Firewalker Read Online Free

nice guy, but he was also the biggest gossip in Hopi County. If I told Fremont the interesting tidbit about Jones and Maya, it would be all over Magellan and Flat Mesa by morning, and Nash knew it.
    “Don’t bluff me, Janet.”
    “I’m perfectly serious. I need you. You do this for me, and your secret stays safe.” I had no intention in the world of embarrassing Maya, but damn it, I was desperate.
    “I don’t have time to go traipsing through the desert,” he tried.
    “Not traipsing. It’s a straight shot through Las Vegas, big wide freeways and highways the whole route.” At least until we got to Death Valley itself. Then we’d have to search the knife-sharp mountains to find the tunnel Pamela had mentioned. I knew that once I got there, the spell would pull me to Mick’s precise location, but I didn’t think Nash wanted to hear that I had no idea where to start looking. “It’s five or six hours there. We can be back by morning.”
    He gave me a severe look. “I can’t leave right this minute. Maybe not until seven, or even eight. I have a job to do.”
    Oh, for fuck’s sake. What was the use of being sheriff of the whole place if you couldn’t come and go as you pleased? “There’s that much crime around here that you can’t take an afternoon off?”
    “You want me to come with you, or not?”
    I held up my hands. “Fine. Fine. You take your time.”
    “Go back to Magellan. I’ll pick you up when I’m finished here.” Nash opened his folder again and looked determinedly at it. Discussion over.
    “You’ll be driving?” I asked.
    “I’m not riding all the way to Death Valley on the back of your motorcycle. Besides, we’ll need a way to bring Mick back with us.”
    He was going to do it. My heart hammered in relief. I wanted to lunge across the desk and hug him, but I suspected that if I did, he’d break out the handcuffs. “Good. I’ll be waiting.”
    I didn’t miss his glare as I hurried out.

    Nash showed up in front of the hotel at seven-thirty, and I was packed and ready. It was already dark, stars pricking the clear September sky. I’d been chafing with impatience and the spell, driving Cassandra crazy. She waved me off in obvious relief but told me to keep in touch—through the magic mirror if cell phones were out of range.
    Nash drove his new truck, a shining black F-250 with a cab and a half and tinted windows. It looked freshly washed and polished, as though he’d readied it specifically for the trip. I tossed my duffel bag behind the front seat and climbed inside, sighing with relief that we were finally going. Nash said nothing, only waited until I’d buckled my seat belt before he drove carefully out of the parking lot, far too slowly for my taste. But at least we were off.
    “Can’t you go any faster?” I asked, as Nash drove up the highway at a sedate fifty miles an hour.
    “No,” Nash answered without looking at me.
    He did the speed limit all the way to Winslow, and I was clenching my fists and biting the side of my mouth by the time we finally made it onto the I-40 heading west. Traffic picked up as we approached the Flagstaff exits, the town twinkling under the dark bulk of its volcanic mountains. The air grew chill, ponderosa pines soaring against the night sky. After Flagstaff, traffic died off again, and we rode down from green hills to rolling desert mountains.
    Nash didn’t talk. He didn’t listen to the radio; he didn’t offer conversation; he just drove. Eyes on the road, oncoming headlights glittering in his eyes, the red glow of the dashboard lighting his face. He never surpassed the speed limit—of course not—but then, he never slowed down, either.
    I was a person who liked silence; my dad and I had enjoyed driving for hours through empty lands without words. But with Nash, the silence was strained. It took on its own personality—like a hostile relative who glared at a room until the happy chatter died away. It pressed on you, that silence,