ONE HUNDRED FOUR

ONE HUNDRED FOUR

THE CARS COME SPEEDING toward me from both directions as I finish pushing the seventh duffel bag over the edge, watching it smack the perilous water below. The previous six bags have begun their trip down the river like a small armada, bouncing and bobbing. If my quick online research holds, each of those bags will eventually sink to the river bottom. But I don't really care.

The car coming from the north end, which must be Silas, won't be able to reach me, what with the large gap in the roadway. But Blair, coming from the south end and traveling north, won't have that problem.

I finalize my preparations, one click of the handcuffs, and slowly rise to my feet as Blair's car — the first to reach me — skids to a halt about ten yards away, not far from my rental SUV.

Blair pops out, shuffling toward me, his gun up and trained on me, the wind instantly pummeling his coat and whipping his hair in his face. "What the fuck are you doing?" he yells.

"Don't come any closer!" I yell to Blair. "You shoot me, and I take the rest of the money with me into the river!"

Blair looks down and registers what I mean. Each of the remaining four duffel bags is joined to its neighbor by handcuffs. And the last of them is handcuffed to my right wrist. We are one long chain, the four bags and me.

Blair holds up a hand as I hear, behind me, another car skidding to a stop. I glance back at Silas as he jumps out of the car, looking worse for wear, the right side of his face badly swollen and a makeshift bandage covering the wound, holding a firearm two-handed. He stops at the gap in the road, separating us by around ten yards.

Blair's hand signal is for Silas's benefit. Hold off, he's saying. Let me handle this .

Blair's in charge. That's what I figured.

"Be smart, Marcie!" Blair says. "We can work this out. Everyone can win."

"The police are coming!" I shout through the swirling wind at Blair.

"Yeah? Fine with me. I can explain everything. Including how you and David stole that money. And David won't be here to deny it, will he?"

The mention of my dead husband sends something spiraling inside me. "Are you sure you can explain everything to the cops, Blair? Including what your buddy is doing here?"

Blair blinks. Glances at Silas.

In the distance, finally — later than I expected — the faint sound of sirens. Blair's head turns slightly when he hears it, squinting as his hair whips into his eyes.

Then he looks at me. "This was all just a ruse, right?" he says. "Luring me and Silas onto a bridge so we'd have no escape?"

I shrug. "Afraid so."

He nods, almost grudgingly. Then he pivots and fires the gun three times in rapid succession.

Silas staggers backward, three gaping holes in his chest, before hitting the roadway hard, the gun skittering from his hand.

Finally, Silas Renfrow is truly dead.

That was for you, David.

"I just saved your life!" Blair shouts, pushing hair out of his face. "Silas was going to kill you, and I stopped him!"

"Oh, you're the hero now?"

"And so are you, " he says. "You lured him in. Our plan worked, Marcie, don't you see?" The call of the sirens grows louder, Hemingway Grove's finest on the way.

"Our plan," I repeat.

"Yeah, our plan. You come out of this like a hero. You and I both. We forget about any criminal charges. You and the kids stay together as a family. And when this is over, we split what's left of that money."

The first squad car appears up at the bluff, followed by another, as the police begin their journey down the road to the bridge.

Blair sees it, too. "Make this deal with me, Marcie. You go back to your happy life and keep a couple million. No prison. Why not? What's the alternative — you tell your story and I tell mine? I'm pretty good in those situations. You really wanna roll the dice on a he said, she said when I'm giving you a happy ending?"

"How about just a he said?" I open my phone, which has the recording pulled up. I play it on speakerphone for Blair, two men conversing:

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cagnina."

"Yeah, well, I had to see it for myself — an FBI agent willing to be helpful. I can make you a rich man. But I wanted you to hear it straight from me — you fuck me on this, I kill you and everyone you care about."

"We understand each other. I have twenty million reasons not to fuck you."

Blair looks at my phone like Superman looks at kryptonite. David, when he heard this recording so many years ago, only knew that the person speaking was an FBI agent. He didn't know Blair, didn't recognize his voice. But I do. And I did.

"I sent this to the Hemingway Grove PD, if you thought this was the only copy," I say. "You didn't know Cagnina recorded your conversation, did you, Blair? I guess he wanted an insurance policy. He left a thumb drive of this recording with the stash of twenty million so you'd know, if anything went wrong, that he had you over a barrel."

"And your husband stole the thumb drive when he stole the cash."

True. An insurance policy of his own.

The police squad cars are on the bridge now, their sirens blaring, lighting up the darkening skies as they head toward us.

Blair sees it, too. He looks back at me, the wind rippling his coat and tossing his hair, and makes one final plea. He holsters his weapon and shuffles toward me. "Fine — keep all the rest of the money, then. Every nickel. But you and me, we stay square. We're both heroes. Nobody ever bothers you again. That recording — I can figure that out. But you and I stay square." He puts out his hand and shuffles closer. "What do you say, Marcie? I'm much better as a friend than an enemy, I promise."

"Let me think about that," I say, wanting to back up but knowing there's no room behind me. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing, Marcie?" Blair says. "I'm taking your sarcasm as a no. And I'm reaching for you, trying to get you back from the edge, but … oops!"

He lunges for me, making a show of reaching for me in a protective way, but also making sure his front foot, as it lands, gives a swift kick to the duffel bag to which I'm handcuffed.

He'll have a story, I realize in that moment when the bag flies backward, my hand with it, that moment when I lose my balance. Marcie wanted to commit suicide out of shame … I tried to talk her off the ledge … I reached for her to save her. With David and me out of the picture, he'll have a story that covers everything.

I fall backward off the bridge and through the air, the chain of duffel bags sailing downward with me.

In that last moment, while I spiral through the air, a moment before I plunge into the icy, tumultuous waters of the Cotton River, I think of my screen-saver photo of David and the kids in a pile together in our backyard.

I did this for you, I say to them. In some way, in the flesh or not, we'll always be a family.