Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

"Thanks loads, ma'am," the other one said to her with mild sarcasm.

Sachs recalled his name: Harris Tomel – the one who resembled a Southern businessman as much as Culbeau looked like a biker.

"No reward for us," Tomel continued. "And out all day in the hot sun."

Culbeau said, "The boy tell you where Mary Beth is?"

"You'll have to talk to Sheriff Bell about that," Sachs said.

"Just thought he might've said."

Then she wondered: How had they found the mill? They might've followed the search party but they might also have had a tip – from Mason Germain maybe, hoping for a little backup for his renegade sniper operation.

"I was right," Culbeau continued.

"What's that?" Sachs asked.

"Sue McConnell upped the reward to two thousand." He shrugged.

Tomel added, "So near yet so far."

"You'll excuse me, I've got some work to do." Sachs started past them, thinking, And where's the other one of this gang? The skinny –

A fast noise behind her and she felt her pistol being lifted out of her holster. She spun around, crouching, as the gun disappeared into the hand of scrawny, freckled Sean O'Sarian, who danced away from her, grinning like the class cutup.

Culbeau shook his head. "Sean, come on."

She held her hand out. "I'd like that back."

"Just looking. Fine piece. Harris here collects guns. This's a nice one, don't you think, Harris?"

Tomel said nothing, just sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead.

"You're borrowing trouble," Sachs said.

Culbeau said, "Give it back t'her, Sean. Too hot for your pranking."

He pretended to hand it to her, butt-first, then grinned and pulled his hand away. "Hey, honey, where you from exactly? New York, I heard. What's it like there? Wild place, I'll bet."

"Quit fooling with the goddamn gun," Culbeau muttered. "We're out the money. Let's just live with it and get back to town."

"Give me back the weapon now," Sachs muttered.

But O'Sarian was dancing around, sighting on trees as if he were a ten-year-old playing cops and robbers. "Pow, pow…"

"Okay, forget about it." Sachs shrugged. "It's not mine anyway. When you're through playing just take it back to the Sheriff's Department." She turned to walk past O'Sarian.

"Hey," he said, frowning with disappointment that she didn't want to play anymore. "Don't you -"

Sachs dodged to his right, ducked and came up behind him fast, catching him in a one-armed neck lock. In half a second the switchblade was out of her pocket, the blade open and the point tapping out red dots on the underside of his chin.

"Oh, Jesus, what the hell're you doing?" he blurted then realized that speaking pushed his throat against the tip of the knife. He shut up.

"Okay, okay," Culbeau said, holding up his hands. "Let's not -"

"Drop your weapons on the ground," Sachs said. "All of you."

"I didn't do anything," Culbeau protested.

"Listen, miss," Tomel said, trying to sound reasonable, "we didn't mean any trouble. Our friend here is – "

The knife tip poked his stubbly chin.

"Ahh, do it, do it!" O'Sarian said desperately, teeth together. "Put the fucking guns down."

Culbeau eased his rifle to the ground. Tomel too.

Repulsed by O'Sarian's unclean smell, Sachs slid her hand along his arm and seized her gun. He released it.

She stepped back, shoved O'Sarian away, kept the pistol pointed at him.

"I was just pranking," O'Sarian said. "I do that. I fool around. I don't mean nothing. Tell her I fool around -"

"What's going on here?" Lucy Kerr said, walking down the path, hand on her pistol grip.

Culbeau shook his head. "Sean was being an asshole."

"Which is gonna get him killed someday," Lucy said.

Sachs closed the switchblade one-handed and put it back into her pocket.

"Look, I'm cut. Look, blood!" O'Sarian held up a stained finger.

"Damn," Tomel said reverently, though Sachs had no idea what he was referring to.

Lucy looked at Sachs. "You want to do anything about this?"

"Take a shower," she responded.

Culbeau laughed.

Sachs added, "We don't have time to waste on them."

The deputy nodded to the men. "This is a crime scene. You boys're out your reward." She nodded at the rifles. "You want to hunt, do it elsewhere."

"Oh, like anything's in season," O'Sarian asked sarcastically, dishing on Lucy for the stupidity of her comment. "I mean, hell – ohhh ."

"Then head back to town – 'fore you bollix up your lives any more'n you already have."

The men picked up their guns. Culbeau lowered his head to O'Sarian's ear and spoke quiet, angry words to him. O'Sarian gave a shrug and grinned. For a moment Sachs thought Culbeau was going to hit him. But then the tall man calmed and turned back to Lucy. "You find Mary Beth?"

"Not yet. But we got Garrett and he'll tell us."

Culbeau said, "Wish we got the reward but I'm glad he's caught. That boy's trouble."

When they were gone Sachs asked, "You find anything else in the mill?"

"No. Thought I'd come down here to help you look for a boat."

As they continued down the path Sachs said, "One thing I forgot about. We ought to send somebody back to that trap – the hornets' nest. Kill 'em and fill in the hole."

"Oh, Jim sent Trey Williams, one of our deputies, over there with a can of wasp spray and a shovel. But there weren't any wasps. It was an old nest."

"Empty?"

"Right."

So it wasn't a trap at all, just a trick to slow them down. Sachs reflected too that the ammonia bottle wasn't intended to hurt anybody either. Garrett could have rigged it to spill on his pursuers, blinding them. But he'd perched it on the side of a small cliff. If they hadn't found the fishing line first and tripped it, the bottle would've fallen onto rocks ten feet below the path, warning Garrett with the smell of the ammonia but not hurting anyone.

She had an image of Garrett's wide, frightened eyes once more.

I'm scared. Make him stop!

Sachs realized Lucy was talking to her. "I'm sorry?"

The deputy said, "Where'd you learn how to use that toad sticker of yours – that knife?"

"Wilderness training."

"Wilderness? Where?"

"Place called Brooklyn," Sachs responded.

Waiting.

Mary Beth McConnell stood beside the grimy window. She was edgy and dizzy – from the close heat of her prison and the bristling thirst. She hadn't found a drop of any liquid to drink in the entire house. Glancing out the back window of the cabin, past the wasps' nest, she could see empties of bottled water in a trash heap. They taunted her and the sight made her feel all the more thirsty. She knew she couldn't last more than a day or two in this heat without something to drink.

Where are you? Where? She spoke silently to the Missionary.

If there had been a man there – and he wasn't just a creation of her desperate, thirst-crazed imagination.

She leaned against the hot wall of the shack. Wondered if she'd faint. Tried to swallow but there wasn't a bit of moisture in her mouth. The air enwrapped her face, stifling as hot wool.

Then thinking angrily: Oh, Garrett… I knew you'd be trouble. She remembered the old saw: No good deed goes unpunished.

I should never have helped him out… But how could I not! How could I not save him from those high school boys? She recalled seeing the four of them, watching Garrett on the ground after he'd fainted on Maple Street last year. One tall, sneering boy, a friend of Billy Stail's from the football team, unzipped his Guess! jeans, pulled out his penis and was about to urinate on Garrett. She'd stormed up to them, given them hell and snatched one boy's cell phone to call an ambulance for Garrett.