No Cry For Help Read Online Free PDF Page B

went out for a drive,” said Crow. “Too much estrogen flowing at home, so I thought I’d see if Wallace was still awake and we could play a couple games of pool. He has a table set up in his garage.”
    “I saw that,” said Marvin. His voice had grown distant as Crow’s apparent usefulness faded.
    Crow heard the sliding door being pulled open and Marvin’s heavy footsteps slap the linoleum floor of Wallace’s kitchen. For some reason, it caused a shiver to run down his spine.
    Why was there blood on the floor?
    Were Alicia and the kids okay?
    Was Wallace?
    Crow chewed his bottom lip again. Marvin was fucking useless. He didn’t have any answers, just questions and Crow didn’t like the direction they were going.
    “If Wallace gets in touch, call me,” said Marvin. “It would be better for him if he comes to us rather than gets picked up on a warrant. We’re issuing that now.”
    “If he calls,” said Crow. “I’ll—”
    Crow hung up without finishing. It would have been another lie anyway. He rubbed his hands across his face while he processed what Marvin had told him. But the more he thought about it, the less he believed.
    Marvin may be family, but Wallace was his brother. Not through blood or marriage or drunken indiscretion. By choice. And the people you choose to bring into your life, to share your heart and your home, those were your real brothers and sisters. They became part of your soul, your spirit, and to doubt them was to doubt yourself.

CHAPTER 7
     
     
    Wallace cleared customs without incident, his emotions too numb to explain his living nightmare to the officer in charge. Where would he begin? How do you explain something that even the police believe is a lie?
    No, he had nothing to declare.
    Yes, it was a miserable night.
    Thanks, same to you.
    Back on the road, he pressed the accelerator hard, speeding northeast along the rural back roads of Surrey with a plan to connect with the TransCanada highway before turning west towards North Vancouver — and home.
    Home? The evocation brought him up short .
    Home didn’t exist without Alicia and his sons.
    Tears sprang to his eyes, a salty trickle that quickly became an unstoppable flood until a powerful tsunami of suppressed emotion broke over him all at once. Lethal debris churned in its wake, slashing at his soul and kicking his tortured mind with steel-toed boots.
    Wallace gasped, drowning beneath the suffocating weight.
    He couldn’t breathe.
    He couldn’t see.
    A painful realization: What was he doing?
    He had to go back.
    NOW!
    An agonized howl erupted from deep within his core as he cranked the wheel too aggressively for the van’s speed.
    The ungainly vehicle reacted — badly.
    Near-bald tires howled as the brakes screeched and smoked and caused something deep within the steering column to snap . The wheel was torn out of Wallace’s grasp as the rear tires lost their grip on the slick tarmac and the van slid out of control.
    When it hit the gravel shoulder, its top-heavy frame tilted precariously before two of the tires blew and forced the metal rims to chew across a narrow grassy verge.
    Wallace held on for dear life, praying to survive and wondering if he had foolishly wished this upon himself. A way to end the pain of losing everything that mattered.
    The van lost its battle to stay upright as it slammed into a deep trough. The passenger window exploded inward, spraying Wallace in a shower of blunt-edged fragments.
    He gasped as the glass was followed by a surge of cold, rank water.
    Then, it was over.
    The van settled onto its side in the water-logged ditch where its engine sputtered and died.
    Wallace hung precariously by his seatbelt, barely scratched despite the non-deployment of air bags. He punched the roof in frustration, bruising his knuckles, and struggled against his bonds. The buckle was jammed and the seatbelt cut deep into his waist every time he moved.
    To calm his racing pulse, Wallace closed his eyes, listening