But Andy loved to go fast.

He glanced back at Tres. Arthur Thorndike III-a family name, the poor bastard, so upon his arrival in Austin ten years before he had quickly acquired the nickname Tres, as in uno, dos, tres — lagged Andy by a dozen bike lengths and only that much because Andy was taking it easy on him… and because Tres never tempted fate. Tres Thorndike had (a) a trust fund, (b) a gorgeous girlfriend, and (c) a Beemer with personalized license plates that read TRES; consequently, he didn't want to die at twenty-nine. Andy had (d) none of the above, so death before thirty was of no concern.

They were biking the back trails in the Barton Creek Greenbelt, a wilderness preserve on the western outskirts of Austin. The trails tracked Barton Creek from where the crystal-clear spring water bubbled out of the Edwards Aquifer at the base of the Balcones Escarpment east for eight miles through Sculpture Falls, Twin Falls, Three Falls, Airman's Cave, and Campbell's Hole. But while the creek coursed along a gentle path deep down in the canyons, the back trails climbed precarious ledges high on the limestone face of the escarpment and cut through dense woods along treacherous paths that featured blind curves and sudden drops and dangerous obstacles and countless other opportunities to kill yourself.

"Andy, you're gonna kill yourself!"

Possibly. But at least he'd die knowing he had already made it to heaven.

Austin, Texas, was known for its natural beauty, and compared to Dallas or Houston, it was the Garden of Eden; but twenty-five years of unrestrained development had devoured almost all that was nature in the city. All but the greenbelt. The eight hundred acres offered an escape from the crowds and concrete, the noise and exhaust of a million automobiles, and the stifling August heat. Here there were grass and trees, water and waterfalls, clean air and a cool breeze. Only the sounds of the wind whistling through the trees and the water rippling over rocks below broke the silence.