’s side and was enveloped by the
sweltering south Texas heat. Perspiration broke out from the top of her head to
the elastic waistband of her gym shorts.
Around them, a few sunbathers and families out for a day on
the beach gave them curious glances, but seemed indifferent to their plight.
She walked around to the front of the R.V. to survey the damage.
The Winnebago had sunk almost to its front axle. As if her
stomach, growling from nothing but black coffee, weren’t already sour enough,
she thought.
A moment later, when Jason joined her, the women around them
perked up at the 30-year-old, shirtless and in shorts, just as Carrie had when
she first met him. Hours at the gym had given him a biker’s sinewy legs and the
kind of abs that make women look twice.
When he saw the extent of the problem, Jason sucked in air
through his teeth.
Carrie could barely glance his way. “All of a sudden the
sand just went soft.”
He gave her a wicked grin. “You mean like I warned you it
would, just before we hit the beach?”
She punched his elbow playfully. “Oh, shut up.” Then she
shook her head at the mess. “If there’s anything broken, my dad will…”
“It’s okay, babe.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Just
blame it on me.”
“No, it’s my bad all the way.”
Then after a silence, Jason asked, “Does he have Triple-A?”
“For a vehicle this size? Daddy can’t afford that.” She also
quickly realized that Jason, as much as he might mean well, probably wouldn’t
know how to help.
A wealthy Houston kid, he had been supplanted to her little
Texas town of Robbers Gorge for a mandatory stint of sober living following a
high dollar rehab. After that, his oil rich parents had cut the purse strings.
So he not only couldn’t help pay for a tow truck, she doubted he had ever had
to unstuck a car, much less an R.V.
She sighed. “Okay, let’s look for anything that’ll give us
some traction.”
Half an hour later, their efforts had proved fruitless, even
laughable. They had wedged cardboard from beer cartons and beach trash under
the wheels. Nothing had worked. They were both sweaty and out of sorts. Plus,
she had ripped the toe strap on her new flip-flops.
Then, through the beach haze, they could just make out a
vehicle heading their way. At first, they both looked up with hope. When the
mirage dissipated, they could see what a piece of crap it was, an ancient Jeep
pieced together like a rust-eaten Frankenstein. One green fender and an orange
top, no doors. But it ran. And, more to the point, it had a winch.
Its driver, a silver haired guy in a stained wife-beater,
was waving to the beach locals, who all seemed to know him. Carrie thought he
looked like some kind of third-world-guerilla-royalty out in the wilds. All
that was missing were young rebels in the back brandishing automatics.
When the Jeep rolled to a stop in front of the Winnebago,
the driver got out, a grin on his face. “Need some help?”
Carrie smiled at him. “Don’t suppose that winch of yours is
for rent.”
The stranger’s eyes teased both of them. “We might figure
something out.”
He took charge with an easy-going style, and twenty minutes
later the winch was grinding away. Carrie was ready to retract her first
impression. He was looking like world class royalty now.
A few inches at a time, they excavated the front axle. The
guy’s truck might look like crap, but it whirred efficiently as it pulled out a
behemoth four times its weight.
Finally, the R.V. slipped free of the sand. Carrie cheered,
and Jason gave a whoop.
Carrie jumped out from behind the wheel. “We did it.”
“Yep,” the stranger said, looking pleased as he unhooked his
winch.
“What do we owe you?” Jason asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No, come on. There must be something…” Carrie said.
“This stretch of beach is my backyard. Think of it as a
neighborly hand.”
Jason’s eyes went wide. “You mean you live around here?”
The stranger pointed to a stilted beach shack about 50 yards
away. “Right over there.” It looked put together about the same way as his
truck. It leaned a little wonky, and its blue paint had been peeling for so
long it looked like part of the design.
Carrie was still amazed. “Right there on the water? Wow.”
The stranger finished winding the winch back into the truck
and grinned. “Yep.” Then after a moment. “You kids staying down here?”
“At the State Park, somewhere over there,” Carrie said,
pointing to some unimproved camp spots behind the beach. She realized they had
yet to introduce themselves. “Oh, I’m Carrie Murray, by the way, and this is
Jason Ackerman,” she said, offering her hand.
The stranger shook their hands. “Leo Marvins.” He jumped
into his Jeep and started the engine. “Be careful now.”