In Too Deep

30

Walker finished a circuit around the gas station and garage. All was well. He walked past Stokes's Grocery, turned right and started to work his way back through town, following the usual pattern of his rounds.

It was three in the morning. Every window was dark, even the one on the second floor of Jones & Jones.

Fallon Jones and Isabella Valdez were still out of town. Walker was worried about them. The pressure in his head told him that they were in danger but there was nothing he could do except guard the office and Isabella's apartment. Jones would take good care of Isabella, he told himself. Jones was strong.

He walked past the inn and then went around behind Seaweed Harvest. Methodically he checked out the backyards, parking areas and garbage cans behind the shops. You never knew what you were going to find in the trash.

The pressure in his head rose suddenly when he went past the back of the Sunshine. He walked faster, letting the pressure guide him. He was on the road that led to the highway now. He rarely walked this far beyond the town limits. He searched the shadows on either side of the pavement with his special vision.

He spotted the dark, hulking outline of the SUV parked in the trees alongside the road. The headlights were off. As he watched, a man and a woman opened the doors and got out. They started walking through the trees, heading toward town. The man led the way, moving with an easy confidence that indicated he, too, possessed a special kind of vision. The woman, however, stumbled and came to a halt.

"Not so fast," she said. "I know you can see where you're going, but I can't."

"I'll guide you." The man moved back to take her hand.

Outsiders, Walker thought. They did not belong in the Cove.

He started toward the vehicle, walking very fast now.

"Shit," the man whispered. "Some guy is coming this way. Doesn't move like a hunter, but I think he's got night vision."

"Must be the one they call Walker. Everyone says he's a nut."

"Crazy or not, he's seen us. Want me to take him out?"

"Yes," the woman said. "Hurry. But make it clean. No blood. No evidence. We'll dump the body in the ocean off the Point. He's a known crazy. Everyone will think he jumped."

"A broken neck will fit that scenario."

The man plunged toward Walker, tearing through the trees like a big hunting cat intent on bringing down a deer.

Walker did not move. He knew his special vision would protect him.

The attacker pulled up sharply a couple of yards away. He turned on his heel, searching the trees.

"Lost him," he snarled. "The bastard is good. Never even saw him move."

Because I didn't move, Walker thought.

"Find him," the woman ordered. "He's seen both of us."

"He's not here, I'm telling you. He got away."

"A talent of some kind," the woman said. "All right, let's get out of here. I need to think."

They scrambled into the front seat of the SUV. The engine roared to life. The headlights came up. The heavy vehicle wheeled back onto the road and sped off, heading toward the highway.

Walker stood guard until dawn but the intruders did not return. When the sun rose, he walked back into town. The muffins were sitting on a plastic plate on top of the trash can lid behind the Sunshine, as usual. He could hear Marge rattling pots and pans in the kitchen.

He thought about talking to Marge. But it wouldn't do any good to tell her what had happened. She would not know what to do. No one else in town would know what to do, either. The only one who could handle the problem of the intruders was Fallon Jones.

There was no way around it, Walker concluded. He would have to wait until Jones returned to the Cove. He had overheard Marge tell one of the regulars that Fallon and Isabella were due back this morning. In the meantime, he would take his bath in the hot springs out at the Point and do his daily meditation. The waters of the hot springs always calmed him and his head always felt more clear after a couple of hours of meditation.

He could usually sleep after the bath and meditation ritual. By the time he woke up Fallon Jones would be back in town. Jones would know what to do.

AT NINE O'CLOCK, his inner agitation temporarily soothed by the waters of the spring and the meditation ritual, he walked back to his cabin to sleep for an hour or two.

The music of the waltz invaded his fevered dreams. He awoke, the anxiety slamming back as it always did. The pressure in his head was excruciating this time. He managed to get out of bed and stagger down the hall to the small living room.

The music grew louder and more relentless. He thought his skull might explode.

He collapsed on the rug. The violent energy of the waltz carried him off into the night.