Accidents Waiting to Happen

“I think someone wants me dead.” Kate started to

challenge his wild accusation, but he knocked her protest aside. “Listen, I came home from work and I was picked up by some guy called Tom Jenks, who said he was a cop.”

Kate looked puzzled. “Who said he was a cop?”

“Yeah, he said he needed me to go with him and I

did. After a few minutes, I realized he wasn’t—the car, his manner, lots of things didn’t ring true. When I tried to get away, he pulled a gun and told me I was worth money to someone, but only if I was dead. He took me to the old factories over by the rail lines.”

Kate slapped a hand over her mouth. “That was

him, wasn’t it? The murdered man on the news. You killed him?”

Josh shook his head. “No, I didn’t. He was going to kill me and someone else killed him.”

“Who?”

“James Mitchell. He ran him down, then shot him

and must have burnt him and the car. I was out of there once the killing started.”

“But I thought Mitchell was trying to kill you, not rescue you.”

“That’s what I thought, but I really don’t have a clue now.”

Kate wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Josh,

what have you got us into?”

The word us stung. His actions, his deceits, his mistakes, had dragged his family and friends into a sinkhole with no bottom. It was his fault and his alone, but he’d affected everyone close to him. His only comfort was she still thought of them as an us, not as individuals.

He hoped he could keep it that way.

“I don’t know.” He pulled her back. “But I think it’s connected to Margaret Macey, the woman who got the threatening phone call. Someone wants both of us

dead. I’m going to see her.”

“No, Josh.”

“But I’ve got to. I might be able to save her and she might be able to explain to me what’s going on.”

“No, Josh. That’s what the police are for.”

“But they won’t be interested until I wind up facedown in an alley with a bullet in my head.”

Kate flinched.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“Josh, I’m scared. I don’t want you leaving this

house tonight. The more involved you get, the more things go wrong. People are dying. I don’t want you to be next.”

“I can’t just do nothing. I have to go.”

“If you go, I won’t be here when you come back. I mean it.”

The professional lounged on the bed in his motel room with pillows propped behind his back, the remote control in one hand and a cellular phone in the other. He watched his handiwork, the cremated car and the mutilated body, on the television. Not bad for a spur of the moment effort, he thought to himself. It was him they were talking about. He dialed the number and the

phone was answered immediately.

“Dexter Tyrell.”

He hit the mute button on the TV, but continued to watch the newscast.

“You dumb fuck, Tyrell.” The professional was

cool, showing no hint of the anger boiling up inside.

Feebly, Tyrell muttered something in the way of ignorance.

The

professional chopped him off short. “Don’t play

the innocent. You know why I’m calling. You sent a second man in to finish my work. Didn’t you?”

Silence filled the telephone line except for a roaring hiss that made Tyrell sound like he was in a wind tunnel.

“Yes, I did,” Tyrell admitted.

“I’m glad you admitted it. It shows strength of character when a man can admit his mistakes. Don’t you

think?”

The television report went back to the studio and the program moved on to other news. Disinterested in the mute talking head, the professional switched the TV off.

“How is he?”

“Funny you should ask. I’ve just been watching the evening news. Your man is one of the top stories tonight.”

“Is

he dead?”

“Yes, he is. Don’t worry, it’ll be some time before they can make a positive ID.”

The professional grinned. He thought he heard an

audible wince through the phone line.

“It was lucky I was there or he would have robbed me of my fee.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was about to kill Josh Michaels, but luckily, I interceded.”

“You stopped him?”

“Of course, Mr. Tyrell. It was my assignment. Mine to carry out. Mine to finish.”

“But Michaels will go to the police,” Tyrell said, his voice rising in pitch.

“No, I shouldn’t think so. It wouldn’t be in his best interests.”

Tyrell paused before answering. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan? I’ll do as I was assigned. Within the next forty-eight hours, your request will be fulfilled. I’ll confirm my plans tomorrow. And then … we should discuss terms. A new arrangement after your breach of

trust.”

“Of course.”

“I think we should meet face-to-face.” The professional made the simple request sound ominous.

“Let… let me know when you… you’re ready,”

Tyrell stammered.

“Good night, Mr. Tyrell.” The professional hung up.

The professional switched the television back on and flicked through the stations for something to watch other than news.

He knew Tyrell would be panicking over whether

the man he hired would kill him after the assignment was complete. He could almost smell the businessman’s fear. He stopped the channel surfing when he came to PBS. A cheetah had just brought down a gazelle and was reveling in its new kill.

Gently, Dexter Tyrell put the cell phone on the passenger seat next to him. His focus drifted from the other cars and the road ahead to the phone call he’d received from the professional. In the years he’d dealt with the killer, he’d never believed their relationship would take a turn for the worse. But it had now. He found it difficult to think straight. For the first time, he hoped it would take some time before Josh Michaels and Margaret Macey were dead. He tightened his grip on the

steering wheel.

Involuntarily, his foot eased down on the gas pedal.

In hindsight, which was always twenty-twenty, he’d made a mistake bringing in another contractor. Hiring Smith seemed like a good idea at the time and he’d come highly recommended, but never for one minute did Tyrell think he’d be killed two days after meeting him. He shot out of the righthand lane and blew by a Greyhound bus at eighty-five.

Tyrell’s Mercedes continued to increase in speed. He considered the situation. If the professional could take out a man like Smith, how difficult would it be for the hit man to take care of him? The answer: it wouldn’t be hard. Different thoughts, scenarios and questions flashed inside his head like icons on a slot machine.

Maybe he was jumping to conclusions assuming the

professional would want to kill him. He was a businessman as well. It didn’t make good business sense to

bite the hand that fed him or to tear it off in spite.

Tyrell was deluding himself and he knew it. He just wished he knew what the professional was thinking. In the financial world, people were as easy to read as a book, but the professional was written in a different language. He pressed the accelerator pedal into the carpet.

The siren wail made Tyrell jump, waking him from

his living nightmare. The police cruiser’s blue and red lights flashed excitedly in his rearview mirror. He looked down at the speedometer. It read 105.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Kate’s threat was a kick in the guts. Josh had never thought for one moment that Kate would consider leaving him. But there it was—if he went to see Margaret Macey, Kate would leave him. So he did as he was told and stayed home, threw his clothes in the hamper, had a bath and put the eventful day behind him.

But that was yesterday. Today was a whole new day.

Kate was at work, Abby was at school, and he was at home, alone. Kate would never know if he slipped out of the house and visited the old woman. Something twisted the blade of guilt between his ribs. He’d been deceitful to Kate before and the deceit had come back to take its revenge. But he had to find out what Margaret Macey knew about this conspiracy and do it without being caught. He knew the price and consequences

of failure. If he screwed up, he lost Kate and Abby—he lost everything. He was gambling with higher and

higher stakes. He raised the bet one more time.

Josh guided his car down the street and brought it to a halt outside Margaret Macey’s house. He remembered the address Bob had told him, though he knew his

friend wouldn’t approve of what he was doing. From the appearance of the street, he couldn’t imagine this woman was worth murdering. He crossed over to the other side of the street and went up to the front door.

He rang the doorbell. It didn’t work. Josh wasn’t surprised.

He knocked on the door. No one answered.

“Shit,” he murmured. He hoped she was in. He didn’t want to hang around all day waiting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, a blur darting back from the window. He knocked again.

“Hello,” he said.

No one responded.

“Mrs. Macey? Margaret Macey? I know you’re in

there. I saw you moving.” Josh had his head close to the door and spoke loudly.

Realizing how sinister he must sound, Josh glanced behind him into the street. He hoped the neighbors hadn’t heard, put two and two together and come up with five. The last thing he wanted was to give the cops another nail for his coffin. He saw no one.

Whoever was in the house didn’t move or make a

sound.

“Margaret—can I call you Margaret? I’m here as a friend. I need to speak to you. It’s about the insurance company, Pinnacle Investments.”

“Go away,” she shrieked.

Shocked by the sudden outburst, Josh’s head

snapped back from the door and he took one step back.

He peered through the grubby window to the right of the door and only made out shapes in the gloom.

“Mrs. Macey, I’m here to help.” A tinge of resignation clouded his resolve. This isn’t going to be easy, he thought.

Ever since the pizza boy incident, Margaret Macey had made herself a recluse. The evil man on the phone had called twice since then. Now, she feared the phone, the outside and people. She’d never seen her tormentor and he could be anyone. He could be the man standing

next to her at the bus stop, the man who packed her groceries at Albertson’s or the man at the front door right now.

The police had told her they’d spoken to a suspect.

By going to the cops had she aggravated the wound, only making the situation worse for herself? Maybe if she told the cops to drop the investigation he would leave her alone. She would do anything for peace. The man at the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Margaret, can’t we talk? I think the same man who is trying to hurt you is trying to hurt me,” he said, his words muffled by the windowpane.

He sounded convincing to Margaret, but he’d sounded convincing when he called the first time. He’d sounded just like a salesman, all bright persona and fake interest in her welfare, but he’d turned into a monster. He could be doing the same now, offering her something sweet before the bad medicine came.

“Please, leave me alone. I know you’re him. You’re the one on the phone calling at all hours,” she said.

He started talking to her again, but she didn’t hear him. Sweat broke out across her body. For a moment, objects became shapes, losing their integrity as solid forms. As Margaret’s heart beat faster and faster, a tingle crept along her arm, numbing it. She needed her

medication.

“Please, let me in, Margaret,” he pleaded. “I know I can help you and you can help me.”

“Please, don’t kill me,” Margaret said.

“I’m not trying to. Please, don’t think that.”

Margaret picked herself up from behind the armchair.

She’d ducked behind it after she glanced at the

visitor at the door. Getting up was easier said than done. The strength needed to do so was an effort at the best of times; currently, it was a near impossibility. Using supreme effort and her one good arm she pushed

herself to her feet and tottered like a babe for a moment before gaining her balance.

“Margaret, I can see you. Please let me in. I only need a few minutes of your time.” He sounded excited by the sighting and charged with new vigor.

She ignored him in favor of her medication. The

stuff was here somewhere. The bathroom cabinet was full of nothing, filled with medication for coughs and colds, Band-Aids and toothpaste, although it was hard to see anything as her vision faded to primary colors, then back to Technicolor. She grappled with the cabinet’s contents, which went tumbling into the sink below.

The pills weren’t there. She couldn’t remember

where she’d last seen her drugs. Why can’t I think straight?

In her bedroom, the nightstand proved as fruitful as the bathroom. She stumbled back to the lounge with the ever-present visitor still whining at the window. He was telling her something, but she didn’t care what he had to say.

Margaret moaned the feeble utterance of a creature without a tongue. She didn’t feel good. Something bad was happening. It felt as if her heart had been folded into a shape it was never meant to be in. The pain in her chest was excruciating and the tingle in her arm was ablaze; millions of hot needles pressed into her flesh at once. She fought to take a breath, but the air stopped in her mouth. Breathing, something she’d done all her life, was now an alien concept.

Standing became too much. Her legs buckled and she crashed to the floor. She struck the telephone table, sending it and the phone smashing to the floor in sympathy.

She hardly registered the impact on her body. It

no longer fed the information back to her brain.

Margaret lay on her back. The visitor rattled the door and tried to force it. A recorded female voice from the telephone told her to hang up and try again or dial the operator. Margaret wasn’t compliant to the request.

“I’m coming round the back,” he called.

She could hear it—the rustling of his movements, the creak of the screen door, the attempts on the door before the tinkle of shattering glass cascading onto the vinyl flooring. She saw the figure come for her, the Michelin man, crudely shaped without definition.

Even now, she still couldn’t identify the man coming to kill her.

Margaret Macey was in bad shape. Josh dropped to his knees at her side. He propped her up on his lap. Her eyes looked at him, but didn’t focus.

“Is there anything I can do? What can I do? Tell me, Margaret.”

“You got what you wanted. I’m dying,” she said.

“No. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted to talk to you about the man who’s been calling you. He’s been pursuing me as well.”

The old woman stared back blankly. She wasn’t going to tell him anything now. She was the color of the dead and breathing erratically. She needed a hospital.

But that was a problem. Suspected of frightening this woman, he’d now broken into her home and given her a heart attack. It wouldn’t look good for him with the cops. He cursed.

“Margaret, do you take any medicine for your condition?”

The woman didn’t seem to hear him. “Do you

have any pills or shots? Is there anyone I can contact?”

The woman in Josh’s arms stiffened. Her face contorted in pain. Tightly, her boney hands balled up.

White knots at every joint threatened to break through the paper-thin skin. He cradled the old woman like she was a bomb with the seconds disappearing off the

clock. Flecks of spittle sprayed over her chin.

Josh didn’t know what to do for her.

Her last word came out as an accusation. “Killer,”

she said.

She gurgled like a blocked drain before her body relaxed and became still. Josh knew he was holding a

dead woman.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Oh, Christ. Oh, no. Please, don’t be dead.” He

clutched the frail old woman to his chest and rocked back and forth. He thought fast. What could he do?

What should he do? Gently, he placed her body on the floor and started CPR. He had his CPR certificate, but he couldn’t remember a damn thing now. He hoped to God he was doing it right. He tilted the woman’s neck back, pinched her nose and breathed into her mouth.

Disgusted, Josh dismissed the unpleasantness of her spittle on his mouth. After several attempts, he stopped.

She was dead and Josh gave up.

He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t bear to look at the blank, staring eyes of the dead woman and brushed a hand over the lids, closing them. On hands and knees, he moved away from the corpse and slumped against the threadbare couch.

Josh noticed the monotonous tone of the recorded

voice coming from the discarded telephone. He went over to the handset to call 911. With his hand about to touch the receiver, he hesitated and retracted it. He realized what he’d done.

Guilty. Josh was guilty of the crime the police had accused him of, whether it was intentional or not. He’d

scared Margaret Macey into a heart attack and she was dead. The cops didn’t need a smoking gun to convict on this one. Josh had given them all they needed. He should have done what Kate had told him and not gone.

Here was another mistake to add to the growing pile.

Josh stared blankly at the dead woman in front of him. He’d come to help this woman and himself, but instead of helping her, he’d killed her. How long would she be on his conscience? As long as Mark Keegan would? Another innocent person had died because

of him.

After several minutes, Josh got up and retraced his steps, making sure to wipe clean anything that he may have touched. He knew it was wrong to leave Margaret Macey’s body without calling an ambulance, but he didn’t want to be the one they found with the body.

Someone would notice the broken door before long.

Josh crept along the side of the house and checked the street for witnesses before returning to his car. The street was clear. Josh ran to his car, got in and accelerated away.

The professional recognized the figure getting into the car as he pulled away. What is Michaels doing at Margaret’s? His targets had no reason to be talking to each other; had someone made a connection? Michaels

probably had, but it was too late for them.

As he watched Josh’s car disappear onto another

street, the professional dialed the old woman’s number.

He got the busy signal.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. What were his little people up to? No good to be sure, he decided. The professional hung up and pocketed the cellular. He approached Margaret Macey’s house and knocked gently

on the door, but received no answer. His visit to the rear of the house gave rise to further curiosity. The back door was broken. Glass was scattered over the kitchen floor. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, the professional entered the house, ensuring he didn’t leave any prints behind.

Moments after entering the house, he spotted feet sticking out from behind the armchair in the sitting room, one shoe hanging off the left foot. The professional closed in on the unmoving body. He knew who

he’d find. His target lay on her back—still, quiet, and very obviously dead. He knelt down by her side and placed two fingers over the vein in her neck. He felt no pulse.

The professional laughed out loud. He just got the joke. One of his targets had accidentally taken out the other. Days like these were very rare in his profession.

He wished he could share this moment with someone.

“Josh, I would split the money with you if I didn’t have to kill you,” he said to the room.

The killer wandered into the bathroom and shook his head at the mess of items scattered over the sink and floor. He removed a baggie from his shirt pocket with a bottle of pills inside; without touching the contents, he dropped the bottle into the sink with the rest of the junk.

“You can have those back, Margaret. I bet you’ve

been looking for them,” he said.

He left the way he came. And like Josh Michaels, he swiftly drove off, unseen by the neighbors.

The professional stopped at a strip mall with a pay phone and called 911.

“What is the nature of your emergency?” the female dispatcher asked.

“I want to report a breakin, possibly violent,” the professional said, sounding suitably distressed.

“What can you tell me, sir?” The dispatcher’s level tone had a mannish quality to it.

“I heard breaking glass and shouting, then I saw a man leave and get into a blue sedan. And I know an old lady lives alone in that house.” An Oscar winning performance in a telephone role, he thought.

“Do you have an address, sir?”

The professional reeled off Margaret Macey’s address.

“Can I have your name, sir?”

The professional dropped two fingers on the hook and broke the connection. Smiling, he got into the Taurus.

He had final preparations to make for Josh Michaels’s demise.

Bob Deuce’s desk, as messy as ever, was awash with paper, but the paperwork wasn’t related to his clients.

The debris was his research on Pinnacle Investments.

Since returning to the office after the funeral the day before, he’d immersed himself in the company’s history.

After calling friends in the industry, reading reports and financial data, he felt he had it all. What he’d discovered was amazing; no, not amazing, fantastic. It may have seemed wild, but what he believed to be the truth wasn’t impossible. If it hadn’t been for the tragic events that occurred in the last few weeks, he wouldn’t have believed it.

His phone rang from under a wad of papers and he

waded through the mess to find it. “Yes, Maria?”

“Call on line one for you, Bob,” she said.

He pressed the glowing key on the keypad. “Bob

Deuce, how can—”

“Bob, it’s me.”

“Josh, what’s up?” The nervous edge to Josh’s voice frightened Bob. Every time his friend called him, some thing

bad had happened. He dreaded the new turn of

events.

“Have you got time to see me?”

“Yes, I suppose. Where are you?” Bob leaned over

his desk on his elbows, his body stiff with fear.

“I’m outside on one of the pay phones.”

“Here? Josh, what’s this about?”

“I’ll be waiting by the phones.”

Bob sighed. “Okay.”

The line went dead.

“Damn it,” he said to himself, with the phone still to his ear.

He replaced the receiver. This was more bad news

and he knew it. He went into the office reception area.

Maria looked up from her computer and smiled.

“I’m just going to get myself a coffee and something to eat. I’ve got the munchies.” He beamed a big smile and placed a hand on the door.

“Bob, you’ll be going home in a couple of hours,

can’t you wait?” Maria was still smiling, but she deplored his overeating.

“Gotta keep the wheels of the food industry turning.

Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you,” she said and shook her head in

dismay.

Once Bob passed out of view of Maria, he dropped

the act. The grin slipped into a frown. He trotted across the shopping center parking lot to where Josh stood by the pay phones.

“Bob, two people are dead,” Josh said.

Bob swallowed the shock instantly. It isn’t healthy being Josh Michaels’s friend, he thought. “Not here.”

He guided Josh to a coffee shop on the corner of

the mini mall next to the fitness center. He sat Josh down on the plastic garden furniture in the farthest corner of the terrace, away from prying ears. Only a middle-aged woman in sunglasses reading a newspaper sat outside, but she was on the other corner of the terrace. Bob went into the coffee shop and returned with two coffees.

Bob hunched over his coffee and the small table.

“Who’s dead? What’s happened?”

“I went to see Margaret Macey and I killed her,”

Josh said.

The news slammed into Bob, leaving him bewildered.

He couldn’t quite comprehend what he was

hearing.

Josh brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed it.

He stared wide-eyed through the table as he rambled.

“She wouldn’t answer her damned door so I called to her through the window and she had a heart attack or something. I broke into the house to give her CPR, but it didn’t work. She died.”

“Josh, listen to me. You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack. You’re being stupid.”

“She was so scared someone was going to kill her.

Those phone calls must have been a nightmare.”

“Look at me, Josh.”

He looked up.

“You didn’t kill her. She had a heart attack.” Josh attempted to interrupt him, but Bob raised a hand. “She

had a heart attack. She would have had it with or without you.”

“Yeah, but it was me who caused it.”

“Yeah, it could have been the mailman, telephone repairman or the Jehovah’s witnesses. You were the unlucky SOB who triggered it.” Bob placed a supportive

hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Okay?”

Slowly, Josh nodded.

“Did you call for an ambulance?”

“No.”

“Christ, Josh, you can’t leave her there.”

“But I can’t be seen at her home.”

Bob hated to admit it, but Josh was right. The cops would be suspicious if he was found at the scene of her death. He understood Josh’s logic. “All right, I’ll drop by. If she’s still there then I’ll make a nine-one-one call.”

“Thanks.”

“You said two people were dead.”

Bob surprised himself. A month ago he wouldn’t

have been so causal about dead people with whom he was personally involved. Now, it was almost a way of life and he treated it as such. He didn’t like that.

“I came home yesterday afternoon and I was picked up by this cop. But he wasn’t a cop. He was about to kill me when James Mitchell ran him down and shot him.”

From Josh’s brief description, Bob found it hard to take in the information. He got Josh to expand on his account.

“James Mitchell. I don’t get it.” After a moment it dawned on him. “Are you talking about this guy they found with his face shot off?”

Josh nodded.

“Jesus, I really don’t get it. Why did Mitchell save you after trying to kill you?” This mystified Bob. It didn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand it myself, but I think if I hadn’t got my ass out of there, there would have been two bodies found.”

“Go home, Josh, and stay there. I need time to

think.” Bob paused. “I’ll pick you up and take you to breakfast. I’ve found some things out about Pinnacle Investments. I think I can make some sense of this mess and you might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

“Kate said she’d leave me if I went to Margaret

Macey’s.”

“Go home,” Bob said sternly. “Put on a good show

and don’t tell Kate. You’re not going to lose that woman. She’s the best thing to ever happen to you. I won’t let you screw it up.”

“He’ll be coming for me next and there’s nothing to stop him.”

“I know.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The diner was busy for a Saturday morning, but not so busy that Josh and Bob couldn’t select their table. Bob picked the corner booth and a hostess showed them to it. They slid into the booth and she gave them each a large laminated menu. Bob put down the manila envelope he’d brought with him.

“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said and left.

Josh waited until she was out of earshot. “Did you go to her house?”

“Yeah, when I got there they were loading her into the ambulance,” Bob said.

Josh sighed with relief.

“Don’t relax too much. That means someone either

found her or saw something that made them call it in.”

Josh frowned; Bob was right. Who had called the

ambulance? He hoped no one could identify him or his car. He started to speak, but saw the approaching waitress.

She was a plain-looking woman in her late forties, tall, but her dyed brown hair scooped up into a pineapple sprout made her look even taller. She seemed like a seasoned waitress—sharp and straight talking with asbestos hands for easy handling of hot plates and jugs of coffee without the aid of mitts.

“My name’s Laura and I’ll be your server today. What can I get you gents this morning?” A Southern twang scrubbed thin by years of living in California’s melting pot tinged her speech. “Coffee to start, maybe?”

Bob and Josh agreed and she filled the mugs already present on the table. Both men quickly scanned their menus. Bob went for a sausage skillet with home fries and eggs sunny side up. Josh ordered the scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast. The waitress thanked them with a smile and relieved them of the cumbersome menus.

They sat in silence drinking coffee and pondering Josh’s problems. Neither knew what to say or where to start. Laura returned with their breakfasts. After several moments of eating, Bob spoke.

“How’s Kate? Does she suspect anything?” Bob

asked.

“No,” Josh replied.

The waitress returned with a steaming pot of coffee and overheard a snippet of the two men’s conversation.

“Refill?” she asked sternly.

“Yes, please.” Bob saw the hate smoldering in her eyes. “Wedding anniversaries. We men can never plan surprises. It’s a very fine line we walk, as husbands.”

The extinguished hateful look became a warm smile.

“How many is it, darlin’?” she asked Josh.

Momentarily confused, he picked up the thread.

“Tenth,” he said.

She tapped Josh on the shoulder and wrinkled her

nose at Bob. “Still a kid. He’s still got lots to learn.”

Bob laughed. “That he has.”

The waitress topped off their mugs and moved to another table in need of service.

Bob explained what he’d found out about Pinnacle Investments.

His discovery was punctuated with mouthfuls

of food snatched from the plate in front of him.

“The first thing you need to understand is you didn’t cash in your life insurance policy.” Bob swallowed the mouthful of food and waved a fork at Josh.

“But that’s what you did for me, isn’t it?”

“No. I made a viatical settlement. That basically means Pinnacle Investments gave you a cash settlement that was a percentage of the face value of your policy.

They continue paying your monthly contributions until you die.”

“Why do that? Why continue paying my contributions?”

“Because

when you’re dead, they collect on the policy.

That’s how viatical settlements work. In effect, you made them the beneficiary of your life insurance.”

Josh picked up his coffee. “So why did you do that and not cash in the policy?”

“Because you wanted a lot of money quick. If I surrendered your policy, I would have gotten next to nothing, a few thousand at best. But by making a viatical

settlement, I got you a serious slice of your policy back.”

“The fifty-seven thousand.”

“Right, which is about ten percent of the face value.

And that’s still a poor payout. If you were terminally ill or very old, you would have received a cut of up to seventy-five percent of the face value.”

“Jeez, that would have been well into six figures.”

Wide-eyed, Josh was astonished by the money that

could be raked in.

“Yeah, that’s what got viatical companies into

trouble—the large up front payoffs. Viatical settlements became big business at the beginning of the

nineties when people saw easy money could be made.”

“How?”

“AIDS. Many medical insurance polices wouldn’t

cover AIDS patients, so a lot of people would have become destitute if a number of companies hadn’t

popped up giving them a large cut of their life policy while they were still alive. Bingo—a lot of very sick people lived out their last days worry and debt free.

And viatical companies got what they wanted, a quick, surefire return on an investment. The estimated life expectancy of an AIDS patient was a year, maybe two.

The investment firms paid the monthly dues and passed over some cash. Everybody was happy.”

Josh sneered. “Sounds a bit ghoulish, living off the dead and profiteering off someone’s misery. They must be willing their clients to die.”

“Yeah, but they did you a good turn when you

needed it.”

No denying it, he had benefited from the system—at the time. “So what went wrong? We wouldn’t be here unless something had happened.”

“Smart boy. Medical breakthroughs. There have

been several successful AIDS drugs put on the market over the last few years that have changed the world for their patients. The life expectancy of AIDS patients has increased by ten years, and in ten years, who knows, there might even be a cure. So the viatical companies were screwed. Suddenly the big short-term profits dried up. Their clients had the cash to buy the drugs and got the better end of the deal. The companies started going to the wall, paying out too much too soon with no likely return in sight, plus they still had all those monthly dues to cover. The ones that diversified survived. They moved onto other terminal illnesses like cancer, heart disease—all the biggies medical science doesn’t have an answer for.”

Bob stopped to drink his coffee and Josh let the information sink in.

Bob continued. “The other way some viatical companies survived was to act as an agent. They acted as

intermediaries for private investors or investment clubs who made large cash payments for some poor sap’s life insurance. Little did they know they might have to wait a decade to get anything when they thought a check would be in the mail in twelve months. I remember seeing the late night infomercials ages ago.”

“So what’s Pinnacle Investments’s story?”

“They were one of the founding companies in the industry, setting up a division to specifically get a steal on the rest. They bought big and were paid out bigger.

Most of their clients were AIDS patients, but they’d already moved into all kinds of terminal diseases. The

annual report was a shareholder’s dream, with major growth in the early nineties. But, the ninety-eight report was the complete opposite. The viatical division

was sinking the rest of the firm. But in ninety-nine they almost broke even, two thousand they showed a profit again. Tiny in comparison, but a profit.” Bob illustrated his information with printouts of financial data

taken from Pinnacle Investments’s Web pages. He removed a sheaf of papers from the envelope he brought

with him and passed it to Josh.

Briefly, Josh scanned the papers. “So they got over the hump,” he said, offering a logical conclusion he didn’t believe.

“Yeah, but for their success their clients had to die when the trend was for them to live. The rest of their competitors either went bust or were bought out.”

“How do they account for their success?” Josh pushed his plate away. The discussion had sapped his hunger.

“Are you finished with that?” Bob asked, nodding at Josh’s plate.

“Yeah, knock yourself out.”

Bob hijacked the remainder of the hash brown between his knife and fork, and put it onto his plate.

“You should never let food go to waste. It should be a crime,” he said, and made a piece of Josh’s breakfast disappear. “To answer your question, the official statement for their renewed fortunes is shrewd management.

They say their investment spread is much wider

and not as vulnerable as their competition. The laws have relaxed on who can make a viatical settlement. It used to be the terminally ill, but now it’s anyone over seventy-five.”

“But I was neither of those.”

“That’s right, but I got you in on your lifestyle as a pilot and recreational rock climber.”

“Yeah, I used to rock climb, but I stopped after

Abby was born.” Once an avid climber in the Sierras, he had given it up at Kate’s request. Although he’d never had a serious fall—only a minor mishap that landed him two days in the hospital—she didn’t relish the thought of bringing up a baby with no father.

“Yeah, but you might take it up again and I told

them there’s hereditary cancer on the male side.”

Josh studied the black coffee in his mug. His reflection stared back, dark and distorted in the shimmering liquid. Cancer was one of his greatest fears, and he tried to hide it deep within himself and do his best to forget. His father had died of prostate cancer at forty nine when Josh was twenty-one, and his paternal uncle had died of the same thing three years younger. His grandfather had died at a similar age of lung cancer, but he’d been a lifelong smoker. He didn’t know what had happened to his great-grandfather. He didn’t dare to find out.

“They took you because you were a high-risk candidate and worth a flutter in their opinion,” Bob added.

Their Southern waitress took the plates away. Both men rejected the offer to see the menu again, but accepted coffee. She refilled their mugs and promised to

return with the bill later.

“Okay. They say good management made them survive, but what do you say?” Josh said.

“Considering what has been happening to you, I

think they’re killing their clients, and the figures bear it out. The average Pinnacle Investments viatical client lives two point four years, but their closest competitor’s rate is five years and getting longer. They don’t care who their clients are, because they’ll decide when it is time to collect.” Bob paused. “And you, my friend, are on their endangered list.”

“Bob, if it hadn’t been for that guy Jenks, I would tell you that you are talking out of your ass, but he said I was worth money when I was dead. I’m only of value to three people—Kate, Abby and Pinnacle Investments.

And I don’t believe Kate and Abby are trying

to kill me.”

Bob took a swig from his coffee. “I contacted my

buddies in the insurance trade to see if they’d done any business with Pinnacle Investments. They had, and several of them had clients die in unusual, but explicable accidents.

One of them crashed into a river and drowned.”

In the parking lot of the diner, Josh leaned against Bob’s Toyota and placed his folded arms on the roof of the car. Bob was about to get into the car and asked, “What’s up?”

“We may know who’s doing this, but how do we

stop it? How do we call them off? We’ve got nothing concrete to give the cops.”

“What do you suggest?” Bob asked.

“You buy my policy back.”

Bob frowned and shook his head. “I don’t think

they’d go for it. It wouldn’t be in their interests.”

“We’ll compensate them. I have insurance coming on the Cessna that would cover their losses.”

“I don’t know, Josh.”

“You’re going to have to try. It’s my only option.”

It seemed everyone in Sacramento had converged on the mall this Saturday morning. The parking lot were a roadblock. Parking had been a bitch, but Kate had found a space for the minivan after fifteen minutes.

Once out of the car, the sidewalks were a wave of people and she always seemed to be swimming against the

tide. She clutched Abby’s hand and at the first opportunity darted inside the mall.

In a lot of ways, Kate wanted the hustle and bustle of the mall. The crowds and piped classical music were a welcome distraction from her unwanted thoughts.

Abby aided this desire. The girl’s demands and blindness to the problems at home diverted Kate’s attention.

Without a distraction, Josh preoccupied her mind 247.

It had become increasingly difficult to live with him.

She loved him, but she couldn’t cope with the curveballs his life kept throwing at them. The two murder attempts, Mark Keegan’s death, police, mystery men, a

television expose and the lies were too much—the lies more than anything. Josh had betrayed her, he’d said what he’d done was for the better good, but it didn’t make it easier to swallow. If he’d lied about the bribe, then what else was he keeping to himself? The prospect of living on a knife edge didn’t appeal—there were always lacerations.

Abby bounced up and down threatening to take off, restrained only by the hold of her mother’s hand.

“Where can we go?”

Kate looked down at her daughter’s beaming face and painfully smiled back. “Anywhere you want, honey.”

Abby led Kate through a merry dance of stores. Kate indulged Abby’s every whim, letting her play with toys and try on clothes. Her daughter’s energy warmed her.

She found it easier to smile, to laugh, and be happy with every passing minute.

In the food court, they sat surrounded by their purchases, the result of the day’s indulgences. Although

most of the bags were for Abby, she egged Kate on to splurge on herself. Armed with a hotdog and milkshake, Abby munched and slurped happily. Kate, with

only a muffin and a latte, looked on in disbelief at her blissful daughter. She wouldn’t normally let her daughter eat junk food, but today she let it slide.

“Don’t think you can live like this every day,” Kate said. “Today is a special day, okay?”

“Special? How?” Abby asked through hotdog-packed

chipmunk cheeks.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. And I hope

you’re not going to tell Wiener what you’re eating.”

Abby shook her head and made an especially large

swallow.

Kate smiled. “It’s a special day because we haven’t had one in a while, so I thought we should have one.

So, are you enjoying it?”

Abby beamed. “You bet, Mom.”

“I thought we could catch a movie, but you can go to one more store before we go. So, where’s it to be?”

Kate cocked her head to one side.

“The Disney Store,” she said without a moment’s

hesitation.

Kate nodded at the food. “Are you finished with

that?”

Abby made an extraordinarily large suck on the

milkshake straw. “I am now.”

Kate couldn’t help herself and laughed out loud and Abby joined in. “Let’s go then,” Kate said.

Kate dumped Abby’s half-eaten food and milkshake

in the trash, but kept hold of her latte. Abby set off ahead at a half-running, half-walking pace toward the escalators for the Disney Store on the upper level. Kate told her daughter to slow down, which Abby did reluctantly.

Mother and daughter hopped onto the empty

moving staircase.

Halfway up the escalator, Kate’s good mood evaporated at the sight of a head emerging on the upper

level. Resting on the top stair of the escalator, looking disembodied, the head smiled. The higher the escalator climbed the more Kate could see of the person

waiting for them. Belinda Wong appeared to grow out of the ground. Kate twisted around to move against the moving staircase, but people had climbed on behind her. The last thing she wanted was to speak to

this woman, but invisible hands pushed her forward against her will. Inexorably, the escalator drew Kate closer to the woman who was blackmailing her husband.

Belinda

leered as Kate stepped off the escalator with

her daughter. The coldness in her dark eyes held a destructive element. Kate was sure the deadly force was

intended for them. She was no match for Belinda

armed with a multitude of store bags and a daughter.

Kate’s stomach made a complete revolution. Her grip around the cardboard coffee cup weakened and it almost slipped from her grasp.

“Kate. Abby. I saw you down there and I thought I’d say hi,” Bell said, as smooth as silk.

“Hi, Bell,” Abby said.

“Hello, Belinda,” Kate echoed.

Kate didn’t stop and proceeded toward the Disney

Store, but Abby stopped her by choosing to stick by the blackmailer.

“Come on, Abby. I thought you wanted the Disney

Store. We don’t have much time if we want to catch that movie.” Kate tried not to sound too harsh, but failed to a large extent.

“I was just going to talk for a minute, Mommy,”

Abby pleaded.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll come along with you. I wanted to talk to you, Kate,” Bell said.

The suggestion sounded as palatable as cyanide,

but Kate conceded at Abby’s support of the request.

The three walked in unison into the store. It was sickening for Kate to be this close to the woman, but she had to keep up appearances for the world and her daughter.

“Hi, Mickey,” Abby said and waved at the oversized mouse with its human occupant inside.

The mouse waved back and stared longingly at the

Asian woman’s figure when she passed by.

Dropping the bags to the floor, Abby ran over to the stuffed toy section.

Bell took advantage of the moment alone with her

ex-lover’s wife. “Kate, I thought we’d chat about things—life, you know.”

“Belinda, we—”

Bell interrupted with a raised hand. “Bell, please.

We’re all friends here, Kate.”

“Bell, we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I disagree, Kate. We have a lot in common.”

“Nothing you’ve got to say will be of interest to me,” Kate said.

“But I think it will.”

“I don’t care what you think. Josh has told me all about you and your blackmailing scheme for the bribe.

know it all. I suppose it’s you who’s been feeding Channel Three all the dirt.”

Bell raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You are well informed.”

“We

have no secrets,” Kate said.

“I’m not so sure I would be that forgiving if I were you. You must be a very understanding woman. Far too good for a man like Josh.”

Containing her frustrations no longer, Kate stormed away toward her daughter. “Come on, Abby, it’s time to go,” she snapped.

“Oh, Mom,” Abby whined.

“No, Abby. I said we’re going. So let’s go,” Kate snapped.

Abby relented with low-pitched mumbles. She picked up her bags and stormily strode out of the shop with her mother.

“Stay away from us, Bell. We don’t need you around,”

Kate said, passing Bell on the way out. Kate sneered contemptuously at the Asian woman. Bell’s pretense that they were friends and had something in common disgusted her.

“You’re a good woman, Kate. I don’t know many

women who would forgive their husband’s infidelity,”

Bell called loudly to Kate’s back.

Kate stopped and spun around in the entrance of the store, jerking Abby around with her, while the seven-foot cartoon mouse looked on behind them. Bewildered, Kate didn’t know what Bell was talking about, but she was beginning to understand. Bell recognized the look of bewilderment on Kate’s face and squeaked a laugh, clamping

her hands over her mouth and bending forward in

amusement. After a moment, she straightened and let her hands drop, the laughter knocked aside by spiteful rage.

“So, you don’t know I was fucking him for over a

year?” she spat loudly and triumphantly.

slack-jawed, Kate dropped the half-drunk latte.

coffee exploded on impact and sent the hot li

splashing over Kate’s bare legs and feet, but she was too numb to feel it.

“Oh, shit,” Mickey Mouse said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Family Stop Insurance Services was closed on Saturdays, but Bob Deuce opened up his office, not for business, but for his friend. Buying back Josh’s viatical

settlement from Pinnacle Investments was worth a try.

Bob had little else to suggest.

He sat at his desk and removed the papers from the envelope he’d taken to the diner. Leafing through the pages, he pulled out a printout from Pinnacle Investments’s Web site. The page detailed the names of the

important people for each of the company’s divisions.

He tapped his finger on the vice president in charge of the Viatical Settlement Division, Dexter Tyrell.

“I’ll start with you.”

Pinnacle Investments was open for business six days a week, so someone would be there. Bob hoped to

speak to Dexter Tyrell, but he doubted he would be there on a Saturday. Mentally, he crossed his fingers for luck, picked up the phone and dialed the number listed.

“Pinnacle Investments Viatical Settlements Division, your life is in our hands. My name is Julie,” the receptionist said. “How can I assist you?”

“Hi, I’d like to speak to Dexter Tyrell, please.”

“Can I tell him who is calling?”

“It’s Bob Deuce, from Family Stop Insurance Services.

I’m an agent for Pinnacle Investments.”

“I’ll just see if he’s available.”

Bob was put on hold and something from Easy Listening’s Greatest Hits, Volume Umpteen, dripped down

the phone line. The music ended.

“Hello, Mr. Deuce. I’ll just connect you,” Julie said.

Bob was in luck; Tyrell worked Saturdays.

“Dexter Tyrell,” the executive said, in a time-is money tone.

“I’m Bob Deuce from Family Stop Insurance Services.

I’ve acted as an agent for Pinnacle Investments in the past.”

“It’s nice to speak to someone who creates business for us,” Tyrell said condescendingly.

“Well, Mr. Tyrell, I have a request from one of our clients.”

“Okay, Bob, fire away.”

Bob raised an eyebrow at Tyrell’s use of his first name. Bob supposed Tyrell thought of him as one of the boys, being in the insurance game and all. The informality amused him. Tyrell seemed insincere, so Bob

thought he’d be playful.

“You see, it’s like this, Dexter.” Bob placed a lot of topspin on Tyrell’s name. He smirked and paused.

“Yes,” Tyrell said, stretching the word out.

“I have a client who made a viatical settlement eighteen months or so ago. And I’m inquiring whether it

would be possible for him to reverse the settlement.”

Tyrell didn’t answer. The question hung in the air, turning stale.

I’m not sure that’s possible, Bob.” Tyrell seemed embarrassed by his unfortunate answer.

“Any reason?”

“Obviously, you understand the process of a viatical settlement.”

“Obviously.”

“Then, you understand the costs incurred by Pinnacle Investments with the cash settlement and the existing monthly dues, et cetera.”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t in our interests to reverse the settlement.”

“My client would be prepared to return the cash remuneration and any other costs involved,” Bob offered.

“Why is our client doing this?”

Bob shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His mind

raced for an answer. “His financial circumstances have changed and he’s interested in getting his life insurance policy back because of its sizeable face value.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars.” A nervous tone

crept into Bob’s voice. The source of his anxiety was clear. He had the distinct feeling he was conversing with a spider while he was the fly that trembled on the web.

“Who is our client?”

“His name is Joshua Michaels.”

A pregnant pause intervened, a pause in dire need of inducing.

Does he know? Is he the one? In the silence of the telephone line Bob wondered if Tyrell was the man sanctioning the murder of his clients. Contact with this man frightened him. It made sense for the order to come from up high. It was unlikely a minion of Pinnacle Investments would have the corporate clout to order people’s deaths. Also, it would be possible for a top executive to hide the excessive expenses needed to hire a

professional killer. Chipped ice ran down Bob’s collar; Tyrell knew his name.

“I don’t remember his file,”—Tyrell paused again—

“but I don’t think I can accommodate your friend this time around.”

Bob’s mouth went dry. Friend? Who said Josh was

my friend? The insinuation Tyrell knew Bob and Josh were friends only reinforced his fear that Pinnacle Investments’s vice president was killing his viatical

clients. Bob couldn’t be sure whether Tyrell was aware of his slip or not. Either way, he was scared.

Tyrell continued. “Even if he did reimburse Pinnacle Investments for monies paid, it wouldn’t provide the company a return on its investment. We do have investors to think about. As you can understand, we are a

profit-making organization, not a charity.”

“Thank you for your time, Dexter.”

“Thank you for your call. And I hope we can do

business again. On behalf of Pinnacle Investments, we do appreciate the business we receive from our agents.

Good-bye Bob, it’s been a pleasure.”

Bob had only seconds to decide. He knew a killer

pursued Josh. He knew it was more than likely someone at Pinnacle Investments was at the heart of it. He had the feeling Dexter Tyrell was the man giving that order. But he couldn’t be sure—it was all supposition.

In a moment, the connection would be broken and

contact lost and it was unlikely Tyrell would take further calls. Should he bluff Tyrell and risk his own life?

He couldn’t hesitate any longer.

“I know what you’re up to, Mr. Tyrell.” Bob’s voice trembled. He had just stepped into the ring and sized up the opposition. He feared his decision and hoped it was the right one.

“What do you know, Bob?”

Tyrell’s coldness trickled down the line and Bob

shivered.

“I know what you’re doing to your clients.”

“Providing them with first-class service at reasonable prices?” Tyrell mocked.

Bob composed himself before asking the five hundred thousand dollar question. “You’re killing your viatical clients, aren’t you?”

Tyrell roared with laughter. “Bob, Bob, Bob, where did you come up with that cock-and-bull story? The X-Files} Or Days of Our Lives maybe?”

Instead of being embarrassed by Tyrell’s mockery, Bob took strength from it. The evidence to support his belief was in front of him and what he and Josh knew made a compelling story, even if it was all circumstantial.

He took a deep breath and let the executive have

it, both barrels.

“Pinnacle Investments is the most successful viatical company in the industry.” Tyrell tried to interrupt, but Bob spoke over the vice president. “You are the only successful viatical company in the industry, especially with an AIDS client base as big as yours. AIDS

patients are living longer. Yours are dying quicker. So are your other clients. A number of my colleagues have had their viatical clients with Pinnacle Investments die from unusual accidents, just as their health

improved.”

“This sounds like a crank call to me. I’m putting the phone down,” Tyrell said.

“I think your next two targets are Josh Michaels and Margaret Macey. Both of them are my clients, Mr.

Tyrell.” Bob said Tyrell’s name like he chewed sour lemons. “And Margaret Macey is dead.”

Bob had nothing left to say. He waited for Tyrell to respond. He didn’t.

“Dexter, I don’t hear you putting that phone down,”

Bob said.

Dexter Tyrell said nothing.

Bob felt he was on a roll. He’d rattled Tyrell. The executive would be weighing his options. Bob decided to

push until he left Tyrell no option. “There is a man passing himself off as an employee of Pinnacle Investments called James Mitchell. I think he’s your hired gun.”

“What do you want?” Tyrell asked.

“I want you to stop.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll go to the cops.”

“With what you’ve got?” Tyrell snorted. “They’ll

laugh you out of the precinct or lock you up.”

“Maybe, but I’ll give them enough to make someone look into Pinnacle Investments’s operations, and that wouldn’t be good for business, would it now?” Bob smiled.

Tyrell was silent for a very long time. Bob was happy to wait. He could almost hear Tyrell squirm.

“I have an offer to make to you, Bob.”

Bob listened.

Josh returned home after his breakfast with Bob and found no one home. He kept playing over Bob’s theories in his head. Would Pinnacle go for the buyback option?

He hoped so. He waited for Bob’s call, but it

didn’t come. He tried calling, but Bob didn’t pick up.

He couldn’t just sit there. He had to do something with himself. He decided to indulge in something he had not done in ages—climbing. Bob’s mention of his old hobby had a nice ring to it. Josh dug his gear out from his home office. The kit, ten years old or more, was very much out of date compared to the modern

lightweight rigs people now used. He drove down to the indoor climbing center and knocked the rust off his old skills. He found he was better off using the equipment provided at the center.

After ten minutes, Josh was back in the fold; no hint of staleness showed after his eightyear absence. As the hours shot by, Josh went from their basic climbs to the most difficult, conquering each level with great aplomb.

Amazed, he couldn’t understand why he had not gone to an indoor center before. The risk was so minimal he was sure Kate wouldn’t have minded. But even with this brief taste, he knew if he came here regularly he would end up wanting to hit the mountains for the real climbs. Yosemite was too much of a temptation to be ignored.

He came home in a good mood. It had been a good

day. He parked next to Kate’s minivan. Kit bag over his shoulder, Josh unlocked the door to the house and pushed it open. The door opened only a few inches before bouncing off the security chain. The door’s recoil knocked the keys out of his hand and he jumped back before the charging door took a finger or a toe as a trophy.

“Kate, it’s me. The chain’s on, can you take it off?”

Josh called through the crack of the door and picked up his keys.

No one answered.

Fear rushed through him. Had Mitchell tried something?

“Kate,

are you there? Is everything okay?”

“Josh, you aren’t coming in.”

Fear turned into confusion. “What?”

“You’re not welcome here anymore.” Kate’s voice

cracked under her tears.

Josh peered through the gap the door allowed. He

couldn’t see Kate.

“What’s wrong? Let me in.”

Kate broke into sobs, which were echoed by someone Josh presumed was Abby. Kate spoke to Abby, but

he couldn’t hear what she said.

“Just go. Please, Josh, go away.”

His stomach clenched. A vivid recollection of the events at Margaret Macey’s house struck him between the eyes. But this was his house, his family. He wouldn’t be kept out of his own home.

“Don’t panic, I’m coming round the back,” he

paused. “Okay?”

For a moment, Josh waited for a response and heard only stifled weeping. He raced over to the gate to get to the backyard, but it was locked. He dropped his kit bag and clambered over the top. He glimpsed a neighbor across the road watching the real-life soap opera unfold; but he didn’t give his neighbor a second thought.

He darted over to the patio doors and found them

locked, but he had the keys to the lock and rushed inside.

Drowning

in worry, he called, “Kate, Kate, it’s me.

It’s okay.”

Josh found his wife and child huddled together in the living room. Kate stood with her back against the fireplace and Abby’s face buried in her stomach. Seemingly, they were okay. He detected no visible wounds or

injuries other than their tears. His panic subsided.

“Thank God, you’re okay. I was really worried,” he said. “Why the security chain?”

“Josh, get the hell out.” Kate’s tone was as hard as steel.

The demand was hard enough to stop him in his

tracks. Kate’s hostility made no sense. He was at a loss for words.

Kate unpeeled Abby from her. “Abby, go up to your room. It’s going to be okay, but I need you to do this for me. Can you do this for Mommy? Can you?”

Sobbing, Abby didn’t want to leave, but she relented at Kate’s insistence. Kate pulled Abby to her and hugged her.

“You’d better go. Wiener’s waiting for you in your room. He needs you.” Kate said.

The sight of his wife and daughter in such turmoil tore Josh up inside. What’s happened to cause so much misery? He had no idea for the reason of the heartbreak.

Abby raced past him for the stairs and her room. She took an exaggerated path around him and stared at him like he was a monster. Josh murmured her name and put an arm out to her, but she dodged his touch.

Husband and wife said nothing until they heard the bang of the bedroom door upstairs. The muffled sobs through the ceiling made an unbearable soundtrack for their encounter.

“You bastard, Josh. How could you? How could you

do it to us?” Kate said through bitter tears.

Josh didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know what

she was referring to. He’d done so much to them.

“With the pain and misery you’ve brought to this

family, you aren’t entitled to any of the love you’ve been given.” Kate’s nose had run. She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “You deserve all you get.”

Shaking his head, Josh was still at a loss to understand.

“What have I done, Kate?”

“You didn’t tell me everything. In the park, you gave me the edited version. Keep the family on a need-to know basis—was that the plan? Keep the really bad stuff to yourself and make sure you don’t get into some real trouble? You coward,” Kate spat. Each word was a shard of glass meant to cut deep. “Any of this ringing any bells, Josh?”

It was. He didn’t understand how she could have

found out. Who would have told her? Josh swallowed the knot in his throat.

“We met Bell in the mall today. She told me all about you two. No, she broadcast it across the store. What a fool I’ve been to believe in you. Moments before, I was defending you to her, when all along she knew the real you and I only knew the fucking fairy tale.” Kate paused to get a grip. Her emotions were taking over.

“Your secretary! Couldn’t you have been more original and fucked a Nobel scientist or something?”

Bell. How she must have enjoyed the moment. He

should have known she’d do this once she’d lost her hold over him. Destroying his reputation wouldn’t have been enough. She needed to crush him under her heel.

Well, she’d done that.

She could destroy everything else, but he’d be

damned if he’d let her destroy his marriage. He rushed toward his wife with arms outstretched.

Kate stiffened. Backed up against the fireplace, she clutched for something to protect herself with, and picked up the poker from the rack. Brandishing the weapon with deadly intent, she jabbed it at Josh. She looked like a cornered animal. “Keep away from me.

God help you, I’ll use it on you.”

Josh stopped abruptly, only inches from the end of the poker. “Oh, Kate. You don’t understand,” Josh pleaded.

“Educate me, Josh. Tell me why. Why did you do it?

Come on now, the spotlight’s on you.” Kate positioned her arms like a magician’s assistant highlighting a master illusionist’s achievement.

Fighting with himself to give a delicate, more softened version, Josh struggled to speak. But knowing lies and deceit were useless currency, he paid with the truth. “I started the affair three months after you lost the baby. We were strangers to each other. We were both unsure what we wanted or even if we wanted each other.”

“That’s it? Because we had a rough patch you ran off to find the first bitch you could fuck?”

“No,” he recoiled. “You didn’t want to know me,

you pushed me away like it was my fault.”

“I’m so sorry. It must be my fault you put your dick in your secretary.” Sarcasm laced the tirade.

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m telling you the truth— something I should have done a long time ago. I had an affair for my own selfish reasons, but I realized it was wrong. I came back for you and I made this family work, did my best to make us happy. I love you, Kate, and I want you.” Josh maintained his distance; Kate still had the poker and he feared what she would do with it in this distraught state.

“How do I know you won’t run off with the next

pair of pretty tits that jiggles by?”

“Because I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.

I’m one hundred percent behind this family, for this family.”

Kate glared. Her face, screwed tight with the fury and pain, suddenly relaxed. She dropped the poker to the floor. It twanged against the fireplace tiles.

The Kate Josh knew came into focus. It was going to be okay. He managed a weak smile.

The house was silent; not even a noise from Abby’s bedroom.

“I want you to go, Josh,” Kate said.

He couldn’t believe it. He had lost. He tried to challenge, but she knocked his pleas down with a raised

hand.

All the emotion had drained from Kate. “I don’t

know what I want, but I do know I don’t want you.”

Kate’s fury, present moments earlier, now possessed Josh. He knew he could do nothing here. He’d lost his family and stormed out of the living room.

He yanked on the door, but the security chain was still attached. The door ripped itself from his grasp and slammed shut. He jerked on the door even harder. With a crack of splintering wood, the fixings tore from the door frame. The chain attached to the door recoiled and swung out, narrowly missing Josh’s face. The

door’s momentum sent him sprawling.

Josh tore over to his car and flung himself behind the wheel. He gunned the engine, yanked the gearshift into reverse and the car roared backward into the street. He jammed the car into drive and floored the gas pedal, trails of black smoke pouring off the screaming tires.

“Fucking bitch,” Josh growled. He would be

damned if Bell would be allowed to get away with this.

She would pay dearly for what she had done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The journey to Bell’s house took mere minutes. The rules of the road didn’t apply to Josh. He bullied his way past every vehicle in his path. The engine screaming in pain, Josh tore along the roads, taking each bend too fast and stopping too late.

The car screeched to a halt outside Belinda Wong’s borrowed house. The car rode up over the rolled curb and positioned itself untidily on the sidewalk, trailing a pair of black, wavy lines on the pale road surface. Josh leapt from the driver’s seat. A Pontiac Grand Am

missed him by inches as it passed him. He ignored the driver’s violent overcorrection and the subsequent insult.

Blinded by rage, he charged up to the house.

Josh yanked on the door. It was unlocked and

opened easily. It wouldn’t have mattered if the door was locked—nothing would have prevented him from getting in.

Bell appeared from the bedroom dressed only in a

white silk teddy and skimpy panties. The silk was opaque, but it clung to her delicate frame. The peaks of her nipples were easily highlighted under the seamless material. When she moved, the material momentarily stuck to her like wet cotton, giving glimpses of the contours beneath.

“You bitch. You fucking bitch.” His rage was so intense he thought he would puke.

She smiled sweetly, not showing a hint of surprise at his uninvited intrusion. “Josh, so good to see you. You must have gotten the news.”

“You had to tell her. You couldn’t have taken the money. You had to destroy my family.”

Bell cocked her head to one side and flashed a tightlipped smile of regret. “Things not too good at home

then?”

“You knew what Kate’s reaction would be.” Violently, Josh grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers

digging into her supple flesh. He shook her in some vain hope of making her understand the significance of what she’d done. Bell’s raven hair scattered over her face and shoulders.

Still in Josh’s grasp, she shook her head, revealing blazing eyes and an open mouth excited by Josh’s energy.

“God, you have no idea how horny you’re making

me.”

There was no talking to her and he found it hard

to speak. Different emotional states fast-forwarded through his mind—anger, rage, desperation, loss and defeat. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A knotted ball of frustration in his brain prevented him from doing either. Releasing a primal growl of frustration, Josh shoved Bell away from him. Stumbling, she

fell backward, striking the floor unceremoniously. Legs in the air, panties showing, Bell lost all the seductive allure she’d ever inspired. Frustrated, Josh collapsed onto the couch behind him.

Bell got to her feet. She dropped her mocking tone and in all seriousness said, “What did you expect me to do, Josh?”

“Accept what happened. I don’t know.”

Bell glanced out the window. “Nice parking job, by the way.”

She came over to him. She looked at him with a pitying expression.

“Why did you do it?” Without the rage, he sounded tired.

Crouching on her haunches, she placed her hands on his knees. “You gave me no choice. You refused to give me what I wanted. I wasn’t just going to disappear to make it convenient for you.”

“But this way, you’ve destroyed everything you

wanted. You don’t get any more money. You’ve destroyed my family, so you don’t get me. You’ve lost as

much as I have.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? This has never been about money. It was about making you pay for what you did to me.” Pain was evident in Bell’s rising voice.

She pushed herself away from him and stood up. She went into the kitchen, got herself a beer from the refrigerator and popped the top with the bottle opener on

the fridge door.

Josh followed Bell into the kitchen after a moment.

His face was long, stretched by a more powerful gravity than that experienced by anyone else on the planet.

Bell saw the sad expression and moved toward him.

She wrapped her arms around him. The condensation from the bottle soaked Josh’s shirt where it touched it.

Its coldness burned against his flesh. She raised herself on tiptoe, bringing her head close to his. The instability made her teeter on her toes and Josh steadied her, putting his hands around her waist. Taking that as her signal, she kissed Josh, her tongue seeking entry to his

mouth.

Sickened by the intrusion, Josh’s face contorted in disgust. He twisted his head to break the kiss. He tasted the sharp bite of alcohol from her in his mouth and its odor filled his nostrils. She’d been drinking, and more than one beer. It wasn’t a good sign.

Bell leaned into him, applying more pressure. Her heat marked an outline against Josh’s body. Although slight, her weight seemed heavy on him and resistance was difficult. Finally, he broke the cloying embrace with a powerful shove that almost made him topple.

The force propelled Bell backward. She lost her hold on Josh and her balance. In an attempt to save herself, she let go of the bottle of beer. The bottle slammed into one of the overhead cabinets before striking the vinyl flooring without breaking. The spilt contents fizzed on the floor. Bell crashed into the cupboards and grabbed onto them to save herself from falling.

Josh dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at it, half expecting to see blood.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“You still don’t get it, do you?”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“I love you. I want you back. Why do you think I’ve been doing this?” Bell answered her own question.

“Because I want you free from all things so you have only me left.”

Bell’s motives shocked and abhorred him. She was

crazy. She had to be to think destroying him would drive them together. It was a madness he never thought possible in Bell. Did she expect him to thank her, flattered by the lengths she had gone to? Josh shook his head.

“Do you honestly think I would come back to you? I broke up with you because I made a choice. I chose my family. And even though you’ve taken that away from me, I still wouldn’t come back to you.”

Josh stopped. He had expected a tirade of verbal

abuse fueled by disappointment and rejection, but there was silence. There was nothing further to be said.

Bell had stopped looking at him. Her gaze was aimed over his shoulder. A blank look took over her face, as if she didn’t understand what she saw. Josh turned his head to the point of interest.

A flash of colors was all he saw. At the speed it was moving, Josh didn’t get enough time to focus on the object, only its blur, before it hit him. He felt it, though. It smashed across his head, numbing him with its force. Josh fell forward, out cold before he hit the ground.

Josh came to. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.

An intense ache emanated from the back of

his head. It rippled outward from its epicenter like waves in a millpond. He raised a hand to the ache, but the briefest movement drove knives through his skull.

He found a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and the pain forced his eyes closed. He left the bump alone, but became aware of his sore cheek,

which must have broken his fall.

Bell looked very concerned with her head cocked to one side, her face so sad, so disappointed. For the first time since her return, she looked human, possessing a weak as well as a strong side. She looked like a nervous child waiting her turn to go into the doctor’s office for her shots. She spoke, but the words came out as an inaudible murmur.

He saw the knife. Not the whole knife, just the handle, its blade embedded in her chest below her left

breast. He noticed the blood. Too much blood. It

stained the white teddy; the harsh crimson made more vivid by the pale silk. The material clung tightly to her punctured body. The blood, still oozing from the

wound, ran down her onto the floor and formed a pool around her legs. His slow-witted brain hadn’t registered that she was sitting. Before the blow she had been standing, but now she was slumped untidily against the cupboards. He tried not to entertain thoughts of who had done this to Bell, but failed. He had to get out, but he couldn’t stop staring at the blood.

Slowly, the pool expanded across the floor in Josh’s direction. He recoiled on hands and knees from the creeping mass like it was scalding lava. Josh had seen deep cuts before and there’d been blood, but he had never seen a cut so deep or with as much blood as this.

Doctors dealt with these sights every day, but he couldn’t cope. Josh slunk further away from the injured woman.

Bell raised her right arm with her hand outstretched and beckoned to him. Blood trickled between her pale lips. “Josh.”

Josh stopped moving. He stared at the pool, the light reflected on its smooth surface. He got to his feet. His head swam. He wasn’t sure if the blow or the bloody sight caused it. He came as close as he could without stepping in the mess. Still, it wasn’t close enough for Bell. She called to him. He had no choice. He walked in her blood and crouched at her side.

Bell looked at him with sad eyes. The color of her rich Asian skin had drained to a jaundiced yellow. “I love you, Josh,” she whispered.

“I know you do.” Josh honestly believed she did and though he didn’t return that love, this wasn’t the time to be brutally honest with her. She was dying and he wasn’t going to give her cause to curse his name with her dying breath, even after all she’d done to him. He had possessed feelings for her once.

Josh’s eyes flicked between her face and the wooden knife handle poking out from her chest, disconcerted by its movement. The handle shifted back and forth with the weak breaths she took. He found it hard to concentrate on Bell with the knife moving in time with her breathing, as if the blade were part of her body.

Should he remove the knife or leave it? Josh didn’t know what was best, but watching Bell die wasn’t the answer.

“I’ll get help,” he said.

He went to get up, but Bell snapped a grip on his arm with a strength that terrified him. He looked at her bloody hand on his wrist. He sneered as the fluid squeezed out either side of her palm and between her fingers. Her bloodstained handprint on his forearm was his first physical contact with the stabbing. Up until then, he’d been a witness to the wound, but the

blood on his arm made him part of it, tainted him by its contact.

“No. I want you to stay. I want you to be near me,”

Bell said.

Josh hesitated. He nodded to her and shifted from a crouch to kneel beside her, so he was better positioned to comfort her. As his knees dipped into the blood, he felt its lukewarm heat soaking through the fabric of his jeans. He clasped a hand over hers and squeezed out a thin smile.

He wanted to tell her everything was going to be

okay, the doctors would sort her out, but the lies didn’t come. Instead, he watched Bell die, the blood slipping from her punctured body taking her life with its flow.

“Josh,” she called. She didn’t look at him, but directly ahead into the dark of the living room.

“Yes, Bell?” Josh couldn’t take his eyes off her, not out of lust, which he once held for her, but out of a bizarre compulsion to see this woman die.

“I’m so sorry, Josh.”

“It’s a bit late to be sorry. We’ve done what we have done and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I’m sorry about what I did.”

“I know you are.” He slipped an arm around her,

and being careful not to push the knife any further into her, he half-hugged her.

Bell coughed and flecks of blood speckled her mouth and chin and landed on Josh’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I need to tell you.”

“Only if you have to, but it doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m HIV positive.”

A blow, as powerful as the one to the back of his head, slammed him. His arm trembled around Bell’s shoulders in shock. He stared at the pool at his feet, teeming with the killer virus. It was invisible to the human eye, but it was there. He was kneeling in poison.

This woman’s blood had the most devastating disease of the last thirty years. He’d had unprotected sex with this woman.

Am I infected? Is Kate infected? Abby? His thoughts scared him. The ramifications of his possible contraction of HIV were horrific. His death sentence would be the death sentence of the people he loved.

“I was diagnosed in San Diego. I was never going to tell you, but…” Her final words trailed off before she finished them.

He held another dead woman in his arms. He withdrew his arm from around her and got to his feet. His

shoes made sticking noises on the vinyl. He turned to leave.

“I’d prefer if you stayed for a while, Josh.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

James Mitchell stepped out from the shadows, a gun in his hand. “A murdered woman and that blood all over you. That wasn’t very smart, was it now?”

“I suppose you killed her,” Josh said.

Josh wasn’t only angry with Mitchell for killing

Bell, but with himself. It had never occurred to him that Mitchell was at the core of this carnage, but it should have.

“Why did you kill her?”

“Because I need her for this.” Mitchell waved the gun in the direction of the slaughter. “To make your murder more convincing. It would be totally understandable if your blackmailing ex-mistress confessed

your sins to the TV news and your wife, driving you to kill her in a fit of rage. Makes total sense. Don’t you think?”

“How did you know her?”

“Oh, Bell and I have become, or I should say had become, good friends. We had a lot in common—you, for

instance.” Mitchell jabbed the gun at Josh. “She was pissed at you for dumping her. A lot of unresolved issues there.”

“And you call that resolved?” Josh pointed at Bell’s corpse.

“You could say that. You two certainly had a touching farewell.” Mitchell cut Josh off before he asked another question. “What I need before we go any further

is for your fingerprints to be on that knife handle. Then I can get all this wrapped up.”

“What if I don’t?” Josh asked. It was a feeble attempt at resistance, nothing more than a schoolyard

boast lacking any power or muscle to support it.

“I’ll shoot you, drag you over there and stick your hand on the knife.”

Josh studied the floor. It wasn’t much of a choice.

The killer would shoot him anyway. It was just a matter of when. He could either make the hit man’s job

easy or difficult.

“Why did you kill Jenks?”

Mitchell laughed and shook his head like he’d heard an old joke for the hundredth time. “That wasn’t his real name. He was a competitor of mine employed to do my job. Career infighting—you know how it is.”

Josh didn’t. He had no concept of what internal conflicts were encountered in the professional killing industry.

Nor did he want to.

Mitchell’s tone turned cold. “And I’ll be damned if one of my contracts will be taken away from me.

That’s why I killed Jenks. You were lucky you got away, otherwise both of you would have made it on the six o’clock news.”

Josh had guessed right about Mitchell’s intent to kill him along with Jenks, and it still made his gut churn.

Another realization did little to help settle his troubled stomach. If he hadn’t fled the derelict factories, Bell wouldn’t be dead. There would have been no reason to kill her. She’d been a bitch, but she hadn’t deserved to die so violently. Was his life more valuable than Bell’s?

Was it better he lived and she died? Only if he lived through this night and stopped Mitchell from killing anyone else. It was also the only way he could ever forgive himself for Mark Keegan and Margaret Macey’s

deaths. Josh couldn’t let himself be the victim tonight.

“I don’t see your fingerprints on that knife yet,”

Mitchell said.

“So, who’s your employer—Pinnacle Investments?”

“Yes.”

Bob was right. Josh smiled.

“Happy that you know?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah. It makes sense of all this,” Josh said.

Mitchell indicated Bell with the gun. “So can we get on?”

“Sure,” Josh said, “I just needed to know.”

He turned his back on the killer and faced Bell. He hoped that Mitchell didn’t shoot him in the back of the head before he had the chance to do anything. He took a deep breath before he stepped into the bloody mess to grab the knife in Bell’s chest. He gripped the blade with his right hand. The wooden handle felt comfortable in his grasp. It was the sight of the knife buried up to the hilt in his ex-mistress that was uncomfortable.

“That’s it, Josh, get some nice thick prints on that handle. Come on, do it like you mean it,” his killer said, peering over Josh on tiptoe from the kitchen doorway.

“Are you sure you can make this look like a convincing lover’s disagreement turned murder, story at

eleven?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe how I’ll make this look.

You’d be impressed. It’s a shame you won’t see it.”

“So how did you make Margaret Macey’s death

look?”

“Margaret Macey, Jesus.” Mitchell blurted out a

laugh. “I didn’t do a thing. You did it all for me. I wasn’t expecting that, I can tell you. It was a dream come true. I saw you running out and I was worried. I thought you had screwed everything up, but instead you finished my job just as I wanted. It was beautiful.”

Josh glanced over his shoulder at Mitchell. Mitchell’s focus was on the recollection rather than him. His guard was down. He hoped Mitchell thought he was a willing victim who was going to roll over and die for him. Josh pulled on the knife embedded in Bell’s chest.

“What did you do to scare her?” Mitchell asked.

“She thought I was you.”

Mitchell laughed again.

The knife was stuck tight and required more effort than Josh expected. He’d forgotten the blade was in a person until he looked at Bell. Her eyes didn’t register Josh’s desecration. He felt nauseated.

He glanced back at Mitchell. He hoped the killer

wouldn’t see him tug on the handle. If Mitchell saw him, the hit man would put a bullet in his head without a second thought. Josh’s brains would be splattered all over the wall, game over. The resistance broke, the blade slid from its human scabbard.

“That’s enough. You don’t have to hold the thing all night,” Mitchell said.

Josh snapped around in a heartbeat with the knife in his hand and threw it at Mitchell. Slipping in Bell’s blood at the moment of release, Josh fell backward onto the blood-soaked floor. He crashed into the cabinet behind him, knocking his head on its door.

Mitchell reacted in an instant. He aimed and fired the gun.

The knife hit Mitchell in the chest as he squeezed the trigger on the semiautomatic. Josh’s slip caused the thrown knife to skew its trajectory and the blade batted flatly against the killer before it clattered to the floor.

The knife did knock Mitchell’s aim off and his shot went wild into the ceiling.

Josh clambered to his feet and rushed the hit man.

Before Mitchell could aim again, Josh smashed into the smaller man, driving him into the kitchen door frame. Mitchell yelped, but brought his knee up into Josh’s gut. Josh lost his grip on the would-be killer.

The hit man brought his knee up again, this time into Josh’s face.

The force of the blow jerked Josh’s head back and he released the hit man and clutched his nose, surprised to find it intact. The pain was nauseating. He stumbled backward, trod on Bell’s discarded beer bottle and fell again.

Mitchell steadied his aim at the falling man and fired the weapon.

Josh fell and struck the floor, the bottle slithering across the vinyl. He saw the flash of flame and a two inch hole appeared in the particleboard door to the left of his head. The odor of burnt wood and hot glue from the door’s wound smelled like a sawmill.

The bottle banged against the skirting board and ricocheted back across the floor toward Josh’s outstretched

hand. Acting on reflex, he grabbed the bottle

by the neck and threw it at Mitchell.

This time Josh’s aim was true. The bottle hit

Mitchell in the head, thudding into his left eyebrow.

Smashing on impact, fragments of glass sprayed over the man’s face. He yelled through gritted teeth, his free hand to his eyes. His gun hand pointed in the general direction of Josh. The killer tottered backward into the living room.

Josh got to his feet and charged the hit man. He knew he had to disarm the killer before he had the chance to recover. Throwing household items was no defense

against a gun. Charging at the blinded Mitchell, Josh grabbed the wooden chopping block from the countertop.

Raising the board above his head, Josh brought the block down, edge on, onto Mitchell’s gun arm.

The resulting sharp crack told both men Mitchell’s arm was broken. The hit man screamed in agony and the pistol went flying from his grasp.

Driven on by his initial success, Josh swung the

wooden board like a major league batter. This time the board smashed into Mitchell’s face just as he removed his hand from in front of it. The resounding thud echoed like the crack of a baseball going out of the park.

Mitchell careened back, clipping an armchair, and fell to the floor. Blood spread between the hit man’s fingers covering his nose and eyes, spilling down his face.

He grimaced and exposed teeth rimmed with red in a split and rapidly swelling mouth.

Shocked by the carnage inflicted on the man’s face, Josh turned the chopping block over and saw a blood spattered bloom the size of an open hand smeared over its surface. Disgusted, he sneered, dropped the wooden board and looked for the gun.

Mitchell moaned.

Searching the carpeted floor, Josh found the gun.

The weapon had landed in the corner of the room. He snatched the weapon up. It was heavier than he expected.

Having never owned or fired a gun, he never

imagined the pistol would be such an effort to hold, let alone shoot.

Josh turned the gun on the killer. He would hold the hit man at bay with it while he called the cops. They can sort the whole fucking thing out now. Josh had done his part. He’d found the killer who knew everything the police needed to know. They could take it

from here. The gunshot surprised Josh and he fell backward against the wall. He immediately checked himself for a wound and found none.

Mitchell was sitting up with another gun in his left hand, this weapon smaller than the one Josh held. He was grinning through an open wound of a mouth and squinting through lacerated and bloody eyes. His right arm hung limply at his side. The hit man fired again.

The second shot also missed its target.

“It always pays to bring two guns,” Mitchell said through his broken face.

Without hesitation, Josh jerked his arm out at the killer and fired once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

The first bullet went wild, the second hit Mitchell’s right shoulder and the third hit him in the chest.

Mitchell jerked with each impact from the bullets, but didn’t go down. He did not fire his weapon. Josh, not taking it as a sign of surrender, took another step forward and fired for the fourth time. Another burst of light flared from the gun muzzle, another simultaneous explosion deafened, another spent cartridge ejected onto the carpet, more burnt cordite filled the room and Mitchell took a second hit to the chest. This time, he went down.

Please be dead. Please be fucking dead, Josh’s mind chanted as he rushed over to the killer. Mitchell might have been on his back, but that gun was still in his hand. And as much as he hated having to go near the man, it wasn’t over until he saw a corpse. He stood over Mitchell and saw rasping breaths leaving the hit man’s body. Josh prepared to fire for the last time.

The professional winced in pain. His body sent messages to his brain, none of them good. How could three

small chunks of metal feel like cannonballs thrown at his chest? Talking was a bitch—it felt as if his teeth were dice shaken in a cup and scattered across a table.

He knew several of them were loose. He breathed

through his mouth. Breathing through his nose made his face ache. He thanked God there was no glass in his eyes. Pain was relative. His broken arm stung when stationary, but it screamed when he moved it. It all hurt, but it hurt less if he kept still.

Michaels stood over him. His own 9mm pistol was

in Michaels’s hand. He found the situation funny. The hunted had turned hunter. Michaels aimed the pistol at his face.

“Don’t do it.” The professional’s teeth shifted when he spoke. He sucked a gasp of air into his mouth to cool his aching gums.

“Why shouldn’t I? I doubt you’d do the same for me if I was lying there.”

Michaels shook. The professional didn’t know if it was from fear or anger.

“You’re probably right, but I want you to know

something.”

Michaels showed little interest in anything the professional had to say. However, he let the gun drop to

his side.

A man joined Josh Michaels. He stood behind him

and peered over his shoulder. The professional didn’t recognize the man, who was dressed in running clothes, and Michaels seemed unaware of the man at his back.

Even though the professional saw the man, he wasn’t sure if he was really there. Unlike Michaels, the ceiling or walls, the jogger lacked substance. The running man was like a reflection off a lake.

“Know what?” Josh said.

It clicked. The professional now knew the running man. The runner was Stuart Shore, an AIDS patient.

He had been the first. The first one Dexter Tyrell had hired him to kill. He’d mowed down the jogger on a

300

Simon Wood

deserted Seattle highway one rainy fall morning almost two and a half years ago. But Stuart was unharmed, exhibiting none of the lacerations or broken bones from the last time he had seen him. He was as he had been the moment before his murder. The last time the hit man had seen Stuart, he’d crushed his neck under the wheels of a car to make his death look like a hitand-run.

Stuart looked down at the professional like Josh

Michaels did. He wanted to know what his murderer had to say, too. Others joined Michaels and Stuart.

The room was filling with them, all a transparent reflection of who they once were. People stood behind

Michaels and the dead jogger. The murdered poured in from the kitchen and the bedroom. Much to his discomfort, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw

them filing in through the front door. They were all there. All the innocent people he had killed for Pinnacle Investments.

They swarmed around him jostling for position,

hoping to get a better look. There must have been over fifty people crammed into that house. All the people he had killed. He didn’t remember all their names, but he did remember how and where he’d killed them. The

farmer he’d pushed into his threshing machine poked his head between two others. His family and friends never knew if it had been an accident or suicide. Jesse Torino—he’d beaten and shot her before stealing her purse to make it look like a smash ‘n grab gone wrong.

The professional recognized a guy who worked with computers. He’d tampered with his car to make it look like a bad overhaul and the car had crashed into a truck, killing the computer analyst and seriously injuring the truck driver. Two people were allowed front

row access. Mark Keegan led Margaret Macey to the head of the throng. Keegan glanced at Josh and flashed him a smile Josh didn’t see. Keegan turned his gaze back to his killer, his features hardening.

All of them wanted to know. They wanted to know

his name, his real name. Not the names he’d used to get close to them to gain their trust before killing them. It was time to tell.

More than that, the professional wanted to tell them his real name. For years he’d lived a life where the people he came in contact with never knew who he truly

was. He couldn’t remember the last time someone said his real name, and it made his heart sink. He wanted someone to say his name. Just once.

The professional smiled. In a bizarre twist, the killer was touched that so many would turn out for this occasion.

He had always thought he would die alone, without a friend or foe present.

“I want you to know my name,” the professional

said. The blood in his throat made speech difficult.

“I didn’t think it was James Mitchell. But tell it to someone who gives a shit,” Josh said.

Michaels’s lack of interest hurt the hit man. Seeing the gun being raised, he feared Michaels would shoot him before he got the chance to say his name. He

didn’t wait for an invitation.

“John Kelso. My name is John Kelso.” He blurted

out his own name like a stool pigeon under the bright lights of a cop’s interview room.

The murdered victims of John Kelso murmured his

name amongst themselves.

“Jesus, is that important to you?” Josh asked.

Kelso swallowed and tasted his blood running back down his nose. “Yes.”

Michaels snapped his head away from Kelso and out the window. Police sirens filled the air with their wail.

Their sound was muted by distance, but it wouldn’t be long before their arrival. Neighbors must have called them during the gunplay.

Michaels, panicked by the sound of approaching police cars, lost his hardness. He recognized time was

running out.

“Tell me, did you tamper with my plane?” he demanded.

Kelso

glanced at Keegan at the front of the crowd.

“Yes, I did.”

Michaels drew in a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes momentarily. “I wish I could kill you all over again.”

Slowly, Kelso’s victims became more solid and Josh Michaels and the house took on a hazy quality. Kelso knew his time was running out.

The sirens grew louder. Michaels made for the front door. Kelso grabbed his leg. Josh stopped and looked down at him.

“Say my name,” Kelso commanded.

“Fuck you,” Michaels spat.

“Say my name and I’ll tell you something you should really know.”

“Like what?”

“Say my name,” Kelso insisted.

Michaels hesitated. The sirens were close now, too close for comfort. “Okay. John Kelso. Your name is John Kelso. Now tell me.”

“You can’t save them. You’re too late.”

“Save who?” The puzzled look returned to Michaels’s face.

“Your family. You can’t save them.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Josh’s blood froze. His body became brittle—he would shatter at the slightest touch. He refused to accept it.

Regardless of what Kelso said, it wasn’t too late. He could still do something about it. He kicked off Kelso’s grip on his leg.

“What have you done to Kate and Abby?”

The hit man laughed. His eyes darted in all directions, focusing on nothing. “You’re too late,” he said

again.

“Don’t say that.”

Josh’s head swam in the confusion of the screaming sirens and Kelso’s boast. The man was laughing at him.

His anger made him want to inflict a lifetime of pain on Kelso. He wanted to make him sorry for the misery he’d caused him, his family, his friend and Bell. The sirens sounded like they were outside the door. There was no more time.

“Are they still alive?”

“They won’t be when you get to them.”

“What does that mean?”

Kelso shook his head and laughed. Josh knew he

wasn’t going to get any more from the hit man.

“Time for a taste of your own medicine,” Josh said.

Josh put out his arm with his thumb up and gradually turned his arm. When his thumb pointed down,

Josh shot Kelso in the face.

John Kelso’s laughing stopped.

Josh tore out of the house, the gun still in his hand.

Faces at the windows of the neighboring houses peered through curtained windows. He leapt into the car, throwing the gun into the passenger side foot well. Police cars approached from both ends of the street, still several hundred yards off in the distance. He roared off in his car, not bothering to turn on his lights. He turned left into a small residential street without stopping at the four-way stop. It was a minor diversion that would slow his journey by moments, but he would

avoid the cops.

He checked his mirrors and was relieved to find no police cars in pursuit. Josh made a turn onto another street and he saw a speeding squad car tear across the next intersection heading for Bell’s house. He was clear of them. The cops wouldn’t be knocking at his door; well, for a while, anyway. Neighbors probably had his license plate number and his fingerprints were all over the house. It wouldn’t take them too long to track him down.

His journey home was more frantic than the road

race to Bell’s. Josh drove more recklessly and more dangerously. With what was at stake, he had no choice.

His family’s safety was paramount.

What has Kelso done? How has he gotten to Kate

and Abby? They were questions he could only guess at with a deep-rooted fear that scared him. He would never forgive himself if they were killed as a result of his mistakes. His fear and loathing tasted sour in his mouth.

Although Josh reached speeds of eighty miles an

hour in some places on the residential roads, it was still too slow. The speed of light would have been too slow for him. He didn’t know how much time his family had before it was too late, so every second counted.

He turned onto his street. The car slewed across the road, the back end threatening to overtake the front.

Rubber shredded off the tread as the tires squealed in pain. He raced up to his house and stamped on the brakes. The car ground to a halt in his neighbor’s front yard after plowing two wild furrows with its wheels.

Kate’s minivan was parked outside. It meant they

were inside, or so he hoped. If they weren’t, he didn’t have a clue where they could be or have a hope in hell of finding them. Josh had put a bullet through the face of the only man who knew where his wife and child were. He should have brought the hit man with him.

Josh reached for the gun in the foot well. His reckless driving had tossed it around inside. Blindly, his hand leapt from place to place in the car’s darkened interior.

The vapor lights provided poor illumination for

the vehicle’s cabin. His hand found the bulky steel lump under the front passenger seat and his fingers wrapped around the weapon. He burst out of the car.

“Please be okay. Please be okay,” he quietly chanted.

Josh tried opening the door, but it was locked. He fumbled in his pockets for his key and cursed when he realized his keys were still in the car. He tore back to the car and yanked them out of the ignition, almost snapping the ignition key off.

“Kate, Abby,” he bellowed. “Are you okay? Answer

me, it’s important.”

Running back to the door, he searched for the door key, finger dexterity impaired by the cumbersome

pistol in one hand. Finding the key, Josh jammed it into the lock, twisted it and threw himself against the door.

The explosion tore the house apart. The blast blew windows outward, scattering glass far and wide. Flaming wood shake was projected high into the air, imprinting the sky with comet-like heavenly bodies.

Lengths of siding snaked across the neighborhood like balloons inflated, then released. The concussion spat the house contents into the street. The garage door shoved Kate’s minivan aside and embedded itself in an SUV three houses down the street.

The sound, although deafening, was impressive— orchestral in nature. The blast’s thunderclap was interlaced with shattering glass. Glass fragments tinkled on the road surface like waves crashing on shingle. Burning shakes thudded into lawns like the hooves of Derby runners approaching the first furlong. Crackling house materials rounded out the symphony.

Neighbors already awakened by Josh Michaels’s dramatic arrival had time to witness his house be torn

asunder in a spectacle of color and sound. The price of admission was expensive. Neighboring homes had their windows blown in and debris burned on their lawns.

Josh was flung into the air, protected from projectiles, the blast, and the heat by the door ripped off by the explosion.

He landed in the front yard with the door on top

of him. He kicked off the door and got to his feet. He ignored the ringing in his head and the aching in his bones.

Hearing and feeling the blast was no preparation for what he saw. His home was a burning skeleton—every single part was aflame. Nothing and no one could have survived that. It struck him. His family was dead. He dropped to his knees, his hands to his head, the gun in his right hand pressed up against his ear.

“They’re dead. I’ve killed them,” he screamed above the roar of the fire.

For several moments, Josh was alone in the street. None of his neighbors ventured from the confines of their homes. The event was too astounding. Exploding houses didn’t happen here. Eventually people appeared and gathered into groups discussing the occurrence. No one approached Josh. Everyone kept a healthy distance from the blaze and the homeowner with the gun. Even from the other side of the street the flames dried the skin on their shocked faces. God alone knew what perils lay ahead for any person who went near the catastrophe.

Josh knelt on his scorched lawn unable to come to terms with the meaning of the disaster. The people he cared most about, Kate and Abby, were dead because of him. It didn’t matter what he did to improve his plight. He had now suffered the worst kind of punishment.

If he had let it happen, let Kelso kill him, maybe his family would be alive—maybe a lot of people

would be alive. But there wasn’t much point to if; there wasn’t much point to anything anymore. Everything he held most dear was gone. Josh raised the pistol to his temple.

The blaze-watching crowd gasped as their neighbor put the gun to his head. What were things coming to— was their neighborhood going to hell?

A car screeched to a halt behind Josh.

“Josh! Put the gun down.” Bob Deuce flew out of

the car.

Josh ignored the shouts and closed his eyes. The

flames were so strong that even through his eyelids, red and yellow images danced before him. He took a deep breath and held it. He tightened his finger around the trigger.

Bob threw himself on top of Josh and slapped the

gun away from his head. The gun roared and the slug kicked up a chunk of lawn. Sprawling, both men fell closer to the burning house, the heat intense on their bodies. Their clothes, heated by the flames, felt hot enough to combust. Bob wrenched the gun from Josh’s grasp, then yanked his friend to his feet. He shoved Josh toward his neighbors.

The crowd parted at the sight of the weapon.

“I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Grabbing on to anything he could grasp—an arm, a shirt collar—Bob dragged Josh forward. The man had no will and was as malleable as a puppet, but he was a living dead weight. Using his bulk, Bob managed to move his friend away from the blaze.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Josh stared into the burning wreckage of his home.

Bob looked at the gun, then at Josh. He jammed the gun in the waistband of his pants against the small of his back and said, “You don’t need this, you don’t need this at all.”

“They’re dead, Bob,” Josh said.

Bob grabbed Josh, digging his fingers into Josh’s T-shirt, handfuls of material in his fists. “Yes, but you’re alive and that’s what matters now. Pinnacle Investments will sell you your life back.”

“None of that matters anymore. It’s not important.”

Josh was dead inside; his words lacked emotion.

“God damn you, Josh. This isn’t going to be for

nothing. Kate and Abby aren’t going to die in vain.”

Taking the lead, Bob took Josh sternly, one hand on his arm and the other on his back, and ushered him into his Toyota. Bob ran around to the other side of the car, removed the pistol from his waistband and climbed in.

The onlookers’ flickering faces watched the sedan roar off into the night.

Bob raced through the suburban streets just as Josh had twice that night. Jumping red lights and running stop signals, he only heeded the rules of the road when three fire engines raced across a four-way stop bound for Josh’s burning house.

Inside the car the mood was tense. Except for the whine of the thrashing engine and Bob’s mumbled

curses to other road users, silence filled the car. Josh’s silence disturbed Bob. He snatched glances at his friend’s catatonic state.

Bob snapped his fingers in front of Josh’s face.

“Come on, Josh. I need you with me.”

Josh acknowledged Bob’s presence and looked at his anxious friend.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you,” Bob said.

“I got home and Kate wouldn’t let me in. She’d

found out about Bell.”

“How?”

“Bell told her in the mall.”

“What a bitch,” Bob said.

“I had it out with Bell and someone slugged me.

When I came around, she had a knife in her chest. This is her blood.” Josh held out his hands for Bob to see.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes. John Kelso killed her.”

“Who?”

“James Mitchell—it’s his real name. He was going to kill me and make it look like a revenge killing.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bob struggled to comprehend the

facts. These weren’t the happenings of the average Joe living his life. Everyday life, if they ever got back to it, would never be the same. “So all the shit that’s been stirred up with Bell was an act to get you two linked up for a murder-suicide?”

“Not at the beginning. She came back for me, but

Kelso saw an opportunity and twisted her to his will.

She was just his puppet.”

“Where’s Kelso?”

“He’s dead. I shot him. You’ve got his gun.”

The more Josh spoke of recent traumatic events, the more he became himself. His despair evaporated and life returned to his voice. It couldn’t be said that he was back to normal. Normal was a lifetime ago.

Josh was silent again. Lost in his thoughts, he relived his escapes from death and the losses that night. He’d survived again, but those close to him hadn’t. It was hard to accept his survival. A tear ran down his cheek.

“Bell had AIDS,” Josh said matter-of-factly.

Bob teetered on the brink of saying something, but didn’t. Josh’s life was too much for him to comment on.

Untidily, Bob swung the Toyota into a parking space.

The parking lot was relatively empty, with only a few cars in the spaces. There would be no one to complain about Bob’s bad parking for a while.

Josh stared at the illuminated sign belonging to Sacramento Executive Airport. “What are we doing here?”

“There’s a plane waiting for us, my friend. It’s about time we straightened this out.”

The men crossed the parking lot and entered the

lobby. The small airport was busy. Josh always heard light and small commercial aircraft flying over his home at all hours of the day. He knew the airport’s layout well, having landed there on several occasions.

After a short flight of stairs, a bored looking man in a pilot’s uniform sitting in the airport’s lounge greeted Josh and Bob. He was younger than Josh, no more than thirty, a young pilot earning his hours in order to be picked up by one of the big commercial airlines. He got up and approached them.

“Josh Michaels and Bob Deuce?” the man asked.

“Yeah,” Bob said.

The pilot’s gaze fell on Josh. The younger man stared in amazement at Josh’s condition. His appearance

could be best described as disturbing. Blood stained the knees of his jeans and continued down his shins. Cuts and bruises paraded themselves across his face and arms. The smell of smoke permeated the air like Josh had spent a weekend next to a campfire.

“Are you from Pinnacle Investments?” Bob asked to distract the pilot.

“Er, sorry. Yes. I’m here to fly you to Seattle. My name is Martin Trent and I am your copilot. We’re all ready for you. So if you’re ready, we can take off immediately.”

Josh nodded in agreement.

Trent led the way out of the foyer and onto the

apron, where a number of aircraft were parked. Aircraft noise replaced the echoing hollowness of the airport lounge. A Navajo touched down on the asphalt.

“I was expecting you earlier,” Trent said over the din of a turboprop carrying out its checks at the holding point.

“I know, but my friend had an accident,” Bob said.

Josh became conscious of his physical condition and apparel. He looked distinctly conspicuous in his soiled clothes, and his muscles reported their discomfort. “I was wondering, do you have any spare clothes on

board that I could borrow?”

Relief at the plausible explanation was obvious on Trent’s face. “I’ve probably got something in an overnight bag you could use.”

“Thanks.”

Trent led Josh and Bob to a waiting Lear jet. The three climbed into the cramped confinement of the executive plane. All three hunched instinctively upon embarking.

The young copilot closed and secured the door.

“Okay, gentlemen, if you can buckle yourselves in, we’ll be taking off very soon. And Mr. Michaels, once we’re at cruising altitude I’ll get you those clothes. Oh, and there is a bathroom if you want to clean up.”

Trent flashed an airline smile and disappeared into the cockpit.

Josh and Bob took seats toward the rear of the aircraft in one of the twelve first-class seats. Normally this level of luxury would have excited Josh, but the knowledge he was onboard a jet taking him to Pinnacle Investments filled him with disgust.

“Why are we going to Pinnacle Investments, Bob?”

“That’s why I’ve been looking for you. I’ve gotten them to sell you your policy back. It’s over, Josh.” Bob placed a heavy hand on Josh’s shoulder.

Slowly building in speed, the engines whined.

“Fuck you, Bob. My family is dead. Four other people are dead because of this insurance policy. It’s not going to put things right. It’s not going to bring Kate and Abby back.” Josh seethed. It had gone far beyond just getting the hit man off his back. He wasn’t about to let Pinnacle Investments off the hook. He needed someone to pay for killing his family.

“Trust me, Josh. We have nothing on these people.

We go to the cops once more and we’re screwed.

They’ve probably got enough on you to put you away for life. You have the blood of a murdered woman on your clothes and your fingerprints on the gun that killed a man. No, I can’t bring your wife and child back, but I can stop the killing. It’s the best I can do.”

Trent’s professional voice broke in through the intercom.

Josh and Bob both stared at the closed door of the cockpit.

“Gentlemen, we’ve started engines and should be departing in approximately ten minutes. Flight time

should be one hour and forty-five minutes. As I said, I’ll return to you once we are airborne. Thank you for listening,”

he said.

“What am I meant to do afterward, Bob? Once I’ve

bought my life back.”

Bob frowned. “Start again. Disappear somewhere.

Get away from all this shit.”

Josh looked away, out of the aircraft window into the darkness.

The engines rose in pitch and the aircraft trundled forward. The Lear jet rolled to the holding point, paused and finally taxied onto the runway. The plane roared down the runway and lifted into the night.

Once the plane reached cruising altitude, Martin

Trent came back to the passenger area as promised. He grabbed a duffle from a storage locker and removed a pair of jeans and a shirt for Josh. He showed both men where refreshments were kept.

Josh excused himself and squeezed into the bathroom.

He removed his T-shirt and washed himself in

the small stainless steel sink. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked at the puffy bruising on his face and his singed hair. Lipstick colored bruises covered his chest and soot streaked his face. He looked like he’d been engaged in combat. Had it all been worth it? Was his survival worth the lives of his friends and family? It would be, if he lived their lives as well.

He finished washing by dunking his head into the

soapy, clouded water, soaking it for a moment, trying to wash the bad images from his mind. Water slopped out of the sink, splashing his jeans and feet. A watery, bloody pool formed on the rubber matted floor. He dried his hair with a towel and combed it into position with his fingers. He wasn’t pretty, but presentable.

Josh came out of the bathroom with his T-shirt in his hand. His bloody footprints were lost in the dark blue carpeting. Bob spoke on the onboard telephone. Trent was gone. Josh stripped out of his jeans and slipped into the young man’s clothes. The shirt fit fine, but the jeans were too tight in the waist and an inch too short in the leg. He would make do.

“Okay, Mr. Tyrell,” Bob said and hung up the

phone.

“Who’s that?”

“Dexter Tyrell. He’s the VP in charge of viatical settlements.”

“Are we meeting him?” Josh asked.

Bob nodded. “Do you want a drink?”

“Not if it’s paid for by Pinnacle Investments.”

Crashing into another of the ample seats, Josh tilted it back and swiftly fell into a deep sleep. Although deep, the sleep wasn’t peaceful. Images of Kate and Abby haunted him—their bodies ravaged by flames in the wreckage of their house, their clothes seared away, calling out to him while he watched them burn. Josh tried to help, but he was frozen to the spot. The conflagration took hold of their bodies and they melted into

the flames, although their dying screams didn’t. A fist struck him and he found himself pinned to the ground by a bullet-ridden John Kelso as Bell fired a gun into Josh’s limbs. As Bell fired a final round into his head, Josh found himself at the controls of the crippled Cessna with Mark Keegan. Keegan screamed obscenities and accused Josh of betraying him as Josh uselessly fought with the disobedient controls.

The jet touched down onto the runway, jerking Josh awake. He inhaled and rubbed his face. A thin veneer of sweat coated his body. He tilted the seat upright and stared out the window. An unknown landscape rushed past. The Lear jet shuddered to a stop before it taxied over to the apron.

“I thought I’d let you sleep,” Bob said.

“What time is it?”

“It’s eleven-fifteen.” Bob paused. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Josh thanked Trent for the clothes as they disembarked.

He promised to give them back on the return flight.

The airport was small. Not a soul wandered the terminal.

As they stepped out of the airport, the Pacific

Northwest chill bit into Josh. A taxi fired its engine and the lights came on. The sedan pulled up in front of Josh and Bob. The front passenger window retracted and the driver leaned over to address them.

“Bob Deuce?” the cabby asked.

“Yeah,” Bob said and got in.

“Pinnacle Investments, right?” the cabby asked.

The cabby was a white-haired man in his sixties. He looked like he’d been driving a taxi since he was a kid.

He hunched over the wheel with what seemed to be a permanent stoop. It looked doubtful he could stand upright.

He glanced back at his two passengers in the

rearview mirror.

“Yeah, as quick as you can,” Bob said.

“No hotel then?”

“No,” Bob said.

“Business is it?”

“Yeah,” Bob said.

“You must be pretty important people to be flown in at this hour for a business meeting. What’s the emergency?”

“That’s our business,” Josh said.

The cabby held Josh’s stare in the mirror, his old face wrinkled into a sneer. He mumbled a curse under his breath. He didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.

There was silence except for the occasional crackle from the CB radio transmissions.

The taxi pulled off the highway into a wooded area that swiftly opened up into a secluded business park. A portion of the woodland had been harvested to house three clinical-looking tinted glass and brick blocks.

Each three-story building was a clone of the other two, but each had different corporate logos glued to the outside.

Pinnacle Investments occupied the center building.

Floodlit parking lots capable of holding several

hundred cars surrounded each building. A few minutes before the witching hour on a Saturday night, the parking lots were bare.

The cab stopped in front of Pinnacle Investments’s reception with a squeak from the brakes. Bob reached for his wallet, but the disgruntled cabby shut him down with a raised hand.

“The tab’s been picked up by this place,” he said sharply as he flicked his head in the direction of Pinnacle Investments’s building. “They paid more than enough.”

Bob stuck his wallet back into his pocket and he and Josh opened the rear passenger doors. They started to get out of the car, but the cabby interrupted them.

“Do you want me to wait?”

“No, you can go,” Bob said.

The cabby nodded curtly. He barely waited for Josh and Bob to close the doors before he tore off into the night.

The two men walked up the concrete steps past the manicured landscaping. The lights in the reception illuminated the area from behind the darkened glass. Two

security men manning the reception desk watched

them approach the front doors.

One security guard, a streetwise looking black man in his mid-thirties, got up from his seat and met Josh and Bob at the doors. He looked as if he had experienced a few unorthodox events in his life. They waited

for a moment while the guard opened the door and

poked his head through, his face a question mark.

“Dexter Tyrell is expecting us,” Bob said.

“Your names, please?”

“Bob Deuce and Josh Michaels,” Bob said.

The guard opened one of the glass doors wide and

Josh and Bob entered. He locked the doors after them.

The guard went back to the reception desk. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

The other guard, an overweight white man a good ten years older than his coworker, looked up from his magazine and nodded an acknowledgment to the visitors.

Josh and Bob nodded back.

The black guard picked up a phone from the switchboard and dialed a number. After a moment his call

was answered.

“Mr. Tyrell, I have those gentlemen you were expecting.”

The guard paused and listened to the response.

“I’ll send them up, sir. Thank you.”

The guard put the phone down and pointed in the direction of the elevators. “If you would like to take the

elevator to the third floor, Mr. Tyrell will be waiting for you.”

Josh and Bob did as they were told. Josh pressed the button for the elevator and they got in.

“Right, Josh, we’re here. Play it cool. We may know what he has done, but we have no proof. I want to get out of here in the shortest period of time possible and still be alive. Remember what this guy is capable of, okay?”

Josh pursed his lips and nodded.

Bob grabbed Josh’s arm. “You’re with me on this, right?”

Josh shook Bob’s arm off. “I know exactly where we stand,” he said, sharply.

The imitation bronze elevator doors, polished to reflect a distorted image of the occupants, opened. Dexter Tyrell stood on the other side to meet them. He looked as if he’d just stepped off the nineteenth hole. He flashed a shark’s smile and welcomed them into his lair.

Tyrell ushered the two men off the elevator car.

“Welcome, gentlemen, do come this way.”

Tyrell led them along the thick pile-carpeted corridor and directed them into his office.

Josh’s hatred for Dexter Tyrell boiled inside. Up until then, he’d sunk into a pit of self-pity and self

reproach for his own actions. But now, he was

face-to-face with the devil himself, the man who had ordered his death. This monster would be sorry for what he’d done. Josh didn’t care what Bob said. Tyrell wouldn’t be allowed to escape scot-free. His family was dead because of this man’s command.

“I hope the arrangements were satisfactory to you both.” Tyrell followed them into his office.

Bob turned to Tyrell. “Yeah, great. A nice way to travel. Private jet, I mean.”

Josh nodded his agreement.

“Yes, it’s a charter firm we use now and then. A reliable outfit.” Tyrell took a seat at his desk. He gestured to the leather club chairs in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”

“I prefer to stand,” Josh said, remaining in front of Tyrell’s desk.

Bob had moved toward the chairs, but stopped

when Josh made his decision to stand. He took a step to one side and stood by the bookcases. “So will I,”

Bob said.

“As you prefer.” The courtesies over, Dexter Tyrell got down to business. He leaned back in his high

backed leather chair. “So, Mr. Deuce tells me you want to reverse your viatical settlement.”

“Yes, I do.” Josh fought the desire to launch himself over the desk and throttle Tyrell’s smug smile from his face.

“Well, I have given the subject great consideration since speaking to Bob and I have decided that it won’t be possible, Mr. Michaels.”

“What?”

“You see, we have made a substantial payment to

you and we have been paying your monthly dues over the last eighteen months. We’ve placed a significant investment in you and I personally would prefer to see a

return on that investment.”

“I can pay you your money back.”

Tyrell interlaced his fingers, brought them up to his lips and feigned contemplation. “No, Mr. Michaels. I think I’d prefer to collect. There’s no profit for Pinnacle Investments if we give your life policy back. We

aren’t a charity.”

The vice president’s sickly sweet manner was cloying.

It made Josh sick. He couldn’t stick to the plan any longer. He grabbed the chair back in front of him and sunk his fingers into the soft fabric. He wished it was Tyrell’s throat.

“Look here, you son of a bitch. Let’s cut the bullshit.

I know what you did. Your company was going to the wall because of this viatical shit.” Josh waved a dismissive hand in disgust for the viatical principle. “People stopped dying when you wanted them to, so you

started killing them. You sent a man to kill an old woman and me, and God knows how many others.

How many are there? How many have you killed?”

“Hold on, Josh,” Bob said. “This isn’t what we

agreed.”

“Not enough.” Tyrell replaced his business smile

with a hateful leer.

Tyrell’s candor amazed Josh. He’d just called Tyrell’s bluff and the man didn’t give a shit. Dexter Tyrell gave the impression he was bulletproof. What did the executive know that he didn’t?

“You bastard. What gives you the right to kill people for profit?”

Tyrell unlocked his fingers and pointed at Josh.

“You do. You and all the others like you, who coming rushing to this company, to me, and ask to be saved.

Those with AIDS who fucked one too many times

with the wrong John. The sick that are hoping for the miracle cure that will never come. And people like you, who rustle up a shit storm so big, only money can buy them out.

“But I solve all that for them. They just sign a piece of paper and all the bad stuff goes away. I grant them a second chance. The opportunity to live out their days in fine style until I decide they die.”

“Until you decide they die,” Josh said.

“Yes, me. And you wouldn’t believe how many are

willing to sign up.”

“You disgust me,” Josh said.

“Why? You’re all going to die anyway. It’s inevitable.

Once you’ve made a settlement, your life is no longer your own. It belongs to me and it’s my decision when it should end.”

“Oh, bullshit. People weren’t dying as quickly as you liked so you started wiping them out to balance the books.”

“Admit it, Josh, you don’t care about the other people, only about you. You’re pissed that your life has

caught up with you.”

“My wife and child are dead because of you.”

“No, your wife and child are dead because of you, Mr. Michaels. Your problems killed them.”

Josh went for Tyrell, throwing the chair aside and sending it crashing into the one next to it.

Suddenly, a bullet turned the corner of the desk blotter into confetti and a chunk of wood exploded from

the table, taking a pen with it.

Josh froze in his position.

Tyrell smiled.

“Josh, you should have played along,” Bob said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Dexter Tyrell’s grin broadened by the second. It was a winner’s smile. His cold eyes sparkled with delight.

Josh could see it, anybody could see it—he had lost to Tyrell. Josh shook his head in defeat and turned to his friend. Bob pointed John Kelso’s semiautomatic pistol at Josh. His fear evident, the gun trembled in Bob’s hand.

Not Bob, it can’t be Bob. How long has he been involved? He couldn’t believe his best friend had sold him out. When had Bob’s part started? When John Kelso turned up in California? Or had Bob known Josh had signed his own death warrant when he made the viatical settlement? No wonder Tyrell hadn’t looked concerned at Josh’s accusations; he already knew the game was rigged in his favor. A week ago, he would have hated Bob for his betrayal, but now, he had no more hate left.

He was prepared for the executioner’s bullet.

“Bob,” Josh said.

Bob swallowed hard. “Shut up, Josh. I’m not too

good with guns and I don’t want to shoot the wrong person.”

Josh braced himself for the next shot to rip through his brain. He didn’t fear his life ending; he welcomed it.

He couldn’t wait for that bullet to pierce his skull and end his misery. Josh had lost everything he held dear—

his wife and child burnt alive in their home, one friend murdered and the other a betrayer. All he had left was his life. Now the betrayer had him in his sights. It would be a fitting end for Josh—he’d done everything for the right reasons, even the bribe had been for the benefit of his daughter, but every decision he made had only wreaked more havoc.

Tyrell laughed. “Oh, dear, Mr. Michaels, you’re not a good judge of character. I bet you didn’t see this one coming. You’re always putting your trust in the wrong person.”

Josh ignored him. “Just do it, Bob, if you’re going to.”

“Josh, you don’t understand,” Bob pleaded.

“I don’t care why you did it. I just hope you were well paid,” Josh said, defeated.

“Don’t worry, Josh, Bob will be well looked after.

He knows when there’s a good offer on the table. I think that’s part of your problem. You don’t know a good opportunity when you see it. If you’d done the right thing and drowned in your car, just think of all the destruction that you would have saved your family and friends. A lot of people wouldn’t be dead, if you’d thought this through.”

“Just order it done, Tyrell. I don’t need to listen to your crap.”

“Oh, good God, no. You don’t think we’re going to kill you here, in my office? What do you take me for, an idiot? We’ll take you somewhere,” he said.

“I ” think you’re an idiot, Mr. Tyrell,” Bob said, the gun still aimed in the direction of the other two men in the office.

Bob’s remark knocked the smile off Tyrell’s face.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, Josh. I had to do it this way. He offered me a deal and I took it. It was the only way to get this close to the man. I was meant to come here to make a deal after you were killed, but I couldn’t let him do it.

Once I found you and you told me Kelso was dead, I made a change of plans. I told him I was bringing you here to get rid of you.”

Josh felt as confused as Tyrell. Bob’s rambling was going straight over his head.

“Kate and Abby aren’t dead,” Bob added. They’re alive? Josh heard the revelation, but it was too much for him. He buckled at the knees and slumped against Tyrell’s desk to catch his fall.

“What are you doing, Bob?” Fear and caution were

evident in Tyrell’s question.

Bob produced a small tape recorder from his pocket.

The spools were revolving and the record button was depressed. “It was the only way I could see us trapping him,” he said to Josh.

“You’re making a terrible mistake, Bob. Give me

that tape and we’ll forget all about this,” Tyrell commanded.

His hand edged toward the phone.

“Shut the fuck up before I shoot you.” Bob’s hand shook. If the gun went off, the bullet could go anywhere.

Like a gunslinger in a shootout, Tyrell reached for the telephone on his desk. Reacting to the draw, Bob instinctively aimed and fired. The bullet went wild. The vice president grabbed the handset. Bob fired again.

Tyrell screamed as the second bullet pierced his hand, splitting the handset in two. The receiver exploded and electrical sparks sizzled amongst the keys as they scattered like broken teeth. Tyrell clutched his bleeding

hand to his chest.

“Don’t make another fucking move.” Bob looked as

shaken as Tyrell did.

Tyrell whimpered and clutched his injured hand. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and bound it around his palm. Bob wasn’t taking any chances and kept the gun trained on Tyrell.

“Kate and Abby are alive?” Josh asked.

Bob’s eyes flicked from Tyrell to Josh and back to Tyrell. “Yeah. I made the deal with this son of a bitch and he told me Kelso was planning to blow up the

house. I got there before Kelso did and I got them out.

I know I should have told you when I caught up with you, but I needed you to help make a convincing story.

I’m sorry.”

Josh didn’t care about Bob not telling him. He

could be angry with his friend later. He wanted out of this place, as far as possible from Tyrell and his filthy company. He wanted to go home to his family and fix everything, put everything back the way it used to be. But then he remembered that life could never be the same, not now that Bell had told him about her disease.

“You

two won’t get away with this,” Tyrell said.

Sweat clinging to his forehead, Dexter Tyrell’s face was a mask of pain, but he didn’t feel the pain Josh felt.

Josh lunged for Tyrell in his chair. The vice president flinched, anticipating a beating. He turned his head away and raised his hands up to his face. His body collapsed into a fetal position. Josh held a fist above the executive’s head, ready to strike, but hesitated when he saw the picture on Tyrell’s desk.

Josh snatched up the framed photograph. It wasn’t a picture of his wife or a loved one, but the cover of some business magazine featuring Tyrell. Josh smashed the picture frame down on the corner of the desk. The frame shattered and pieces of glass and broken wood fell from Josh’s grasp. Josh dropped what was left of the frame. He picked up the largest of the pieces of broken glass and held it like a knife.

“Give me your arm,” Josh snarled.

“What?”

“Give me your fucking arm!” Josh barked.

Tyrell remained curled in a ball. He yelped like a wounded dog when Josh grabbed the man’s unwounded arm. He banged Tyrell’s left arm onto the

desk blotter.

Bob rushed forward. “What the hell are you doing, Josh? We have him. He’s finished.”

“Don’t come any closer, Bob.”

Bob did as he was told and looked on in fear.

Raising the shard of glass, Josh slashed it across Dexter Tyrell’s wrist. He yelped again. Blood filled the laceration and crimson poured down the sides of his arm onto the blotter.

“Don’t fucking move!” Josh bellowed at Tyrell.

Josh jammed his foot into the pit of the vice president’s stomach. He put his right arm on his right knee

and drew the makeshift knife across his own wrist.

“Josh,” Bob said.

Dropping the glass fragment, Josh took his foot out of Tyrell’s gut. He interlaced his fingers with Tyrell’s fingers so both cut wrists touched. The two men’s blood mixed. Josh pressed down on their wrists with his other hand, ensuring their blood mingled.

Tyrell looked on in disbelief. He fixed his gaze on Josh, then at the bizarre ritual being performed upon him. Slack-jawed, he said nothing.

“Good. We’re blood brothers, Tyrell.” Josh applied more pressure to their joined wounds. Blood oozed out from between their arms like jam squeezed from an overfilled sandwich. “I’m infected, Mr. Tyrell, and if luck is on my side, so are you.”

“Oh, my God.” Bob fell into one of Tyrell’s club

chairs.

“What have you done?” Tyrell demanded.

Josh enjoyed seeing the fear in Tyrell’s eyes.

“My blackmailer, my ex-mistress, murdered by your boy, told me one important fact before she died. She was diagnosed HIV positive.” Josh relished the moment.

The words HIV positive struck terror into all those who had contracted the virus and it was no different for Dexter Tyrell. Josh smiled at the fear in Tyrell’s eyes.

Tyrell fought Josh to wrench his arm free. Josh gripped tighter onto the vice president’s hand. He pressed down even harder onto Tyrell’s arm and head butted him, ending his struggle.

.; Tyrell yelped, and the blood drained from his face.

His resistance dissipated and Josh relinquished his grip on the vice president’s arm.

“Regardless of what happens to you or me, I have

the satisfaction of knowing your life is as uncertain as mine,” Josh said to Tyrell.

Dexter Tyrell stared at his wounded arm, then at

Josh. His panicked expression said it all. He was trying to comprehend what had happened to him and was

coming up short. Things like this happened to other people, not him.

Bob stared at the executive then, at his friend. “Oh, Josh.” “Call the police. Let’s finish this,” Josh said.

Bob started to say something, but let his thoughts die on his lips. He rested the pistol on the desk. He treated the weapon like it was made of glass. He wanted nothing to do with the gun anymore. He got up from the

chair and left the office.

Josh righted the chair he’d knocked over and sat

down on it. He picked up the pistol and took it out of harm’s reach, then sat back and waited for the police.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The commercials finished and a talk show took over.

The first half of the show would retrace Pinnacle Investments’s downfall and the second half would be an

open forum on the rights and wrongs of the viatical settlement system.

“Leave it alone. Don’t you people know when to

stop?” Josh said to the TV.

Josh reached across the couch for the remote and

switched the channel. He couldn’t bear to watch yet another show about the appalling truth he’d uncovered.

The subject had been done to death by the television networks, but they insisted on resurrecting the story.

He couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the word “viatical.”

It would be on cereal boxes next. He stopped

channel-hopping when he came to the cartoons. He

couldn’t see Tom and Jerry making a viatical settlement on Butch.

Cartoons. Thank God for cartoons. They were a

welcome distraction. He’d seen it all unfold on television.

The Sacramento Police Department had tracked

down John Kelso’s address book from the River City Inn. In the book, fifty-seven names and addresses were listed. All but one, Mark Keegan, were clients of Pinnacle Investments. All had been victims of unusual accidents that appeared to be have been choreographed

by John Kelso. Josh realized Kelso hadn’t gotten the chance to report his final victim’s name, Belinda Wong.

If the networks weren’t discussing John Kelso, they were discussing Dexter Tyrell. News programs showed stills of the successful executive from financial publications.

The images were a stark contrast to the broken

man the police paraded before the media. It looked like he had lost twenty pounds since his arrest. Dexter Tyrell never made it to court. On his way to his arraignment, in front of the television cameras, he broke

away from the police officer holding him and ran full pelt into the path of an oncoming bus. The executive was killed instantly. Josh watched Tyrell’s death on television. He saw a look of total bliss when the vice president saw the bus bearing down on him. Josh had never seen anyone happier.

Josh’s eyes registered the cartoon characters on the television, but his mind was elsewhere. The talk show forced him to relive recent events. The last two weeks since his return from Pinnacle Investments had been a blur. Police from two states, along with the FBI, quizzed him about the deaths of Mark Keegan, Margaret Macey, Joseph Henderson—aka Tom Jenks, Belinda

Wong and John Kelso. They also questioned him

about Dexter Tyrell and Pinnacle Investments’s involvement.

Josh held nothing back. There was no point

in lying any more. Once he started talking, nothing could stop him, and in less than two hours he’d said it all. It didn’t seem possible that the deaths and carnage could be explained away in a couple of hours. He

thought he’d left something out, but there’d been nothing. Of course, the cops kept him talking until his head swam. They hammered him for days, making him start from the beginning and dissecting the tiniest details.

The police released him after the first long day of interrogation.

He and Bob were flown home in the custody

of two police officers and were released on their own recognizance. Dexter Tyrell’s testimony and Bob’s tape recording had seen to that. The executive told the police everything. He explained how he’d hired a contract killer after selecting clients to kill. The name John Kelso was a surprise to Tyrell—Kelso had never told him his real name. Tyrell explained he had only dealt with a voice on a phone and a post office box.

Once the police had Dexter Tyrell, they were no

longer interested in Josh and Bob, although charges were still pending. But for revealing the murder-for profit scandal, it was their lawyer’s opinion the charges of intentionally wounding Tyrell would be dropped and the killing of John Kelso would be considered justifiable homicide. For all intents and purposes they

were free men; their part was over.

Josh’s release resulted in requests for interviews from all quarters. Josh declined them all, much to the media’s disappointment. He’d gone from villain to hero. Bell’s construction fraud claims were forgotten for the meantime in favor of his vigilante quest for the truth.

But Josh didn’t return to a hero’s welcome. He’d

won his life back at great expense. He had lost Kate and Abby. When he returned from Pinnacle Investments, he told Kate about everything—the affair, the

murders, he didn’t leave a single detail out. She had remained detached until he told her of the possibility that he was HIV positive. Kate cracked and burst into tears, telling him she never wanted to see him again. He’d discovered Bell had indeed been HIV positive, but he and Kate were clean. Kate didn’t care that the AIDS

scare was a false alarm. She decided they were finished.

He didn’t feel much like a hero. Thinking about it now, a tear rolled down his face.

The front door opened and Josh swiftly wiped away the tear with the back of his hand and focused his attention once more on the television.

Bob came into the living room. “Come on, Josh,

turn that crap off. You’re still in the same clothes you were wearing three days ago.”

Josh turned his head toward his frowning friend. He looked at his clothes—a T-shirt and sweatpants. Stains of some sort ran down the front of the shirt. He didn’t remember what it was or when it had happened.

“Why are you home so early?”

Ignoring Josh, Bob took the remote from his hand

and switched off the television. He sat down on the coffee table between Josh and the TV, the remote held between his clasped hands.

Josh pointed at the television. “I was watching that.”

“Yeah and you’ve been watching that crap for the

last week. Daytime will rot your brain. It’s about time you did something.”

“Like what?” Josh asked.

“Anything. Something. You can do whatever you

want now.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You haven’t lost anything.

Everything’s the same for you.”

Bob’s grip tightened around the remote and his face flushed. “Fuck you, you ungrateful shit. It’s been no picnic for me, you know. I stood by you. You are a guest in my home. It hasn’t been easy. Nancy isn’t your biggest fan after what you’ve done.”

Nancy’s icy reception had been quite clear once she knew of his affair. Josh made it his business to keep out of her way at all times. When she came home, he went to his room and he knew Bob was having his ear bent quite regularly about his stay.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, Josh.” Bob stood and started to walk away in disgust. He threw the remote and it thudded into an armchair. “No, I don’t want you to go. I want you to get on with your life instead of pissing it away on watching TV and wallowing in self-pity.”

“I don’t have much else to look forward to.”

A crooked smile spread across Bob’s face, and enthusiasm glinted in his eyes. “I think I can change all

that. Come on, man. I’ve got someplace to take you.”

“Where are we going?”

“Stop asking questions and get moving. I’ll be waiting for you in the car.” He clapped his hands together like the king of Siam and disappeared out the front door.

Josh went into the hallway. He caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror. He looked at his untidy appearance—hair unkempt, face unshaven and his

clothes wrinkled. He hoped Bob wasn’t taking him

somewhere special. He could do without the hassle. He found his running shoes and slipped them on to his bare feet.

Walking out into the daylight, Josh squinted against the brightness of the morning sunshine and raised a hand to shield his eyes. It had been days since he’d left the house to visit the outside world. It wasn’t as he remembered it. The world was a lot more colorful than

he recalled, like he had removed tinted goggles after a long day of skiing. He joined Bob in the car.

“Where are we going?” Josh asked again.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Bob didn’t divulge their destination until they got there. He indicated a three-bedroom ranch style house on the south side of Land Park with a for sale sign outside. He brought the car to a halt, but Josh wanted m

334 Simon Wood

to jump out before the Toyota had stopped. Kate stood on the porch to the house, dressed in a loose-fitting summer print dress. Josh fired the car door open, but Bob grabbed his forearm.

“Get over there and win her back. Don’t screw this up,” he said with a smile pasted across his face. “I went to a lot of trouble to get her here.”

Bob released his grip on Josh’s arm. Josh leapt out of the car and rushed over to Kate. Fearing her rejection, he slowed as he got closer and stopped about five feet from her.

Bob’s Toyota drove away.

“Hello, Josh.” Kate’s reply didn’t exhibit any enthusiasm.

“Hello,

Kate.”

“I saw you on the TV last week.”

“Yeah, I can’t seem to get rid of them. They’re like flies around a cow’s butt.”

“Are you working?”

“No. Red Circle offered me my job back, but I said no. It’s not what I want anymore.”

Kate nodded.

They were silent for a long moment until Josh broke it. “Is this where you’re living?”

“No, I’m just looking.”

“Oh. How’s Abby?”

“She’s okay.”

“Is she here?”

“No, she’s with my mom.”

“So you’re still at your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“You look good.”

“I wish I could say the same about you. You look a mess.”

It hadn’t mattered when Bob mentioned his appearance, but he was embarrassed by it now. Josh

straightened the T-shirt and combed his hair with his fingers.

He became aware of his smell, the odor of stale sweat.

“I suppose I need my two ladies to keep me straight,”

he said and ventured a weak smile.

“Who, me and Bell?” Kate said coldly.

His smile collapsed under the pressure. Josh winced; the backhand remark hurt. His open-ended comment

had left him open to ridicule. “I didn’t mean that.”

Kate sighed. “Neither did I. I’m not here to fight.”

Josh smiled. “Good.”

“What did Bob tell you?”

“Nothing. He just brought me here.”

“He’s been on my case since you came back from

Pinnacle Investments, telling me I should talk to you.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s what he said. He also said you didn’t know much about anything these days.”

Ashamed, Josh shifted nervously and studied his

feet. Had his behavior deteriorated so much that everyone could see him going downhill? Only an idiot

wouldn’t have seen it. He was an idiot. He wished he’d tidied himself up before seeing Kate. But it was probably part of Bob’s plan to make him look a wreck in

front of her to stack the odds in his favor.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “You’ve really let yourself go, Josh.”

“I know. I can do something about it. An hour in the bath and a change of clothes, that’s all it takes.” He paused for a moment. “And for you to take me back.”

The welled-up tears, too large and too heavy to remain in place, broke out and rolled down Kate’s face.

She sniffed and wiped them away with the back of her hand.

“Give me one good reason why,” she said. “Just one.”

“Because I still love you and Abby.”

Kate’s brave front couldn’t stand up to the

bombardment any longer. Her facade cracked and broke into a thousand pieces. Wracking sobs shook her body. She buried her face in her hands.

Scared of rejection, Josh hesitated. But seeing Kate’s distress, he went to her, pulled her to him and held her tight.

Kate took her hands away from her face and wrapped her arms around him. She buried her face in his shoulder.

He felt the tears soak into his shirt.

He held her tighter. Was this acceptance? He hoped her returned embrace was a sign of forgiveness. He wanted her to lower the drawbridge and allow him entry.

He spoke into her ear.

“Kate, I’m so sorry. I can’t bear to be without you. If we can’t be together, then everything I’ve done was for nothing.” Josh let it all go. He had to let Kate know how he felt; this was his last chance or he might lose her forever.

He felt Kate pull away from him. He let her go. She took a step backward.

She composed herself. “Josh, you betrayed me. You had an affair. You put our family at risk. We could have all been killed because of you. How can I ever forgive you?”

“I was stupid and God knows I wish I could change that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But give me a chance to make up for it.” He reached out to touch Kate, but wasn’t sure how she would react, so he let his hands drop to his sides.

“Should I give you a second chance?” she asked.

“Abby needs a father.”

“Should I give you a second chance?” she demanded.

“Yes.”

“What makes you think life will be different this time around? You have no job. We have no home. We don’t have anything.”

“I couldn’t ask for more.” He smiled. “We have a

clean slate. We’re free to make life anything we want it to be. We have the chance to start again from the ground up. Nothing to stop us.” His enthusiasm

spilled over.

“We’ll have to take things slow. You have a lot to make up for.”

His mouth fell open for a moment. Did this mean

what he thought it meant? She was taking him back. It was no time to think, just act. Moving toward her, he said, “I know. I have no expectations other than a second chance.”

Kate smiled for the first time. She held out her hand to him and he took it. “Okay.”

He smiled back.

“We have a house to look at.” Kate opened the door and led him inside.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

As odd as it may seem, viatical settlements do exist and there are strict criteria governing who can and can’t enter into them. For the purposes of this book, I’ve changed those criteria to meet my own ends.

Needless to say, Pinnacle Investments is fictitious, as are all the characters mentioned in this book.

I hope you enjoyed Accidents Waiting to Happen and I sincerely hope we meet again on a bookshelf near you.

The End.