Come Unto These Yellow Sands by Josh Lanyon Read Free Book Online
Authors: Josh Lanyon
there this afternoon. There’s no sign that Tad ever arrived at the bungalow.”
“You… Jesus fucking Christ.” Max let the handset drop back in its cradle. He stared at Swift. “Are you crazy ?”
Swift shook his head, though the question was probably rhetorical.
“You knowingly, deliberately let a murder suspect…” Max’s voice died out as though his thought process had short-circuited. He continued to gaze at Swift in almost stricken disbelief.
“I didn’t know he was a suspect when I offered him the use of the bungalow.”
“You sure as hell knew after I told you last night.”
“I’m sorry,” Swift said. “I acted on instinct. Maybe a bad one.”
“Maybe? Maybe? Do you have any clue of what you’ve done?”
Unwisely, Swift protested, “Even if Tad did this, it’s not like he’s Public Enemy No.1. He’s a confused, scared—”
“Don’t.” It was enough to shut Swift up. Max’s face was white, his eyes blazing with fury. He looked like a stranger. A stranger Swift would not want to get on the wrong side of.
“Max—”
“Not one fucking word more, Swift.”
But there was always room for one word more, right? Especially this word. Besides, Swift had always been so very bad at following rules.
“I’m sorry, Max,” he repeated.
Max stared at him as though Swift had been hand delivered by Martians. As though Swift were an alien creature that Max needed to exterminate—as soon as he figured out whether to use bullets or pesticide.
“Yeah?” Max made a funny sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”
The hair rose on the back of his neck. Swift searched the hard, implacable planes of Max’s features. Max wasn’t a guy for idle threats. “Are you…? Am I…?” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask. He knew that expression although Max had never worn it before—not for Swift. It was the expression that said, You’re pathetic. You’re a junky low-life loser. You can’t be trusted. You aren’t one of us. You don’t belong here.
It was an expression he’d have done anything to keep from seeing on Max’s face.
Almost anything.
Swift steadied his voice and got out, “Am I…under arrest?” He tried to say it without emotion, but he had at long last reached a point in his life where he had something to lose. A number of things, in fact, that he didn’t want to lose. Wasn’t sure he could survive losing. Arrest meant losing them all.
Max didn’t seem to hear the question. He was on his feet again, moving into action, speaking under his breath as he grabbed the phone. Tight, fierce words. “Stupid, arrogant, irresponsible, crackbrained…” He jabbed a couple of buttons and then paused. Fastening that lightless gaze on Swift’s face, he said, “Get the fuck out of my office. Get out before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Swift was up and to the door when Max threw after him, “You realize this is probably going to cost you your job?”
Swift had no answer. Or maybe the answer was in his face. Max turned his back on him and snapped his orders into the phone.
If he had it all to do again…?
Well, that was the point of those Choose Your Own Adventure books, right? Taking responsibility for your decisions, living with consequences. The lady or the tiger? You never knew until the door swung open.
If Swift could hit instant replay of the previous evening, he’d do it differently. He’d probably speak up when Max mentioned Mario Corelli’s murder. Speak up and ask that he be allowed to go to the island first to speak with Tad, to break the news about Mario—and, if it wasn’t news, to convince Tad to give himself up.
But unfortunately you didn’t get multiple do-overs in real life, and it looked like Swift had seriously, fatally screwed up. But one thing you learned in rehab, there was no point bewailing the pratfalls. The only thing that mattered was getting back up again.
The faster the
“You… Jesus fucking Christ.” Max let the handset drop back in its cradle. He stared at Swift. “Are you crazy ?”
Swift shook his head, though the question was probably rhetorical.
“You knowingly, deliberately let a murder suspect…” Max’s voice died out as though his thought process had short-circuited. He continued to gaze at Swift in almost stricken disbelief.
“I didn’t know he was a suspect when I offered him the use of the bungalow.”
“You sure as hell knew after I told you last night.”
“I’m sorry,” Swift said. “I acted on instinct. Maybe a bad one.”
“Maybe? Maybe? Do you have any clue of what you’ve done?”
Unwisely, Swift protested, “Even if Tad did this, it’s not like he’s Public Enemy No.1. He’s a confused, scared—”
“Don’t.” It was enough to shut Swift up. Max’s face was white, his eyes blazing with fury. He looked like a stranger. A stranger Swift would not want to get on the wrong side of.
“Max—”
“Not one fucking word more, Swift.”
But there was always room for one word more, right? Especially this word. Besides, Swift had always been so very bad at following rules.
“I’m sorry, Max,” he repeated.
Max stared at him as though Swift had been hand delivered by Martians. As though Swift were an alien creature that Max needed to exterminate—as soon as he figured out whether to use bullets or pesticide.
“Yeah?” Max made a funny sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”
The hair rose on the back of his neck. Swift searched the hard, implacable planes of Max’s features. Max wasn’t a guy for idle threats. “Are you…? Am I…?” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask. He knew that expression although Max had never worn it before—not for Swift. It was the expression that said, You’re pathetic. You’re a junky low-life loser. You can’t be trusted. You aren’t one of us. You don’t belong here.
It was an expression he’d have done anything to keep from seeing on Max’s face.
Almost anything.
Swift steadied his voice and got out, “Am I…under arrest?” He tried to say it without emotion, but he had at long last reached a point in his life where he had something to lose. A number of things, in fact, that he didn’t want to lose. Wasn’t sure he could survive losing. Arrest meant losing them all.
Max didn’t seem to hear the question. He was on his feet again, moving into action, speaking under his breath as he grabbed the phone. Tight, fierce words. “Stupid, arrogant, irresponsible, crackbrained…” He jabbed a couple of buttons and then paused. Fastening that lightless gaze on Swift’s face, he said, “Get the fuck out of my office. Get out before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Swift was up and to the door when Max threw after him, “You realize this is probably going to cost you your job?”
Swift had no answer. Or maybe the answer was in his face. Max turned his back on him and snapped his orders into the phone.
If he had it all to do again…?
Well, that was the point of those Choose Your Own Adventure books, right? Taking responsibility for your decisions, living with consequences. The lady or the tiger? You never knew until the door swung open.
If Swift could hit instant replay of the previous evening, he’d do it differently. He’d probably speak up when Max mentioned Mario Corelli’s murder. Speak up and ask that he be allowed to go to the island first to speak with Tad, to break the news about Mario—and, if it wasn’t news, to convince Tad to give himself up.
But unfortunately you didn’t get multiple do-overs in real life, and it looked like Swift had seriously, fatally screwed up. But one thing you learned in rehab, there was no point bewailing the pratfalls. The only thing that mattered was getting back up again.
The faster the