Free Dead Heat by James Patterson

withoutstopping to think. There’s a short strip of rough-hewn earth beyond the bamboo, and after that, it’s a sheer drop. Lewis is stock-still, perched right on the edge. He’s contemplating the horizon, his knees drawn close to his chest, his thin arms pulling tight across his shins.
    ‘Steve?’
    I move slowly towards him, but he tenses and pushes out towards the edge as I approach.
    ‘Stay the fuck where you are,’ he says. ‘Stay the fuck where you are!’
    He turns and looks me in the eye and I know, without doubt, that he’s not bluffing.

CHAPTER 20
    I SIT DOWN on the floor a few yards from Lewis. It feels like the right thing to do. His eyes flick between me and the terrifying drop. For a while I say nothing. I want the dust of my arrival to settle, before I start in on him.
    ‘I love this view,’ I say eventually.
    There’s no reaction, but I know he’s listening.
    ‘See the church right on the horizon?’
    His head turns a fraction of a degree towards me, his eyes wide and scared.
    ‘I married my wife there. Forty years ago. You think you’re scared sitting up here? You should have seen me at the front of that church. I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared. You know why? Because she was perfect. She still is. I couldn’t believe she’d get all the way down the aisle without changing her mind.’
    Lewis turns to look at me, his hair blowing in the wind. His cheeks are tear-stained, and his watery blue eyes flick between me and the church on the horizon.
    ‘You still together?’
    I smile.
    ‘We are. I still don’t know what she sees in me.’
    Lewis smiles weakly. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.
    ‘Am I safe?’
    It strikes me as an odd question from a guy who has climbed over a safety barrier towards a sheer drop, but I nod earnestly. Reassured, he turns back to the view. The wind drops and the heat picks up, and Lewis does nothing. I loosen my collar as the still air begins to stifle me. After a long minute, the sense of time passing becomes too much for me and I force the issue by edging closer. I realise immediately that it’s a mistake. Too much, too soon. He shuffles further out, and some of the rock beneath him gives way. He scrabbles backwards, clawing frantically at the rock and the dirt, but gravity is against him and he slides hopelessly over the edge until his foot catches in a tree root. He kicks out with his powerful legs and is pushed back onto solid ground. I can see his chest pumping and the veins in his neck pulsing with adrenalin-fuelled blood. I’ve learned something: he doesn’t want to die. That’s something I can work with.
    ‘Are you on drugs, Steve?’
    ‘No.’
    He looks confused by the question.
    ‘You’re the fifth athlete to act like this,’ I tell him. ‘The other four are dead.’
    Two hawks circle on the thermals a few yards in front of us, scanning the ground far below them.
    ‘I know about the others.’
    ‘You know what, exactly?’
    Lewis says nothing, his taut features struggling to settle on a single emotion. We are alone on the ledge, apart from the hawks, and the gods. Steve Lewis has a secret, and only I can unlock it.
    ‘When I was a rookie cop,’ I tell him, ‘I used to feel a hell of a lot of pressure. Back then, Rio was even more dangerous than it is today, if you can believe that? I lost friends, and I beat myself up for not saving them. I felt a hell of a lot of pressure, you understand?’
    Lewis raises his head just enough to acknowledge what I’m saying.
    ‘You know what I did? I used to cry in the shower, where nobody could see me and nobody could judge me. I’m not ashamed to admit it.’
    The cyclist turns his head towards me and our eyes lock.
    ‘Pressure is a button,’ he says.
    ‘Sure,’ I tell him. ‘But you can switch it on or off. That’s your choice.’
    Lewis visibly relaxes, his back slumping slightly and his breathing slowing. I smile, because I get the feeling those few words just saved Steve