Read The Murder of an Angel Page 15


  “Robinson,” I said, getting impatient, “Greyhound bus or stolen car, the time is now.”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. His long, graceful hands gently tugged on the dog’s ears, and the dog rolled onto his side. As Robinson scratched the dog’s belly, the animal’s leg twitched and his pink tongue lolled out of his little mouth in total canine ecstasy.

  “You’re such a good boy,” Robinson said gently. “Where do you belong?”

  Even though the dog couldn’t answer, we knew. He was skinny and his fur was clumped with mud. There was a patch of raw bare skin on his back. Th is dog was no one’s dog.

  “I wish you could come with us,” Robinson said. “But we have a long way to go, and I don’t think you’d dig it.”

  The dog looked at him like he’d dig anything in the world as long as it involved more petting by Robinson. But when you’re running away from your life and you can’t take anything you don’t need, a stray dog falls in the category of Not Necessary.

  “Give him a little love, Axi,” Robinson urged.

  I bent down and dug my fingers into the dog’s dirty coat the way I’d seen Robinson do, and when I ran my hand down the dog’s chest, I could feel the quick flutter of his heart, the excitement of finding a home, someone to care for him.

  Poor thing , I thought. Somehow, I knew exactly what he was feeling. He had no one, and he was stuck here.

  But we weren’t. Not anymore.

  “We’re leaving, little buddy. I’m sorry,” I said. “We’ve just got to go.”

  It was totally weird, but for some reason that good-bye hurt almost as much as the one I’d whispered to my father.

  4

  WE LEFT THE DOG WITH ONE OF ROBIN-son’s sticks of beef jerky, then headed to the end of the block, where Robinson pulled up short. “There it is,” he whispered, with real awe in his voice. He grabbed my hand and we hurried through the intersection.

  “There what is?” I asked, but of course he didn’t answer me.

  If things went on like this, we’d have to have a little talk—because I didn’t want a traveling companion who paid attention to 50 percent of whatever came out of my mouth. If I wanted to be ignored, I could just stay in Klamath Falls with my idiotic classmates and my alcoholic father.

  “There is the answer,” Robinson said finally, sighing so big you’d have thought he just fell in love. He turned to me and bent down in an exaggerated bow, sweeping his arm out like a valet at some superfancy restaurant (the kind of place we don’t have in K-Falls).

  “Alexandra, milady, your chariot awaits,” Robinson said with a wild grin. I rolled my eyes at him, like I always do when he does this fake-British shtick with my full name.

  And then I rolled my eyes again: my so-called chariot, it turned out, was actually a motorcycle . A big black Harley-Davidson with whitewall tires and yards of shining chrome, and two black leather side bags decorated with silver grommets. There were tassels on the handlebars and two cushioned seats. The thing gleamed like it was straight off the showroom floor.

  Robinson was beside me, whispering in some foreign language. “Twin Cam Ninety-Six V-Twin,” he said, then something about “electronic throttle control and six-speed transmission” and then a bunch of other things I didn’t understand.

  It was an amazing bike, even I could see that, and I can hardly tell a dirt bike from a Ducati. “Awesome,” I said, checking my watch. “But we really should keep moving.”

  That was when I realized Robinson was bending toward the thing with a screwdriver in his hand.

  “Are you out of your mind? ” I hissed.

  But Robinson didn’t answer me. Again.

  He was going to hot-wire the thing. Holy s—

  I ran to the other side of the street and ducked down between two cars. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and I pressed my eyes shut.

  There was no way this was happening, I told myself. No way he was going to actually get the thing started, no way this was how our journey would begin.

  I had it all planned out, and it looked nothing like this.

  Then the roar of an engine split open the quiet morning. I opened my eyes and a second later Robinson’s feet appeared, one on either side of the Harley.

  We’re breaking the law! I should have screamed. But my mind simply couldn’t process this change in plans. I couldn’t say anything at all. I just thought: He’s running away in cowboy boots! That is so not practical! And: Why didn’t I bring mine?

  “Stand up, Axi,” Robinson yelled. “Get on.”

  I was rooted to the spot, my chest tight with anxiety. I was going to have a heart attack right here on Cedar Street, in between a pickup and a Volvo with a MY OTHER CAR IS A BROOM bumper sticker. So much for my great escape!

  But then Robinson reached down and hauled me up, and the next thing I knew I was sitting behind him on the throbbing machine with the engine revving.

  “Put your arms around me,” he yelled.

  I was so heart-and-soul terrified that I did.

  “Now hang on!”

  He put the thing in gear and we took off, the engine thundering in my ears. My dad was probably going to wake up on the couch and wonder if he’d just heard the rumble of an early-summer storm.

  We shot past the Safeway, past the high school football field, past the Reel M Inn Tavern, where every Friday night my dad hooked himself up to a Budweiser IV, and past the “Mexican” restaurant (where they put Parmesan cheese on top of their burritos).

  Yeah, Klamath Falls. It was the kind of place that looked best in a rearview mirror.

  Seeing it flash past me, feeling the rush of the wind in my face, I suddenly didn’t care if we woke up the entire stinking town.

  Eat my dust! I wanted to shout.

  Robinson let out a joyful whoop.

  We’d done it. We were free.

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  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  WELCOME

  PART 1: THE SO-CALLED REAL WORLD

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  PART 2: AGAINST ALL ODDS

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  PART 3: GASLIGHT

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  PART 4: NOW OR NEVER

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61
r />   CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  PART 5: THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

  CHAPTER 66

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY JAMES PATTERSON FOR YOUNG ADULT READERS

  A SNEAK PEEK OF FIRST LOVE

  NEWSLETTERS

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by James Patterson

  Excerpt from First Love copyright © 2014 by James Patterson

  Excerpt from First Love photos by Sasha Illingworth

  Image of woman © Shutterstock

  Image of blinds © Peter Glass / Arcangel Images

  Cover design by Tom Sanderson

  Cover © 2015 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  littlebrown.com

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  First ebook edition: October 2015

  ISBN 978-0-316-30112-1

  E3

 


 

  James Patterson, The Murder of an Angel

  (Series: Confessions # 4)

 

 


 

 
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