“No, sir.”

“Maybe a glass of wine with dinner or something?”

“No, sir. Not me.”

“You were swerving all over the road.”

“Just tired.” As if to make his point, he brought one hand to his mouth and yawned. Miles could smell the booze on his breath as he exhaled. “Aw, come on… not even one little drink? All night long?”

“No, sir.”

“I need to see your license and registration.”

“Well… um… I don’t exactly have my license with me. Must have left it at home.”

Miles stepped back from the car, keeping his flashlight pointed at Sims. “I need you to step out of the car.”

Sims looked surprised that Miles didn’t believe him. “For what?”

“Just step out, please.”

“You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”

“C’mon, don’t make this any harder than you have to.” Sims seemed to debate what to do, though even for Sims, he was more drunk than usual. Instead of moving, he stared through the front windshield until Miles finally opened the door.

“C’mon.”

Though Miles held a hand out, Sims simply shook his head, as if trying to tell Miles that he was fine, that he could do this on his own. Getting out, though, proved more difficult than Sims anticipated. Instead of finding himself eye to eye with Miles Ryan, where he could plead for mercy, Sims found himself on the ground and passed out almost immediately.

Sims woke shivering the following morning, completely lost in his surroundings. All he knew was that he was behind bars, and the realization sent his mind spinning with a paralyzing fear. In bits and pieces, parts of the evening came back to him slowly. He remembered heading to the bar and drinking with friends… after that, everything was fairly foggy until he saw images of flashing lights. From the deep recesses of his mind, he also dragged out the fact that Miles Ryan had brought him in.

Sims, though, had more important things on his mind than what had happened the night before, and his thoughts centered primarily on the best way to avoid going back to jail. The very thought brought beads of perspiration to his forehead and upper lip.

He couldn’t go back. No way. He’d die there. He knew it with an absolute certainty.

But he was going back. Fear cleared his mind further, and for the next few minutes, all he could think about were the things he simply couldn’t face again. Jail.

Beatings.

Nightmares.

Shaking and vomiting.

Death.

He stood shakily from the bed and used the wall for balance. He staggered over to the bars, looking down the corridor. Three of the other cells were occupied, but no one seemed to know if Deputy Ryan was around. When he asked, he was told to shut up twice; the third person didn’t answer at all.

This is your life for the next two years.

He wasn’t naive enough to believe that they’d let him off, nor was he under any illusions that the public defender would do any good at all. His probation had been quite clear on the fact that any violation would result in mandatory reincarceration, and because of his previous record and the fact that he was driving, there wasn’t any way this would slide. Not a chance. Pleading for mercy wouldn’t work, pleading for forgiveness would be like spitting in the wind. He’d rot away in prison until his case came up, and then, when he lost, they’d throw away the key.

He brought his hand up to wipe his forehead and knew then he had to do something. Anything to avoid the fate that certainly awaited him. His mind began to click faster, hobbled and broken, but faster nonetheless. His only hope, the only thing that could help him, was to turn back the clock somehow and undo the arrest from the night before.

How the hell, though, was he going to do that?

You have information,a little voice answered.

Miles had just stepped out of the shower when he heard the phone ringing. Earlier, he’d made Jonah breakfast and seen him off to school, but instead of picking up around the house, he’d crawled back into bed, hoping to get another couple of hours of sleep. Though he hadn’t gotten much, he’d been able to doze for a little while. He would work from noon to eight, and he was looking forward to a relaxing evening after that. Jonah would be gone-he was going to the movies with Mark-and Sarah had offered to come by so they could spend some time together.

The phone call would change all that.

Miles grabbed a towel and fastened it around his waist, answering the phone just before the recorder picked up. Charlie was on the other end. After exchanging pleasantries, Charlie got right to the point.

“You better head on in now,” he said.

“Why? What’s up?”

“You brought Sims Addison in last night, didn’t you?”

“Yea, I did.”

“I can’t find the report.”

“Oh… about that. Another call came in and I had to rush back out again. I was coming in early anyway to finish it up. Is there a problem?” “I’m not sure yet. How soon can you be here?”

Miles wasn’t sure what to make of that, nor did he really understand the tone Charlie was using.

“I just got out of the shower. Half an hour, maybe?”

“When you get in, make sure you come and talk to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Can’t you at least tell me what the rush is all about?”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“Just get here as quick as you can. We’ll talk then.”

“So what’s all this about?” Miles asked. As soon as he’d arrived, Charlie had pulled him into the office and closed the door behind him. “Tell me about last night.”

“With Sims Addison, you mean?”

“Start from the beginning.”

“Um… it was a little after midnight, and I was parked down the road from Beckers-you know, the bar out near Vanceboro?”

Charlie nodded, crossing his arms.

“Just waiting around. It had been quiet, and I knew that the place was closing. A little after two in the morning, I saw someone leave the bar and I followed the car on a hunch, and it was a good thing I did. The car was weaving all over the road, so I pulled him over to give him a sobriety test. That’s when I found out it was Sims Addison. I could smell the booze on his breath as soon as I got close to the window. When I asked him to get out of the car, he fell. He passed out, so I put him in the back of the car and brought him here. By then, he’d revived enough so that I didn’t have to carry him to the cell, but I had to support him. I was going to do the paperwork, but I got another call and had to go out immediately. I didn’t get back until after my shift was over, and since I’m filling in for Tommie today, I figured I’d do the paperwork before my shift started.”

Charlie said nothing, but his eyes never left Miles. “Anything else?” “No. Is this about him being hurt or something? Like I said, I didn’t touch him-he fell. He was blasted, Charlie. Absolutely hammered-” “No, it’s not about that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Let me make certain first-he didn’t say anything to you at all last night.” Miles thought for a moment. “Not really. He knew who I was, so he called me by name…” He trailed off, trying to recall if there was anything else. “Was he acting strange?”

“It didn’t seem like it… just sort of out of it, you know?”

“Huh…,” Charlie mumbled, and he seemed lost in thought again.

“C’mon, Charlie, tell me what’s going on.”

Charlie sighed. “He says he wants to talk to you.”

Miles waited, knowing there was more coming.

“Only to you. He says he has information.”

Miles knew Sims’s history as well. “And?”

“He won’t talk to me. But he says that it’s a matter of life and death.”