Badwater (The Forensic Geology Series) Read Free

ponytail on his first crap job—one-hour photo clerk—to look like he was in on the joke. He’d kept it because females liked to braid it and dudes noticed it instead of his perfectionism. And after the incident on job eighteen it gave them something to look at instead of his face.
    Shadow, the long lean dude with the outlaw tail.
    Go for it, dude.
    He knew what he had to do. Recover control. There was already a plan in place: the grand vision, the mission, a long careful time in the making with attention paid to the details. And it was still an excellent plan. But now he needed to make adjustments, adapt to the new situation. He told himself: you can do that, Roy. What happened tonight changed things. You have new enemies. The cops are in it now. They’re going to try to stop you. Don’t let them, dude.
    I won’t, he promised.
    He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and strolled back to the pickup.
    He turned on the engine, revving it. That sounded ace.
    But as he drove onto the highway he worried that somebody might have heard and he lectured himself for being cocky and even though he saw no other cars he made himself sick on adrenaline.
    He’d overreacted. As he drove past the crash site nobody came to chase him. He was just another drive-all-night roadie going about his business.
    He tooled along highway 95, riding high now, and he gave himself another lecture. Listen Roy, you’re doing good. You’re incognito for now but very soon you’re going to step out of the shadows. They won’t call you Shadow, then.
    He pressed his shoulders against the seat. He felt his chest swell. He’d heard of people doing this, being thrown out of their comfort zone and growing stronger. That’s what he was doing right now: growing into his destiny. He was like the outlaws of the Old West who start out being ordinary dudes going through their crap days and then some villain kicks them in the comfort zone and they turn into outlaws. Not low-down outlaws. Outlaws with a mission.
    He suddenly wondered if he should have a hideout. Just in case.
    Yeah .
    He knew just the place. It was already set up for the mission but there was plenty of space he could make his own. He liked that so much he decided to name it. He put on his thinking cap. He was a bit of a history buff and since he was now an outlaw he wanted to name the hideout after a famous Old West outlaw lair. It came to him: Hole-in-the-Wall . That’s where famous outlaws like the Wild Bunch had their base of operations. That wasn’t just in the movies, that was a real place, up a narrow pass, hidden in the rock, impossible for the enemy to approach without being seen. Jardine’s hideout was like that. If the enemy got on his tail, he’d make a stand at Hole-in-the-Wall .
    The Long Lean Dude was back in the saddle.
    Getting ready to take on the enemy.
    He’d never counted sidewalk cracks but now he counted his chances.

4
    S cotty Hemmings led the way out of the van, touching his neck where the Saint Christopher medallion hung beneath his suit. Walter followed, adjusting the tank harness belt where it cut across his belly.
    As I squeezed past Hap Miller, who did not give me an inch, he grinned. Not the same species as Scotty’s good-natured smile. It was a toxic grin, as though Miller had leached up a few too many contaminants.
    “Hold on,” Miller told me, “you look a mite stressed. Allow me to send you forth with the health physics blessing.”
    I paused.
    He used his meter probe to outline a cross over my chest. “In the name of alpha, beta, gamma, and holy neutron, go with low dose.”
    “Okay.”
    “You know dose? Amount of radiation absorbed. Potential for damage.”
    Yeah, I knew dose. I said, “Thanks for the good wishes.”
    He put on his facepiece, adjusting the head straps, electrifying his curly red hair. “Ladies first,” he said, indicating the door.
~
    O utside the van, Miller set off on his own course and I joined Walter and