Sleep No More

by Greg Iles

  “John? Is that Cole?”

  As they approached the well location, Waters saw Cole’s silver Lincoln Continental parked low in the shadow of a stand of pine trees. Dressed in jeans, a Polo shirt, and Red Wing boots, Cole strode away from the car with a long wooden stake in his hand. A red cloth fluttered from the stake like a knight’s battle standard.

  When Waters parked, Annelise leaped out yelling Cole’s name, but Waters took a moment to hug his wife. Things had been difficult for the three of them during the past weeks, though Lily was slowly thawing toward Cole, who remembered nothing of the time he spent under Mallory’s influence, and seemed to have no memory of yielding to “Lily’s” seduction. In public they were treated like disgraced citizens. The first couple of times Waters and Lily tried to dine out, the restaurants had fallen silent when they entered. When Cole heard this, he insisted on taking them to the Castle, the first-class restaurant behind Dunleith, and when the dining room fell silent and everyone stared, Cole hugged his wife to his side and bellowed, “What’s the matter? You people never seen class before?” Then he led them to the best table in the house.

  “I’m okay,” Lily promised. “Go talk to him.”

  Waters got out and went to greet Cole, who was already dancing a jitterbug with Annelise.

  “All right, Rock!” he cried. “You ready to stake this baby?”

  “More than ready. Where do you want to put it?”

  “You’re paying for the well. You decide where the stake goes.”

  Waters accepted the stake and surveyed the ground. Mostly sand and dirt, it stretched flat and unbroken to the broad brown expanse of river. At this point, it didn’t much matter where the stake went, give or take fifty feet.

  “Ana?”

  His daughter looked up from a puddle she had been studying twenty yards away.

  “You want to stake the well?”

  Her face lit up, and she ran to him and took the pointed stake from his hands. “Anywhere I want?”

  “Within reason. Anywhere in a fifty-foot circle of where we are now.”

  She scrunched up her face, then began marching away from the river like a conquistador with an imperial flag.

  Waters turned toward the Land Cruiser to check on Lily. She was standing by the hood, staring fixedly at the river. He was about to call to her when she lifted her right hand to the short locks of hair at her neck and twisted a strand tightly around her finger. His blood pressure dropped like a stone.

  “Hey, Lily!” Cole yelled. “What do you think about this well?”

  She looked vaguely toward them, but her eyes seemed blank, and the finger stayed in her hair.

  “She’s still not over the accident,” Cole said under his breath. “What do you think about this puppy, Rock? We gonna go big-time again?”

  His eyes locked on Lily’s twisting finger, Waters tried not to show his anxiety. “It’s a good play. But that oil is either there or it’s not. And it’s—”

  “It’s been there or not for two million years,” Cole finished. “Shit. Hey, Lily! This guy won’t give me a straight answer! Is this well going to hit or not?”

  At last his voice seemed to register. Lily dropped her hand and smiled brightly. “It’s going to be huge,” she called. “The river’s lucky for us!”

  As she walked toward them, Waters said a silent prayer and turned to see Annelise triumphantly drive the stake into the soft earth twenty paces away. She’s going to be all right, he told himself. Dear God, let her be all right. He raised his hands and applauded Annelise.

  His daughter’s face glowed with pride.

  acknowledgments

  Aaron Priest, gentleman and agent of the old school.

  Phyllis Grann and David Highfill.

  All the sales reps at Penguin Putnam, and particularly the old hands from Penguin USA, who did yeoman’s labor beginning in 1993 with Spandau Phoenix.

  Geoff Iles, for taking over all the work but the writing.

  Courtney Aldridge, for his expertise in geology and character motivation.

  Michael Henry, for his pragmatic advice and inspiration.

  Ed Stackler, for his editorial advice.

  Luis Mandoki, for teaching me about emotion and character.

  Dianne Brown, for an early read and her expertise in real estate.

  Jerry Iles, M.D., for consulting on every book at a moment’s notice.

  Betty Iles, for untold contributions over all the novels.

  Carrie, Madeline, and Mark, for doing without me all those hours and days.

  Miscellaneous contributions: Mike Worley, Armando T. Ricci, Ken Perry, M.D., John Holyoak, Johnny Waycaster, Simmons Iles, Lucy Childs, Lisa Erbach-Vance, and Elizabeth Shah-Hosseini.

  As always, all mistakes are mine.