‘Take me there,’ he said.
She opened her eyes, steadied her breathing, and asked, ‘Will you let me live?’
‘We’ll see,’ Danny said.
59
AUDRA DROVE, THE wind through the shattered window blowing her sweat-soaked hair back, cooling her forehead. Sean and Louise huddled together in the passenger seat, both of them sound asleep. Whiteside in the rear, the metal cage between him and them. In the mirror, she saw him slumped against the door, his eyes hooded, his mouth slack. Bloody sputum trailed from his lips.
She had taken Whiteside’s phone and used its GPS to find her way back to Elder County. Two and a half hours she’d been driving, another twenty minutes to go. The wound on her shoulder burned and itched every time she moved, but she didn’t care. All she wanted in the world now was to crawl into a bed with her children and sleep with them in her arms.
Another few minutes and she saw the sign for Silver Water. Audra slowed the car, pulled in, and applied the hand brake. Up ahead, on the other side of the exit, was the spot where Whiteside had stopped her just three days ago.
‘Collins was right.’
His voice startled her. She looked up to the mirror, saw him staring back, his eyes glistening.
‘About what?’ she asked.
‘I should’ve killed you,’ he said.
‘But you didn’t. Even if you had, you would have wound up back here anyway. Even if you got all that money, it would’ve cursed you. You know that, don’t you?’
He looked away from the mirror, then back again. ‘Will you do one thing for me?’ he asked.
‘What?’
Whiteside exhaled, a watery sigh. A tear rolled down his bloody cheek.
‘Kill me,’ he said. ‘Just put a bullet in my head and dump me out here.’
Now Audra looked away, turned her gaze to the rolling desert, the distant mountains, the ocean of blue above.
‘I know you want to,’ he said.
She looked back to the mirror, locked eyes with him. ‘Yeah, I want to. But I’m not going to. Don’t worry, you’ll get your due.’
Audra turned the key in the ignition, put the car into drive, and set off once more. She made the turn into the exit, climbed the winding road, remembering being in the back of this same vehicle, behind that same cage, no idea of what lay ahead of her. A deep sorrow took hold of her as she crested the rise and began the descent into the basin on the other side.
The same switchbacks, the same clusters of houses, the same desperate poverty as just a few days ago, but all different now. She knew that nothing would be the same again, not for her, not for her children.
Whiteside sniffed and whimpered in the rear of the car as she approached the bridge across what was left of the river, crossed it, and entered Silver Water. He banged his head on the glass once, twice, three times, leaving a smear of blood there.
Audra eased the cruiser along Main Street to the far end, where state police cars stood outside the sheriff’s station and the town hall. Press trucks parked along the street, reporters milling around, bored expressions on their faces. She stopped the car in the middle of the street and shut off the engine. Then she put her hand on the center of the wheel, pressed down on the horn, held it there until the cops and the reporters raised their heads. She opened the driver’s door, let it swing out as far as its hinges would allow.
One of the state cops saw Audra, said, ‘Jesus Christ, it’s her.’
She hauled herself out, fighting her own exhaustion. The same cop saw the Glock in her hand, drew his own pistol.
‘Drop the weapon!’
The other cops came running, all of them drawing guns. A dozen of them, maybe more. A chorus of shouts, get down on the ground, drop the weapon. Audra raised her hands above her head, kept the Glock in her right, her finger away from the trigger. But she wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet.
The reporters scrambled, cameras pointing. The cops moved in, tightening the circle. The chorus got louder. On the ground. Drop the weapon. They would have shot her dead, if not for the cameras, Audra was sure. She should have been terrified, but an oily calm had settled on her as soon as she’d stopped the car. Even a dozen pistols aimed at her, ready to take her head off, couldn’t shake the cool peace at the center of her.
Another voice rose over the others, and Audra recognized it: Special Agent Mitchell.
‘Hold your fire! Don’t shoot! Do not shoot!’
She pushed her way between the cops, breathless, her eyes wide.
‘Audra, give me the weapon.’
‘Not yet,’ Audra said as she stepped back to the rear door, her hands still raised. With her left she reached for the handle, pulled the door open. Whiteside spilled out, shoulder first, not quite hitting the ground. Audra grabbed his collar, hauled him the rest of the way. He cried out in pain as he tumbled onto the asphalt.
Mitchell shook her head. ‘Jesus, Audra, what did you do?’
‘This man took my children,’ Audra said, raising her left hand once more. She walked to the front of the car, slow steady steps.
The cops lined their sights on her, some shouting again.
‘Hold your fire,’ Mitchell called.
Audra rounded the front of the cruiser to the passenger side and opened the door. Sean had stirred, but Louise still dozed.
Mitchell moved to the side of the car, stared inside. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. She spun around, shouted at the cops. ‘Lower your weapons. Lower them right now.’
One at a time, slowly, the cops did as they were told. Mitchell turned back to Audra, extended her hand.
‘Give me the gun,’ she said. ‘Please.’
Audra didn’t hesitate. She lowered her hands and passed the pistol over. Mitchell popped the magazine, emptied the chamber.
Audra hunkered down by the open passenger door. She reached in, stroked Sean’s hair, touched Louise’s cheek. Louise’s eyes flickered open.
‘Mommy,’ she said. ‘Are we home?’
‘Not yet, honey,’ Audra said. ‘But soon. Come on.’
She reached in, took Louise in her arms, and lifted her out. Sean followed. With Louise’s arms around her neck, legs around her waist, Sean’s hand in hers, Audra walked through the cops and the reporters. She ignored the wide eyes and open mouths, the shouted questions.
Down the street, the guesthouse door stood open, Mrs Gerber waiting there, her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Mitchell came running behind. ‘Audra, where are you going?’
Audra looked back over her shoulder without slowing her step.
‘To put my children to bed,’ she said.
60
WHEN THEY REACHED the hospital in Scottsdale, the nurses had tried to separate them, put them in different rooms. Audra had refused, clung tight to Sean and Louise. It was Mitchell who stepped in, insisted that the hospital provide a private room for the three of them. The best they could do was a side ward with two beds.
One now lay empty, Audra and her children huddled together in the other. They’d given Louise another dose of antibiotics, and now she lay with her head on Audra’s left breast, snoring softly. Sean rested on the other side, watching the television up on the wall.
Audra had grown tired of the news cycle. The same shaky footage of her circling the car, Whiteside falling from it, the children in the passenger seat. The reporters had exhausted their hyperbole, and the story had taken on the sense of winding down, that it was ready to be told in past tense.
The only new footage in the last hour or so had been Patrick helping his mother into a black town car outside a hotel, telling the reporters no comment as they crowded around.
When it was all settled, Audra would have a comment for them. When the press came scrounging for her story, she would tell them every rotten thing her husband and his mother had done. Let their rich and powerful friends see them for who they really were. She relished the idea, but it was for another time.