Recoil

“You’ve tasted the hunt,” Vasquez said. “Haven’t you?”

He stood up straighter. “I’m beginning to see.”

“You’ve savored the chase.” Vasquez’s voice dropped with a resolute intensity. “You’ll be satisfied with nothing else, ever again. You’ve trapped yourself — an exquisite trap. You may hate it. But you’ve demonstrated the most incredible talent for the chase that it’s ever been my experience to observe. You’re a master. You’re the best hunter I’ve ever met. And you do not kill. You’re unique.”

Mathieson inhaled until his chest was filled. He threw his head back and emptied it out. The oxygen made him giddy. He watched a cloud put a brief haze around the moon. “What’s your offer, Diego?”

“There are other Frank Pastors. For you and for me.”

“Yes.”

“Full partnership,” Vasquez said.

He was looking up toward the house. He saw the French doors open, saw Jan’s inquiring silhouette.

Vasquez said, “Salvation for both of us — that’s what it could be.”

Mathieson pushed himself away from the fence and began to walk up toward the house. In the doorway Jan’s silhouette turned — she’d spotted him. He walked toward her.

Behind him Vasquez spoke quietly. “What will it be, then?”

“I don’t know.”