Page 73 of Back in Black

A picture painted a thousand words, and there were many interpretations to the present scene.

He focused . . . and captured the image just as Drew Black started back inside. The flash had him jerking back around again.

With the foulest curse, Drew started toward him. Panicked, his camera held tightly in his hand, he vaulted out of the bushes. Running as fast as he could, he sped down the walkway. On the opposite side of the cross street, he saw his car where he’d left it parked.

Pushing himself, praying he’d reach his car before Drew Black got hold of him, he ran blindly into the dark street—and headlights flashed on him.

“What the—”

Accelerating, the car slammed into him, tossing him up and over the hood with bone-crushing force. He screamed as the camera flew from his hands and he went airborne. His limbs flopped out of his control. The hard pavement of the street rushed up to meet him, and then . . . he felt nothing at all.

THE car collided with the fleeing photographer, stopping Drew dead in his tracks. The guy’s body flipped up and over the length of the car and then slammed into the pavement with a sickening thud.

“Holy shit.”

Never slowing, the car sped away. It happened too fast, and the night was too dark, for Drew to get the plates. Within seconds, the car was out of sight.

Limbs grotesquely broken, head cracked open, the photographer lay crumpled in the middle of the road. It was a grisly, macabre scene.

Aware of Gillian and Dickey behind him, Drew turned back. “Dickey, call the cops.”

Somewhat stunned by it all, Dickey said, “But you told me not to.”

“That was before a man was killed, damn it! Ask for Officer Sparks. Tell him you’re with me. Tell him . . . I don’t know. To bring an ambulance or something.” He caught Gillian before she could get any closer. “Don’t.”

Trembling, she covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, God, Drew.What happened?”

“Hit and run.” A deliberate move, Drew thought. And if he were right, that meant he had bigger problems than an intrusive photographer or reporter. But he’d save that for the cops. “It’s . . . you don’t want to see him, Gillian, trust me.”

“Is he . . . ?”

“Dead?” Drew glanced back at that demolished body. Enough moonlight shone down for him to see a spreading pool of blood beneath the body. “That’d be my guess.” He could feel Gillian shaking, and it incensed him. “Hopefully the fucking camera is busted, too.”

“Oh, Drew.”

She sounded sad that he’d be so callous, but he didn’t care. He hated that anyone had upset her like this. And no way in hell would their relationship stay private after this.

“Sparks is on his way.” Dickey joined them and looked past Drew to the body. His eyes widened.“Daaaamn.”

God help them.

“Stay here, Dickey, do you hear me? Don’t touch anything. Don’t even get close to anything.”

By small degrees, Dickey got his attention off the photographer and onto Drew. He scowled. “I’m not an idiot, Drew. I’m not going to go poking around on the body or anything.”

“Glad to hear it. Watch for the cops and come get me if I’m not back when Sparks gets here.”

“Where are you going?”

Drew gave him a look. Dickey glanced at Gillian, huddled close to Drew’s side, and he made anOhexpression.

“Right. I’ll wait here.” He looked at the body again and winced. “Make it quick, though. Dead people give me the willies.”

Drew put his arm around Gillian. “Come on. You need to get some clothes on. At least some jeans, okay?”

As if only then realizing how little she wore, Gillian looked down at her bare legs and feet. She turned big eyes on Drew. “I forgot.”

“I know, it’s okay.” He smoothed her inky black hair. “But I think it aged Dickey a year, seeing you like this. Probably a good thing.”

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