Page 58 of Alex Cross Must Die

Sitting there, surrounded by storage bins, was a Dodge Shelby Charger, all black. It looked a little dusty but otherwise mint. Poe felt a flutter in his chest. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

“You sure it’s the right year?” he asked.

“Why do you think I called?” said Jacklyn.

Poe dropped his head for a moment and let out a sigh. He ran his palm gently over the hood and side panels. Not a scratch or a dent anywhere. Even the wheel covers looked intact. He wiped a clear patch in the window grime with two fingers and peered inside.

“Original upholstery?” he asked.

Jacklyn nodded. “Factory all the way.”

“Battery good?”

“Fresh from AutoZone.”

“Think she’ll fire up?”

Jacklyn tossed him a set of keys attached to an STP tag. She smiled. “For you, they usually do.”

Poe opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. He put the key into the slot, pumped the gas pedal twice, and turned the key to Start. There was a whine and a cough from under the hood, then a thin rattle. On the second try, Poe heard a low grumble, and then—amazingly—a loud roar. A plume of vapor burst from the exhaust pipe. The turbo engine vibrated with power. Poe glanced down at the odometer. Only 60,000 miles.

Plenty of life left in her.

CHAPTER 61

A HALF HOURlater, the mighty Dodge idled gently outside the barn. It had taken that long to clear the junk away around it so that Poe could drive the car out.

The rain had mostly stopped. A few scattered drops dotted the dust on the hood and roof. Poe leaned against the front side panel with the folded title in his hand. Jacklyn leaned next to him, the check in her pocket. They’d run out of things to say about the Charger’s gear ratio and engine specs.

Jacklyn shifted awkwardly against the car and stared out over the wet, empty field. Finally she spoke up again. “Seeing anybody?” she asked.

“Now and then,” Poe said softly.

“Still working?”

“Like a madman.”

“Still drinking?”

“On and off.”

Jacklyn nodded. She scraped a divot in the mud with the heel of her rain boot. “You can’t change what happened to Annie, Auguste. You can’t keep torturing yourself.”

Poe dipped his head. “So people keep telling me.”

“Dammit,” said Jacklyn, her voice cracking slightly. “I miss her too. Every day.” She turned and patted the car. “I thought maybe this would help.”

Poe pushed himself off the car. He put his arms around Jacklyn’s shoulders and squeezed her tight. “Thank you for finding this one, Jacklyn. It’s special.”

“If it helps you remember her,” she said, “it was worth the hunt.”

Poe opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He put the Shelby into gear and waved through the window. Jacklyn waved back.

The car swerved in the mud on the way to the main road, but once the tires bit into the pavement, it practically begged to race. Poe gave it more gas, feeling the surge from the powerful machine. The car was built the same year she was born. His lovely, lost Annie. The woman he was still having dreams about. And sometimes nightmares.

He glanced over toward the passenger seat and imagined her there, window open, laughing into the wind, begging him to go faster.

God, she would have loved it.

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