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Diane must be going nuts right about now.

So he walked into the Subway and nobody noticed him.

Then he glanced up at the TV. And saw his face.

He knew the photo—it was an arrest photo for a public drunk charge five years ago. He looked one hell of a lot better than Nick Nolte.

Max was still wearing his Arizona cap. He tilted his face downward, but looked up under the brim.

The announcer was saying that Max Conroy was a “person of interest” in the killings at the house on Ocotillo.

Panic surged, but abated quickly. He was Max Conroy. No one would believe this—it was impossible.

But still. Person of interest.

Max decided he’d err on the side of caution and get out of here. He couldn’t wait for Dave. He wanted to get to the Desert Oasis, wanted Gordon to tell him the truth . He needed to go and he needed to go now.

He walked to the door. Calm. Anonymous. He pushed the door open, held it for a girl with a stroller and a little boy. She didn’t say thank you, didn’t even look at him.

Good.

Out in the blaring sunlight, he looked around. Turned right and started for the side of the building, thinking about the long wait ahead of him.

Then he saw them—the woman and the boy. They appeared to be killing time outside the Pizza Hut. The boy looked resentful, but the woman seemed to have an air of satisfaction about her, as if she’d won a round or two. But he knew the woman’s eyes were roving behind her sunglasses, like a spotlight moving back and forth across the landscape. Restless, always probing.

Just looking at her chilled him to the bone.

He ducked back from the corner of the building.

Did they see him?

He knew— knew —they were looking for him.

Everyone was looking for him. He was a person of interest . But if the woman and the boy got him, God only knew what would happen. Look what they had done to the men in the house.

He pictured a scene out in the desert—saw it cinematically—and they were walking him to his execution. He saw his death: two to the back of the head, left for the coyotes to clean up.

A car cruised by. It was the deputy in an unmarked cop car. The car slowed to a stop. He could reach her in three strides.

He thought of the woman and the boy and came to a conclusion.

Crazy.

But so was he.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

TESS WAS ALMOST to the freeway entrance when she saw the big truck blocking the on-ramp—Sunline Traders. Both of Paradox’s PD cars were parked behind it, and a Paradox PD officer was placing reflective triangles out on the road.

Tess circled the parking lot around the Subway, thinking she could use something cold to drink. Mostly she was thinking about how she’d approach Gordon White Eagle. She put the car in park, and that was when the passenger door wrenched open and she found herself staring at the famous movie star, Max Conroy. He slid into the car. “Don’t try anything. I have a gun.”

Tess looked down. He did have a gun in the waistband of his jeans, and his hand hovered near it.

She had no idea of his abilities, but he could draw the weapon and shoot her, or shoot himself, or shoot wild. Guns were unpredictable that way.

Cursing the fact that her new ride had a broken locking mechanism, Tess raised her hands. Don’t antagonize him. Play for time. All those bromides that had been scrupulously inculcated into her. Because of her “ability,” she remembered every single moment of every lesson. The problem was, Tess not only got the lesson, but every subfile of the lesson.

Don’t antagonize. Play for time. De-escalate the situation.

As if reading her mind, he said again, “Don’t try anything.”

“I won’t.”

He saw her phone on the seat between them at the same time she did. He grabbed it, buzzed his window down, and threw it out. “I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.”

That was a cliché she’d heard in at least fifteen movies. Those exact words.

“I’m good,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Drive.”

“Drive where?”

“Up I-17.”

“OK,” she said. “Do you see that truck over there? Sunline Traders?”

He said nothing. She glanced out the corner of her eye and saw that although Conroy was nervous, he was also in control. She wondered what he had to lose. The impression she got was: nothing.

“The truck?” she said again. “It’s blocking the freeway entrance.”

“Then take the access road.”

No choice. She did.

THEY DROVE. MAX couldn’t believe he had threatened the deputy with a weapon. It was unreal. He knew what he was doing would change everything. It would end badly. He knew that, but he didn’t see that he had a choice.

“You don’t have a radio,” he said.

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“The car’s new.”

“Oh.”

The guy in the pink granny glasses and the shower cap materialized between them. Shoved his bony elbow into Max’s side. Max could see his own hand, still hovering over the semiautomatic pistol’s butt sticking out of his waistband, with Shower Cap superimposed over it. Max could see right through him.

Shower Cap said, “Tell her what happened.”

“Why should I? She won’t believe me.”

The deputy glanced at him, her eyes sharp. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Just keep your eyes on the road and drive.”

“You need her help,” Shower Cap said.

“Fuck off, I’m doing this my way!”

This time the deputy didn’t glance at him. She glanced at his gun. Her voice was calm—soothing but in charge. “Do what ‘your way’?” she asked him.

He didn’t answer. What could he say? He was hallucinating? He was the one with the gun—he didn’t owe her any explanations. He just wanted to get to Gordon White Eagle.

“Gordon White Eagle,” the deputy said. “That’s where we’re going? The Desert Oasis Healing Center?”

How had she heard him? He must have spoken out loud.

Shower Cap grinned, started to fade. Max fished around for a thought—any thought. The image that cropped up was a silly one, but he gave it voice. “Why aren’t you wearing a uniform?”

She said, “I’m not a deputy anymore.”

“They fired you?”

“No. They made me detective.”

“Detective? You were promoted.”

“You could say that.”

“I played a detective in three films. Worked with a homicide dick.”

“We don’t call ourselves ‘dicks.’ ”

“Sorry.”

They lapsed into silence. The heavy Caprice ate up the road. They must be going eighty.

Tess. That was her name. The woman who’d saved him from Gordon’s thugs. The woman who had a perfect, photographic memory.

He wanted to trust her, but she might take exception to the fact he’d threatened her with a firearm…

The land whizzed by, the color of a dusty lion, studded with prickly pear and yucca, scrub bushes and trees. Mountains off to the left. Mountains off to the right. The two-lane unspooling before him, leading him to Gordon White Eagle. Finally, he would get relief. Finally, he would make Gordon fix him. The deputy—the detective —might even be a help. He wanted to be put back together, better than Humpty. But more than that, he wanted the answer to a simple question. Why? Why had Gordon messed him up like that?

Why send a killer like the woman after him?

Why?

And now he was on the run, a “person of interest” in three killings. And somewhere out there, looking for him, were the woman and the boy.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “I didn’t do it.”