Accidents Waiting to Happen

ACCIDENTS WAITING TO HAPPEN

by

Simon Wood

CHAPTER ONE

Josh Michaels took liberties with the speed limit on the quiet two-lane highway. And why shouldn’t he? He

was celebrating. His meeting with the supplier had proved worth the overnight stay in Bakersfield. He was looking forward to his performance bonus when the drinking water plant came online.

He rewarded himself by taking the winding highways instead of 1-5 back to Sacramento. He enjoyed

the challenge of the sharper bends and shorter straights that he couldn’t experience outside of a racetrack. The lack of patrolling police cars on the back roads gave him the opportunity to bend the law as much as he wanted. And goddamn it, the reason he used the highways and not the freeways was because it was fun.

One hand on the wheel, Josh removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket. He selected a speed dial number and the phone chirped in his ear as it dialed.

“Hello, the Michaels’s residence,” a young girl’s voice said.

“Hi, can I speak to the lady of the house, please?”

Josh said pleasantly.

“Speaking.”

“My darling wife, how are you? It’s good to hear

your voice. I’ve missed you so much. How is everything?

Have you sent the adoption papers off so we will

be free of our troublesome daughter?”

“Is that you, Daddy?”

“Oh no! You found me out,” Josh said smiling.

“I knew it was you when you started speaking.” His daughter sounded unimpressed with Josh’s poor attempt at deception.

“I wouldn’t make a very good superhero, would I?”

Josh said, now grinning.

“No,” she said disapprovingly.

Josh heard his wife speaking to his daughter in the background.

“Yes, it’s Daddy and he’s talking about giving me away again,” she said to her mother before returning her attention to Josh. “Here’s Mommy.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that stuff to her,” Kate said. “She’ll believe you one day.”

“Abby knows I’m playing.”

“I hope she does, because if she doesn’t, you can pay for her therapy. Anyway, where are you?”

“I’m about thirty minutes away.”

“Are you going back to the office?”

“No, I’ll give them a call in a minute, but I’ll go in tomorrow.”

“Okay then, see you later.”

“See you at about four.”

Josh hung up and punched in his office’s number. He filled in the project manager on the site visit, the quality assessment and the new contract price. Josh promised to give him a full update in the morning. He hung up and put the phone on the seat next to him.

The calls out of the way, he settled into the final part of his drive. He slowed for another of the small towns that littered the seldom used highway. These once vibrant townships were now forgotten, squeezed out by

all-powerful cities. These tiny places with forgettable names and a few hundred residents relied on passing trade for survival and barely received it. Storefronts displayed the names of the proprietors who ran them.

No national chains here. There weren’t enough consumers to warrant franchises. Leaving the town, he accelerated up to seventy-five. The road unraveled before

him, snaking across the land like an asphalt carpet.

Cresting the hill, the road fell away toward the

Sacramento River some two miles ahead. The Ford

gathered speed on the descent. Josh glanced over at the rearview mirror and spotted a black SUV in the distance.

The vehicle not only barreled along at the same

speed as Josh, but exceeded it. It was reeling in Josh’s Ford in short order. He checked his speedometer. The needle nudged seventy.

“Someone’s in a bigger hurry than I am,” he murmured to himself.

. Over the next quarter mile, Josh watched in his mirror as the SUV closed in on his tail, until its large chrome radiator grill blotted out his view. Instead of passing, the black sports utility clung to the Contour’s bumper.

“Pass me, damn it,” Josh shouted at the tailgater.

;. As if answering Josh’s request, the SUV darted out ;from behind him onto the left-hand side of the road. |Side by side, both vehicles charged toward the steel bridge spanning the Sacramento River like it was

bush line. The SUV’s chunky tires whined on the road and their sound droned in Josh’s ears. The vehicle ed past Josh without effort, but Josh backed off the speed to help the tailgater on his way. The SUV’s rear was just ahead of the Ford’s hood when without warning it swerved back into his lane.

Josh stamped on the brakes and yanked on the steering wheel. The power steering exaggerated his intentions, jerking the car violently to the right. The vehicles missed each other by a distance that couldn’t be measured in inches. Josh’s car left the road for the dirt

shoulder. The Ford slithered on the slippery surface, fishtailing and kicking up plumes of dust as the tires fought for traction. Cursing, Josh struggled to get the car under control, his actions as frantic as the vehicle’s motions.

The bridge was ahead and the river loomed. Josh’s Ford raced past the guardrail—there was no getting back on the road. There was no stopping the car in time.

“Jesus Christ!” he screamed. Did the tailgater know what he’d done?

He pushed the brake pedal even harder. Man and

machine working in perfect harmony failed to stop the car in time.

The Ford leapt off the riverbank, trimming the tops of the scrub bushes as it went. Airborne, the car’s nose pitched forward and it arced downward. The dark waters rushing up toward Josh filled his vision. Fear

grabbed him when he saw his fate. His hands gripped tightly onto the wheel and his fingernails cut grooves into his palms. He continued to jam his foot on the brake pedal in the vain hope it would prevent the car from ever hitting water. The weightless feeling in his stomach made him nauseated. He wanted to slam his eyes shut, but morbid curiosity kept them open.

The purr of the car’s engine died in time with the slowing wheel revolutions. The Contour sounded as if it were sighing, resigned to its impending fate.

The Ford struck the water like a sledgehammer. Inside the car a dull thud reverberated in conjunction

with the roar of a thousand gallons of water being displaced around the vehicle. Water hissed on the hot exhaust and engine blocks.

The shock-resistant bumper, unable to resist the

shock, was ripped off and dragged under the car as the hood buckled in sympathy. The side panels splayed and the trunk popped open, casting its contents into the river like a fisherman casting live bait. Clutter of the modern car owner—pens, CDs, gas receipts, cell phone and other diverse junk—clattered against the back of Josh’s head and the windshield.

Josh didn’t get to witness the impact. A billowing cloud mushroomed before him in an instant and his vision turned silver-white. He felt a jolt of pain across his chest and his right side tingled. For a moment, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Josh wasn’t in heaven. The seat belt had locked, pinning him in place and the driver’s airbag had detonated, exploding into his face. The chilling water seeping into his shoes told him he wasn’t dead and his ordeal wasn’t over. The car was in the water and sinking.

He smashed his fists into the deflating air bag. He had to see how bad it was—and it was bad. The nose-heavy Ford tilted forward at an angle, the weight of the engine forcing the crumpled hood underwater. Small waves lapped the windshield, showing him glimpses of the depths of the river. Water leaked in from the door seals and from somewhere under the dashboard bulkhead.

The car bobbed halfway between both shores, about a hundred feet from safety. A hundred feet—it was less than the length of a swimming pool and an easy distance to swim. Except Josh had never learned how to swim.

He had taken lessons as a kid, but had scared the shit out of himself when he went down a waterslide and found himself at the bottom of the deep end. Since then, he had never been in water any deeper than his chest. The water slapped against the side windows.

It took a moment for him to realize his foot was still on the brake pedal. He wanted to open the windows and cry for help, but knew it would let the river in. He looked at the bridge for someone who might have seen him go off the road. The tailgater stood on the bridge in front of his SUV leaning against the safety railing.

The driver was watching him, watching his car sink, watching him drown. Josh screamed at him to help, to do something. The driver did nothing.

Josh couldn’t see the man well enough to distinguish his features. Sunglasses and a baseball cap obscured the man’s face, but he could make out the driver’s movements.

The driver removed a cell phone and started

punching in a number.

“Thank God,” Josh said aloud and let his head drop.

Emergency services would be on their way. He hoped they would get to him before the car sank. It was going to be okay.

The driver put the phone away, then did something Josh didn’t understand. He held out his right arm perpendicular to his body and put his thumb up as if he

were thumbing a ride. Slowly, the driver twisted his arm around until his thumb pointed down, like a Roman Emperor giving the thumbs-down to a vanquished

gladiator.

Openmouthed, Josh stared at the man. He couldn’t believe it. What is he doing? Does this guy want me to die? It had never occurred to him that malice had been intended. He’d assumed it was no more than an accident born from reckless stupidity. The gesture was

bizarre. It didn’t make sense. The only person who could help him didn’t want to. Josh just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Hands against the window, he murmured, “Help.”

The tailgater lowered his arm, got into his vehicle and accelerated off the bridge.

Shock galvanized Josh into action. He reassessed his position. Water circulated around his ankles. He had a submariner’s view of the murky depths of the river.

Even with most of the windshield submerged, the bottom was not revealed. Silt mingled with the water, obscuring the view. River debris slid past, dragged along

by the current that also dragged Josh’s sinking car along with it.

He needed his cell phone. Why hadn’t he thought of that first? He unsnapped his seat belt and searched for it. He found it wedged between the windshield and the dashboard. The LCD display was cracked, but it looked operable. He powered it up, but couldn’t get it to dial.

The shock of the collision had broken it. Josh cursed and threw the phone into the rapidly filling foot well.

The car continued to sink. The windshield was totally underwater now and the driver’s side door was

three-quarters submerged. The water tugged at Josh’s feet.

He could do only one thing. He could swim for it

and hope for the best. He knew the techniques. He just lacked the confidence.

“I can do this, right?” he said to himself. He pulled on the door handle before he could disagree with himself, but the force of the water and the buckled panels kept the door closed. He tried the passenger door, but got the same result. He pressed the power window buts, but the electrical system had crapped out.

His exit points were blocked in the front, but he had rear passenger doors to try. He clambered into the cars rear; his every clumsy move made the car rock and bob in the water. Frantically, he tried the doors, kicking and banging them, but they were stuck just like the front ones. The windows were his last chance. Josh had not been able to afford power windows all around at the time of purchase and had cursed the inconvenience.

He blessed his good fortune now.

He leaned on the handle. The mechanism strained

against the damaged door. He looked into the dirty green water pressed up against the window. Flotsam nudged the glass. He didn’t relish the prospect of the river and its crap gushing into the car with him, but he had no choice. He leaned harder on the handle and felt the mechanism shift under his weight.

Slowly, the window retracted into the body of the door and he smelled the air. He breathed in the pleasantly earthy freshness. He continued to wind the window down as the river broke over the level of the

receding glass.

An arc of water flooded into the car with him. Christ, it’s cold, he thought, as the water drenched his thighs and groin, taking his breath away. Struggling with the overwhelming chill of the river forced him to suck in sharp, hurried breaths. The invading water dragged the car down at an accelerated rate. It left Josh with a disorientating sense of falling.

He had opened the window, but not enough to get

his athletic five foot ten body through. He forced the window open as the water climbed up his chest. Water swept through the Ford as swiftly as his fear. Knowing his head would be under the surface at any moment, he took deep breaths to fill his lungs.

For a moment, a long moment, he hesitated. His

body seized and he held his head against the roof of the sinking vehicle, sucking at the diminishing pockets of air. I can’t do this. I don’t wanna do this. Someone will save me, won’t they? Realizing doing nothing wouldn’t help him and action would do everything, he gripped the window frame against the force of the incoming water.

Josh took a final breath and held it. He threw himself through the open window, but the river forced

him back into the car. He tumbled back into the vehicle and swallowed water before he thrashed his way

above the surface. He took refreshing gulps of the remaining air.

The car disappeared below the level of the river and Josh was subjected to a view he didn’t want to see.

The pressure equalized in the car as it dropped to the riverbed, allowing Josh to squeeze himself through the aperture and out of his watery would-be coffin.

He made inefficient mauling motions with his arms and legs, but his natural buoyancy carried him upward.

He lost most of his air on the way to the surface and gulped mouthfuls of the dirty river. He surfaced with a froth of effervescent bubbles spiraling up from the car.

Coughing and spluttering, Josh took lungs full of life-preserving air. Concentrating on breathing and not swimming, he sank below the water. He reemerged,

splashing in some semblance of a crawl crossbred with ť a doggy paddle.

?;- Josh looked toward the safety of the shore and nothing else. Fighting for breath, he took mouthful-sized bites out of the water and smashed at the river with his |, arms and legs as if he were beating off an attacker. His motions took him slowly toward the shore, but he had the added problem of the river current with which to contend. The Sacramento River was a powerful creak that had consumed many a good swimmer, but he’d

be damned if he would lose to the river. Not now

Ś that he’d come so far. He fought on. His heart pounded against his rib cage, making his lungs hurt. Water filled his ears and gurgled inside his nose.

, His limbs were tired from kicking and punching

the water and he felt the energy drain from them. His

head started sinking below the surface every few

strokes and he still had fifty feet to swim.

Josh didn’t know where the strength or the ability to swim came from but they were getting him to shore.

He kept his eyes on the riverbank coming closer and closer. He wanted to make it. He had to make it. Invisible hands continued to tug at him, dragging him farther downriver, and robbing him of his landing point

on solid ground. The shore wasn’t far now. Or was it just an illusion?

Fearing he would be lost to the river, Josh lunged with his hands for the shore and a hand struck the ground. Silt compacted under his fingernails and he stopped swimming. His knees sank and touched down on the riverbed. To his relief, his head was still above water. He crawled like a babe on all fours and collapsed at the river’s edge, his head barely clear of the water. He expelled air from his chest in sharp, short breaths. Stars twinkled in his blurred vision and remained there even when he closed his eyes. He wanted

the sour taste in his mouth to go away. He was happy to be safe, but too tired to show it. Now that he had done what was necessary, his body relaxed and his bladder emptied its contents into the river.

“Yeah, piss on you,” he murmured hoarsely to the

river, smiling.

A buzzing rang in his head. The noise continued to get louder and he closed his eyes to put it out of his mind, but it increased in volume and voices joined it.

He felt the water swell and shunt his body along the shore. He listened to the voices as he fell into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness. He was safe.

CHAPTER TWO

“Mr. Michaels … Mr. Michaels … Some people are here to see you,” the soft voice said.

Josh opened his eyes. Kaleidoscopic images that

made no sense came into view. His world twisted and turned, objects meshed into others to make new ones.

Slowly, everything locked into place.

He was in a white bed in a white room. A man

dressed in a white lab coat stood over him with a benevolent smile that exposed straight teeth. In the distance, a disembodied voice mumbled inaudibly. A

scrubbed-clean freshness filled the air, but the sour taste remained in his mouth.

“Are you Saint Peter?” Josh said.

The man blurted out a laugh. “I’ve been called many things, but no, I’m not Saint Peter. I’m Dr. Robert Green—and you’re not in heaven, you’re in Sutter Memorial Hospital.” ,

“How did I get here?”

“You were very lucky. Two guys in a boat found you on the riverbank,” Dr. Green said, still smiling.

“I don’t feel very lucky.”

“I would say you are. You swallowed quite a bit of the Sacramento River, which is not exactly the cleanest water you can drink. That means your stomach is going to be upset for awhile. I’ve put you on a course of antibiotics to kill any organisms swimming inside you

that should be swimming in the river. Other than that, you just have some superficial bruising.”

“When will I be allowed to leave?”

Josh started to sit upright, but winced. His body told him where every bruise was hiding. The doctor helped his patient up and moved pillows for support.

“I want to keep you in tonight for observation, then you should be okay to go home. Anyway, like I said, some people are here to see you.”

Dr. Green turned his head to indicate two people

waiting expectantly by the door to the private room.

Kate and Abby rushed to his bedside. Kate smiled

weakly with a furrowed brow, but Abby smiled

brightly at her father.

For Josh, it was easy to produce a big smile. Kate and Abby were the most important people in the world to him. Seeing them from the hospital bed, he saw them through new eyes.

Kate looked beautiful. She was the only woman he

knew who could make jeans and a tank top look sexy.

Her shoulder-length straw-colored hair hung loose around her face. Her beauty was at the crossroads of youth and maturity, creating a sensual fusion of what was and what was to come.

Abby was a reflection of her mother, possessing the same straw-colored hair, although hers was drawn

back into a ponytail. She was his little girl, but Josh knew she would break his heart one day when she became someone else’s.

“Hey, hon,” Kate said from the side of the bed. She hugged and kissed her husband.

“Daddy, you’re alive!”

The matter of fact statement made the adults in the room laugh.

“Abby!” Kate flicked a look at the doctor and Josh.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” the doctor said in Abby’s defense.

Abby looked at everyone, unaware of the impact of her remark. Quickly, she forgot about it and stood close to Josh’s bedside.

Josh had never been so happy to see them and his

smile extended into a broad grin. The pressure of the grin on his face squeezed out a couple of tears.

“I’ll leave you all alone for awhile, but I’ll be back in a few minutes to check up on you. Remember, you still need rest, so please, no excitement.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kate said.

Dr. Green smiled pleasantly and left the room.

“Oh, Josh, what happened?” Kate said.

“Somebody forced me off the fucking road and into the river.” His anger spewed out at the recollection of the incident on the road.

“Josh … Abby.” She indicated their daughter with her eyes. Kate disliked bad language spoken in front of her.

“Don’t say bad words, Daddy,” Abby said.

“I’m sorry. Daddy was mad, but I shouldn’t say

things like that. Forgive me?”

“Yes.” Abby scrambled onto the hospital bed and

hugged him.

He felt her small arms wrap around him as tightly as they could and he hugged her back. He ignored the ache from his bruises in favor of the affection. It felt like he’d been away from his family for a lifetime. He released Abby from his embrace.

“You’re going to have to let Daddy go now, hon,”

he said.

“The police are waiting outside to talk to you,”

Kate said.

They were the last people he wanted to talk to right now, but if he wanted that son of a bitch caught, he’d have to talk to them.

“Wheel them in,” he said with a frown.

Abby broke from the hug and snuggled herself next to Josh.

“Come on, Abby. Let’s get the police officers. You’re going to sit with Uncle Bobby while Daddy and I talk to the policemen.”

“Is Bob here?” Josh said.

“Yeah, he brought us. He’s waiting outside. They

won’t let him in since he’s not family.”

Bob Deuce had been Josh’s friend since they were

twelve. “Tell him thanks for coming.”

Kate helped her daughter down from the bed after

she had given Josh a kiss. He promised to tell Abby all about the accident when he returned home. They left and Kate returned with two uniformed officers.

The officers stood at the end of the bed. Kate sat on the bed next to her husband. The officers introduced themselves as Brady and Williams. Brady did the talking and Williams took notes. Brady was in his mid

forties and a good thirty pounds overweight for his six feet. He fixed Josh with a piercing look, like he was the guilty one. Josh thought he probably had too many people lie to him over the years. Williams was a young, well-groomed black man who looked as if he’d been out of the academy a couple of years and lacked the case-hardening that came with the position.

“Could you tell us what happened, Mr. Michaels?”

Brady asked.

“I was driving back home on Highway One-sixty

two when a car overtook me approaching the river.”

“What speed were you doing, sir?” Brady interrupted.

“Sixty-five.”

Brady nodded to Williams, who made a note of the

speed.

“And are you aware of the speed on that road, sir?”

Brady inquired.

“Yes. It’s not sixty-five. If you want to give me a ticket then do it, but do me the courtesy of letting me tell you what happened,” Josh responded. His irritation blistered at the attempted slap on the wrist for speeding.

“Josh,” Kate said softly. She put a hand on his arm.

“We’re just trying to establish what happened,”

Brady said without apology. “Carry on, sir,”

“As we came to the bridge, the car behind me, I

think it was an Explorer or Expedition—”

“Color, Mr. Michaels?” Williams asked.

“Black.”

“New or old?” Williams said.

“It was a current model. It looked as if it had come straight out of the box.”

Williams’s interruption of his account with simple, objective questions relieved Josh’s tension, bringing his anger down to a simmer. Brady was a pain in the ass, but at least the other officer seemed genuinely interested in Josh’s case.

“He overtook me as we reached the bridge, but

when the SUV got just past me, it cut back across. I swerved to avoid it and went onto the shoulder. I tried to stop, but I was too close to the edge of the river. The car went over the embankment.”

“So it was an accident,” Brady said.

“No way, this guy meant for me to go over the side,”

Josh said, cutting the assumption down before it had a chance to become fact.

“What makes you say that?” Williams asked.

“When I was in the river I looked back and I saw him watching me, then the asshole gave me the thumbs

down. This bastard definitely wanted me dead,” Josh said bitterly.

“He did what?” Williams asked.

“He gave me a thumbs-down.” Josh demonstrated.

He straightened his arm with his thumb up and twisted his arm until his thumb pointed down. It was an exact representation of the gesture the man on the bridge had performed.

Kate gripped his arm tighter. “Why did he do that?”

Josh shrugged.

“And why would this man, a stranger, want to kill you?” Brady added, seemingly unimpressed by Josh’s account.

“I don’t know. You’re the ones I hope are going to find out,” Josh said, incredulous at the lack of concern shown by the cop.

“Can you give us a description of this man, sir?”

Williams asked.

“No, not really, the sun was in my face and I

couldn’t make out his features, but he was white. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap. I couldn’t tell you how tall he was.”

“So, you’re saying that a man you don’t know and

couldn’t see ran you off the road without reason?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I find that difficult to understand. Are you sure there isn’t anything you aren’t telling us, Mr. Michaels?”

“No, there fucking isn’t.”

“Mr. Michaels, there’s no need for the profanity,”

Brady said sternly.

“Sorry,” Josh snapped back.

“Nowadays, the department is getting more and

more cases of road rage. Drivers are making it personal when they don’t get their way. Everyone thinks they’re a law-enforcing road vigilante. They’re not. The police enforce the law, not citizens.” Brady paused after his sermon. “Now are you sure nothing happened that

would have provoked the SUV driver?”

“No. Nothing happened. We weren’t racing each

other. I hadn’t cut him off and I hadn’t been riding his tail. He just ran me off the road and waited around to see me drown.”

“I think we have enough for now. We’ll take another look at the area and we’ll see if there’s any physical evidence that will allow us to make any progress,” Brady

said, dismissing Josh’s final statement like he’d already passed judgment.

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the man or his vehicle? Like a license plate number?” Williams asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Your wife has given us your details and we’ll be in contact in the next few days. And sir, can I recommend that you watch the speed? You never know, ten miles an hour slower and you might have stopped in time. Good night to you both,” Brady said.

“Good night, sir… ma’am,” Williams said.

“Good night officers,” Kate said.

Williams pocketed his notebook and smiled. Brady

put his hat back on and tipped it to both of them. The two policemen left the hospital room.

Josh waited for the policeman to get out of earshot before he exploded. “They didn’t believe a word of it.

They won’t do a damn thing.”

“Calm down,” Kate said firmly. “You didn’t give

them much to work with. Give them a chance.”

“Don’t you side with them.”

“I’m not, but I think you just came across some road crazy that thought he’d have some fun. He probably got off on terrorizing you. All we need to know is that it’s over and you’re okay.” Kate hugged Josh tightly.

She fought back tears, but they came anyway.

Kate’s embrace felt tight enough to crack his ribs. It was hard to be angry when Kate was so upset. “You’re probably right, but they didn’t have to treat me like a criminal.”

“Never mind that now, I’m just happy to see you

alive.” Gently, she rocked him while she spoke. “I have no idea how you swam to shore.”

“Neither do I. God knows. Self-preservation, I suppose,”

Josh said, the anger subsiding. The rocking

soothed his frustrations, but deep down, he wasn’t satisfied.

He was sure it was no accident. It didn’t matter

if the cops didn’t believe him.

Dr. Green returned to his patient and called it a night for Josh’s visitors. He told Josh to get some rest and ushered Kate out of the room.

CHAPTER THREE

When Dr. Green entered his room the next morning, Josh was feeling hungry, but not for hospital food.

He’d left most of the breakfast they’d brought him. It had tasted like the contents of a bedpan. He would have killed for a turkey sandwich with a side of potato salad. He looked up from the magazine.

“Hi, Doctor.”

“Hello, Mr. Michaels. I thought I’d check up on you to see how we’re doing.”

We? I don’t remember you at the bottom of the river.

I could have done with the help, he thought with good humor. “We’re doing okay.”

“Stand up for me, please. How’d you sleep?”

Josh put the magazine down and hopped out of bed.

He let Green prod and poke him. “Not bad,” he lied.

His sleep had been fitful. In his dreams, he had relived distorted versions of his attempted murder at the river. In one dream, the tailgater had been at the wheel of Josh’s car and Josh had fought for control of the vehicle.

Even at close quarters Josh was unable to see the man. In the dream, everything was distorted. The baseball cap’s bill was three times its normal size. The

man’s mirrored aviator sunglasses covered half his face.

After the fight of his life, Josh lost control to the tailgater and drove the car off the bridge with both of

them in it. In another dream, the killer simply blew the bridge out from underneath Josh as he drove across.

The bridge vaporized, engulfing him in flames as the car plunged into the river. More dreams had followed.

Each time the events had varied but the outcome was the same. He hadn’t survived. Waking at the moment of death had saved him.

Finishing his examination, the doctor asked, “How’s your stomach acting?”

“I puked around three this morning.”

“Sit down. How about now?”

“Okay, I suppose. I feel hungry.”

“That’s a good sign.” Staring at Josh like he could see through to his internal organs, the doctor thought for a moment. “I think you’re okay to go home. You seem all right, no serious physical injuries. I’ll sign you off and you can go any time you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Go home, rest up, and take a few days for yourself.

Take a holiday if you want. You’ve had a traumatic episode and it’s time to put it behind you.” With a smile, he pointed at Josh. “Doctor’s orders, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll try,” Josh said begrudgingly.

Leaving the room, the doctor said. “Don’t try. Do.” Easy for you to say, he thought. The doctor had not been there. He had not experienced what Josh had experienced.

How many times had the doctor found

himself trapped in a car at the bottom of the river?

None, that’s how many. He couldn’t forget the experience just like that, nor could he forget the demented

tailgater. He believed the driver had wanted to kill, not scare him.

As soon as Green left, Josh got out of his hospital johnny and into his own clothes from an overnight bag Kate had brought with her. He wanted out of the hospital.

The facility was a reminder of the helplessness

he’d felt in the sinking car. He was in an environment he had no control over, one where he couldn’t dictate his next move. He picked up the phone and called Kate.

Kate and Abby picked him up from the hospital and took him home. It felt good to see the familiar surroundings of his home of the last six years. It was nothing special, just a two-story, three-bedroom Cape Cod on the southwest side of Sacramento. But it was comfortable and fit him like a favorite chair.

“Here we are, honey. Home,” Kate said.

Looking from the passenger window, Josh said.

“Yeah, I sure am.”

Kate tugged at his arm and he turned to face her. She pulled him over to her and kissed him full on the mouth.

Their kiss was interrupted by laughter. They stopped and looked at the person laughing in the backseat.

“What are you laughing at, Abby?” Josh said, fighting back a grin.

“You two,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t laugh too much if I were you. I haven’t thrown away those adoption papers,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Lightly, Kate punched him in the arm. “Stop that.”

Josh and his family clambered out of the minivan, and with a female on each arm he was led inside. They supported him as if he were a china doll that would break at any moment. He had the feeling this was going to be his treatment for the next few days. He

imagined they would be attending to his every whim. He might as well enjoy it while he could. After Kate opened the door, Abby raced ahead.

“Wiener, we’re home,” she called and disappeared

into the living room.

The three-year-old long-haired dachshund ran in

from the kitchen with his tail wagging. The dog was black and tan with a smudge over each eye giving him a permanently surprised look. Josh had bought the dog after Kate had miscarried and they knew she would never have another child. The dog was to be Abby’s substitute sibling. It was a stupid and insensitive gesture at a time when they were all looking for something to make up for the hurt, but that was forgotten now.

Wiener was part of the family. The dog came up to Josh for a moment to be stroked before he bounded off to Abby.

Kate slid her arm around Josh’s waist. “Is there anything you want?”

“I wouldn’t mind a sandwich or something. The

food in the hospital was what you’d expect.” He

frowned.

“Roast beef sound good?” Kate’s eyes shone with

love and affection.

Before Josh could answer, Abby interrupted. She

raced up, clutching a picture in her hands, with Wiener close behind.

“I drew this for you.” She held out the drawing for Josh to take.

Josh put his bag down and took it. He was at a loss for words.

Kate, who had already seen it, stifled a laugh and put a hand to her mouth to contain a giggle. “Tell him what it’s called, sweetie.”

“I call it Daddy’s Accident,” Abby said proudly.

Daddy’s Accident was a crayon effort that depicted a bridge and Josh at the wheel of his car at the bottom of the river. The crudely drawn picture stunned him into silence. Only a child deciphering an adult’s world could produce the picture’s shocking honesty. After several moments, he smiled at the artwork.

“What do you think?”

“It’s pretty much how it was,” he said stiltedly.

“You like it then?” Abby said expectantly.

“Oh, I love it,” he said, a little uncomfortable with the image in his hands. He bent down and kissed his daughter.

“Cool. It’s just like Mommy told it to me.”

“Is it now?” he said suspiciously.

“I’ll get that sandwich for you.” Kate left his side for the kitchen.

Josh heard a tinkle of laughter from the kitchen. His wife had left him to deal with the praise of the picture.

He searched for a compliment.

The following morning, Josh had the house to himself.

He packed off Kate and Abby to cruise the malls and fight it out with the other families with kids on spring break. The prospect of thrashing through the hordes of impatient people concentrated on the same outlet stores hadn’t appealed to him. He wanted time to himself.

Kate and Abby’s affections had been suffocating. They didn’t allow him a moment’s peace without inquiring into his well-being. He told his employers he would be taking some time off and Kate had done the same with her job. He hoped his family would relax with time, otherwise his vacation would feel longer than two weeks.

He went into his home office down the hallway from the lounge. His office was his sanctuary from family life, an indulgence that focused entirely on Josh, the single man. Bookcases had the kind of books he liked and the shelves were filled with mementos of places visited and dearly held gifts. He only made one concession to family life—Abby’s picture gallery.

He took Abby’s picture off his desk and pinned it to the wall, which was a portfolio of significant events in her life. Daddy’s Accident nestled neatly next to a portrait of Wiener and the killer whale from Marine

World. He smiled at the latest addition. It was ridiculous but true and he loved the picture.

The phone rang and Josh reached across his desk to answer it.

“Josh Michaels,” he said, still looking at his daughter’s pictures.

“Hi, Josh,” the female voice said.

Josh immediately recognized the voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in nearly two years. His smile slid from his face. He looked away from the crayon gallery and sat down on his desk before his legs failed him. The river water he thought was gone lapped uncomfortably inside his stomach, its sour taste back in his mouth.

“Hello, Bell,” he said. A stammer crept into his

voice.

“How are you?” she said in a mocking tone.

Thank God Kate didn’t answer. He counted his

blessings that he’d answered the phone. “You shouldn’t have called.”

Ignoring him, she said, “I saw your adventure on TV

the other night. Road rage is such a terrible reflection of society these days. You must have been very lucky. I thought you couldn’t swim.”

“I can’t,” he said sharply.

“So what saved you?”

“Fear,” he said flatly.

“Very impressive. Just shows you what an incentive fear is. I was surprised not to see you interviewed with that lovely wife and daughter of yours, but you never were a fan of publicity. How are they?”

“What do you want, Bell?” he said, changing the

subject.

“Straight to business, eh, Josh? No, ‘How you are, Bell?’ ‘Long time no hear, Bell?’ ‘What have you been up to, Bell?’” she snorted. “How you’ve changed, Josh.

I remember you talking to me for hours. You loved to talk. Sometimes you’d talk too much and we know

where that got you.”

“I haven’t got all day. What is it you want?” Josh chose anger to disguise his fear.

“It’s not what I want, but what I can do for you.”

“And what can you do for me?”

“I can protect that life you hold so dear. For five thousand dollars, I can guarantee that your dirty little secrets don’t reach the ears of your family—or Dateline for that matter.”

“I paid you.”

“Yes, I know, but the cost of living is always increasing and money doesn’t go as far as it once did.”

“We had an arrangement.”

“We did, but you thought it required a one-time payment and so did I. Alas, we were both wrong,” she said with a sigh. “Now, all I need is another payment, which I might add is substantially smaller than the original sum. So you should consider you’re getting a bargain.”

Josh definitely didn’t think Bell’s sales pitch was a bargain. It was another shakedown and he hoped this wasn’t the start of many such requests. “And will this be the last payment?”

“Honestly, Josh, I don’t know.”

“What if I don’t pay?”

“Well, something unfortunate could happen. I’m

sure you can guess what that would be. But you don’t have to decide now. I’ll let you think about it and I’ll call you in two days. It’s so good to hear your voice again and it’s been wonderful to speak to you. I would say give my regards to Kate, but I can’t see you doing that. Ciao, Josh. It’s been real,” she said in an overly peppy, grating manner.

Josh said nothing and held the phone to his ear until he heard the dial tone. Bitch! He couldn’t believe it was starting all over again. He thought he had paid for his stupid mistakes. He’d fucked up once, then again, only to prove that two wrongs didn’t make a right. The sour taste in his mouth from the river became stronger and he thought he was drowning again.

Josh’s crimes had been significant. He never thought it would come to prison, but it would if the truth ever came out. He thought he’d done everything necessary to cover his tracks, but it hadn’t been enough. He stretched across his desk and brought the replica model of his Cessna CI52 closer to examine its detail. Will they let me keep this in my cell? He dropped his head into his hands.

The phone rang again. Startled, Josh’s head shot up.

He stared at the phone like it was a hand grenade with the pin missing. On the fourth ring, cautiously, he picked it up.

“Hello,” Josh said.

“Mr. Michaels?”

“Yes.”

“Hello sir, it’s Officer Dale Williams. My partner and I came to the hospital two days ago.”

Relieved it wasn’t Bell back on the phone, Josh’s heart slowed to a near normal pace. He got up from his desk and settled into the swivel chair. “I remember you, Officer.”

“I wanted to give you the latest on the investigation.”

“Have you found him?”

“No, sir. We haven’t come up with anything. There were no witnesses and there’s no physical evidence at the scene other than your tire tracks. There isn’t really anything for us to go on, unless you’ve remembered anything new or know of anyone who would have

done this.”

Josh hesitated. Could Bell have masterminded the

attack? Was this a warning to let me know what will happen if I don’t play ball? He fought the urge to blurt out everything—his mistakes, Bell’s blackmail. He wanted to make amends for what he had done, but

feared the consequences. He knew Kate would never understand. Somehow, he didn’t see Officer Williams as the priestly type who would let him confess his sins and hand out contrition in return.

“Mr. Michaels?” the policeman prompted.

“No, Officer.. I don’t know of anyone who would

want to harm me intentionally.”

“Well sir … to be honest, I can’t see us finding anyone.

There’s so little for us to go on,” the young policeman confessed, a little embarrassed. “Personally,

for what it’s worth, I think you came across some psycho.

You should count yourself lucky that things turned out so well. You wouldn’t believe how many cases like this we get.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Officer Williams.”

“Sorry I couldn’t do more, sir. If we find out anything, we’ll contact you. Good-bye, sir.”

“Thanks. Good-bye.”

Josh put the phone down. What are they thinking

about me? he wondered. Did Williams and Brady think it was an accident caused by two idiots fucking around on the roads or did they think he fell asleep at the wheel and dumped the car in the river himself? With his run of luck, he wouldn’t be surprised if they charged him with reckless driving. A headache climbed in behind his eyes and settled in for the long haul. The morning hadn’t gone well.

CHAPTER FOUR

The professional opened the door, took the do not disturb sign off the hook on the back of the door and hung it on the knob outside. The motel room was

clean, but lacked character or personality. It was a clone of the rooms on either side of it, furnished with two double beds, a television, a closet, a desk and assorted hotel toiletries. The room had been his home for

the past week, but it looked as if he’d yet to check in.

The maids rarely found any signs of disturbance to the room. The waste paper baskets were never used, the beds never looked slept in and the towels were always neatly folded after use. The only evidence of his existence was the locked aluminum briefcase and suitcase.

He liked the kind of strong and resilient luggage that couldn’t easily be tampered with. He didn’t like people knowing what he did.

Removing the briefcase from the closet, he placed it on the bed. He dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down. Adjusting the combination locks, he snapped open the case and removed some files, spreading them across the bed. He scanned for something he’d missed, something he could use to his advantage to complete his task, to kill the targets. The files had arrived in the usual manner, delivered to his Boston post office box without his name on them and no return address, as instructed.

This was more than the fiftieth such “care

package” he had received over the last two years. However, this was the first time a package contained data on two targets in the same city for simultaneous termination.

He didn’t like the situation. Sacramento was a

small city where murders were not that commonplace.

It would be possible for someone to link the incidents if they dug deep enough, so it was important the deaths appeared totally unrelated.

Of the two targets, the older one, Margaret Macey, should be the easier to dispose of, and he had a novel idea for her elimination. Putting her file to one side, he picked up the other. Opening it, he leaned over in his chair, examined the photograph and frowned. This target had survived his first attempt. Josh Michaels hadn’t drowned in the river. It was a screw-up that drew attention.

He would have to be more accurate with his next

attempt. He would dig a little deeper into Michaels’s life before he exposed his position.

He had spent the first week watching his prey, seeing what they did, when they did it and whom they did it with. Michaels had offered him an opportunity when he left for a business trip. The professional had followed his target to Bakersfield. Seeing Michaels preferred driving on the deserted roads gave him the

opening for which he was looking. He knew he would be chancing his luck on the open road when not all the conditions were under his control, but he liked his chances. An “innocent” road accident for Michaels on his return journey would be the order of the day. Except it was Michaels’s lucky day, and that allowed him to survive. According to the television report, Michaels had swum to shore even though his file stated he

couldn’t swim. He hoped the rest of the information in the file was correct.

Thinking about his mistake, he cursed himself under his breath. He had to tighten up his act. Having drawn attention to himself, he was vulnerable and that was unforgivable. Mistakes were not his trademark and mistakes would get him killed. He closed Michaels’s file, sat back and let his mind drift.

The hit man liked his work. He found it challenging and he had a talent for it. Killing people was something he was good at, but the challenge didn’t come from the killing. It came from making the kill look like an accident.

The concept was his employer’s brainchild—he

regularly needed people killed, but couldn’t afford any suspicion falling upon him. He would think long and hard about what kind of accident suited each of his assigned targets to satisfy his employer. He kept news

clippings of unusual accidents that he could reconstruct or improve on for his assignments. He took great care to make his kills look like accidents, although occasionally he did commit an obvious murder if the case warranted it. In his opinion, a seemingly motiveless murder was just as hard to solve as a well-planned accident.

However, it took time to set up the kills to make them look like accidents. Too much time in his employer’s opinion—he wanted quicker and quicker turnarounds these days, and the caseload had significantly

increased in the last twelve months. Obviously, a quicker kill meant less preparation, so the quality of the assassination couldn’t be guaranteed. If his employer wanted quick kills he could do that, but it would look like murder and murder meant investigations.

He thought of himself as a craftsman rather than a ruthless killer; a member of a dying breed in a world of mass-produced lifestyles. The greatest compliment he could receive was to watch the nightly news and hear it, or read the newspaper and see it—the words “unfortunate accident” in conjunction with his target’s name.

Any monkey with a good aim and a cool nerve could take out a mark, but it took real intelligence, class and attention to detail to kill someone without anyone realizing it had been a contract hit.

Over time he began to need the applause after a superior performance. In the beginning, as soon as his

mark was dead, he was out of there before the body was even cold. These days, he had little to fear cop-wise and hung around the kill zone awhile. The ultimate praise came from the mark’s family and friends. On several occasions he had attended the funerals of his targets in person or viewed them from afar with listening devices.

He loved hearing the target’s loved ones discuss the circumstances of the death. An overwhelming pride filled

him every time. Oh yes, he loved his work.

His work was his life, but it did come with its downsides.

The hit man’s life was a loner’s life. His contact with the real world and the people in it was scant. Most of the time, the people he really saw were through the crosshairs of a gun sight. After years of practicing being unseen, practice became perfect and no one saw

him. His career made his life very impersonal. Even after two years of dealing with the same employer and

over half a million dollars of fees, he’d never met the man face-to-face. His home in Boston was like the motel room he sat in now. There were no photographs of

him or his family, books, CDs or other material possessions.

If someone walked into his house they couldn’t

tell if he had moved in, let alone lived there. He snapped out of his thoughts before he depressed himself.

He had work to do.

He removed one of the three cellular phones from

the briefcase. This one, like the other two, was the payas-you-go type, unregistered and purchased with cash.

This phone he used for his employer. He disposed of the phones regularly to prevent a regular record building up against any one person. He selected the preset number and listened to the phone dial. The call was picked up immediately.

“Yes?” his employer said.

“I have an update on the situation,” the professional said.

“And?”

“The Michaels assignment was unsuccessful.”

“What the hell do you mean? You told me it was

completed yesterday.”

“Your mark suddenly discovered he could swim.

Your files were wrong.” The professional emphasized that the blame wasn’t his.

The employer put his temper on a leash, but it

wouldn’t take much to set it off again. “Is there any police involvement?”

“Yes, but they’ve got nothing to go on. I’ve been monitoring police dispatches on my scanner. I’ve

caught a couple of transmissions and there are no further actions planned unless anything else comes to

light. Which it won’t.”

“It better not. What’s your next move?”

“I’m going to do some more research on Michaels,

get involved in his life. The closer I am to him the easier it will be.”

“I don’t want you exposing us,” the employer said.

“What about the other project?”

“To be dealt with over the next few days. I see fewer problems with that one. She’s less active than Michaels.”

“Let’s hope your next call reports success and not failure.”

“Have I ever failed before?”

The professional heard the line disconnect and

switched the phone off. He bore no resentment for his employer. The man was a greedy asshole who believed he was in control. That was fine with him. That thinking made his employer vulnerable, making it easy for

the professional to eliminate him if the occasion arose.

He replaced the cell phone in the briefcase and removed another of the phones and an address book. The

professional flicked through its pages. The names and addresses it contained didn’t belong to friends, family or business contacts, but victims. Each name was the name of a person he’d killed on behalf of his current employer. He felt obliged to record their names for posterity. All craftsmen kept records of their work, so why shouldn’t he? He knew carrying the book with

him was highly risky, but he couldn’t help himself.

He stopped at the Ms. It listed only one name. The names of Michaels and Macey were to be added very soon. He tapped the page and said, “Not long now.”

He returned the book and the files to the briefcase and locked it. Taking the case with him, he left the motel room for his car. He got into a Ford Taurus, the Explorer’s replacement. He knew the police didn’t have a

make on the license plate, but it wasn’t worth taking risks. Opening the case again, he removed the 9mm semiautomatic pistol. He checked it and holstered it under his jacket.

“Let’s see what Mr. Michaels is up to tonight,” the professional said to himself.

CHAPTER FIVE

Josh walked into the sports bar and scanned the room for someone he knew. The bar was cool and the after work crowd was just arriving. The level of conversation was set on simmer, but Bob Deuce’s voice could always be heard above the level of any conversation. There he was, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of happy

man. His size was the product of beer, junk food and a voracious appetite for sports. Any sport would do; he had even developed a taste for soccer in recent years.

Sitting at the bar, Bob objected loudly to a baseball umpire’s decision on the television. He expressed his dislike to a man sitting next to him that Josh didn’t know. Knowing Bob, he didn’t know the man either, but he had a way of picking up conversations with complete strangers. Bob s disgusted look turned into a broad grin when he saw Josh looking in his direction.

“Hey, glug, glug, Captain Nemo,” Bob boomed

across the room.

Everyone turned in Josh’s direction and his face felt hot with embarrassment. He raised a hand at his friend

and crossed the room, trying to avoid the unwanted gazes.

“Barkeep, a glass of your River City water for my good friend,” Bob demanded.

“What can I get you, Nemo?” The barman failed to

show the slightest interest in Bob’s reference.

“A Sam Adams,” Josh said.

The barman cracked open a bottle and put it in front of Josh.

“This is the man who climbed from his sinking car in the Sacramento River and swam to shore even though he can’t swim,” Bob expanded while paying for Josh’s drink.

“You’re the one,” the barman responded flatly, then moved on to the next customer.

“I saw that on TV. You’re a lucky man,” the man sitting next to Bob said.

“Something like that,” Josh said, before turning to Bob. “With your level of subtlety you should work with the terminally ill. You have a great bedside manner.”

“Hey, man, you looked as though you needed a little tail pulling. Your face is longer than that jump you made into the river. But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay, pal. You scared us for awhile,” Bob said and slapped Josh on the back.

“I’m glad to be around and thanks for looking after Kate and Abby, I appreciate it,” Josh said.

“You’re not going to tell me you love me and get all metrosexual on me, are you?”

“Bite me,” Josh said, smiling.

“That’s my boy.”

Josh swigged his beer and watched the game with

Bob to allow a moment to compose himself before

broaching the subject of his problems. Bob ruined his plan by speaking first.

“So why did you want to meet here?” Bob gestured

to the bar with the bottle. “We haven’t been in a bar together for some time. What’s up?”

“Come on, let’s sit down where we won’t be overheard.”

Bob

made his farewell to the man at the bar. As they

crossed the room, Josh felt the tension build between them. They took up residence in a quiet booth by the restrooms. Josh tried to prepare himself, putting all the facts in order before speaking.

“I think I’m in big trouble.”

“Why?”

“I don’t believe my accident was an accident. I think it was deliberate.”

“Bullshit, buddy. I think you came across Roger

Ebert without his Prozac.” Bob gave a limp-wristed thumbs down. “No disrespect intended, but you aren’t that special.”

“But I think I am. I did something that makes me

special.”

“I don’t think I’m going to want to hear this, so you’d better tell me before I get the hell out of here,” Bob said.

“You know that insurance policy I got you to cash in for me about eighteen months ago?”

“Yeah.”

“The money was for a payoff.”

“Payoff who?”

“Belinda Wong. She was blackmailing me.” Finally, he’d said it. It was out. He’d admitted his predicament to someone. He found relief in confession. It made the problem less foreboding, although he imagined this relief would be short-lived.

“Your secretary? Jesus Christ. What was she blackmailing you over?”

“We had an affair for a year when things weren’t too good between Kate and me. When I broke it off she said she would tell all.”

“I got you over fifty thousand. You gave it all to her?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t just for the affair. I gave her the money for what I told her during the affair. I took a kickback on a building project in Dixon after Abby was born.”

“Shit.” Bob sat back and struggled to comprehend

what Josh was telling him.

“You know Abby had complications after her birth

and I didn’t have the insurance to cover the bills. I was inspecting this construction project in Dixon and the construction company knew it wouldn’t pass because they’d cut corners. So when it came to the inspection, they offered me ten thousand to turn a blind eye. At the time it seemed like an answer to my prayers and I took it with both hands.”

“Christ, what a train wreck,” Bob said. “Where are the other bodies buried?”

“Thanks for making me feel better,” Josh said bitterly.

“Christ, Josh, I can’t believe you never told me. Jesus, I’m your best friend.”

“It’s not something you tell.”

Bob shook his head. “Did Kate ever wonder where

you got the money for Abby’s treatment?”

“No. She never knew my medical plan didn’t stretch that far. Unfortunately, the problem got worse when I moved on to the next project the company was building.

They wanted to arrange a similar set-up. I had

done it as a means to an end and not as a career enhancement.

I couldn’t squeal on them, so I got out of

the building trade and became a buyer.”

“And Bell knows all this?”

“The whole thing. My dick got the better of me. I wanted to show off.” Josh went silent for a moment, reliving the events in his head. “Later, I realized I was an idiot for cheating on Kate and I told Bell it was all over. She wanted to get even. She wanted money to keep the details from Kate and the press.”

Josh felt sick to his stomach. He’d hidden that part of his life so deep within him, he had forgotten all about his mistakes until now. Bell had brought them all back like drowned corpses rising to the surface. All his fears returned as if it had just happened. Josh emptied the remainder of the beer and brought the empty bottle down onto the table with a resounding crack.

“You bastard,” Bob said and meant it. “Why did you have to tell me? I was in a good mood when I came in here.”

“Because you’re my friend and the only person I

thought I could turn to.”

“You’re a bad advertisement for friendship.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“You know I won’t because I’m your friend.” Bob

said the word “friend” like it was a dirty word.

“Thanks.”

“I knew you were in the shit when you wanted that insurance policy cashed in. I thought you were overstretched or something, but this.” Bob shook his head.

“If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe.”

“So, what’s this got to do with your accident?”

“Bell called me today asking me for another five

thousand and told me if I didn’t pay, something bad would happen. I think she forced me off the bridge.”

“But you said it was a male driver.”

“It was, but maybe she paid someone.”

“No, I don’t buy that. It wouldn’t be in her interests to kill you. She’d be killing the goose that lays the golden egg and all that crap.”

“Maybe she wasn’t trying to kill me—just scare me into paying.”

“This is unreal,” Bob said. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve only got two choices. Pay her and refuel that gravy train or blow her off, tell Kate what you did and take your chances. What appeals to you most?”

“Neither.”

“Can you afford to pay this time around?”

“Yeah, I have some savings that aren’t in a joint account.”

“Then

buy yourself some time and pay her, but find

out what the hell she’s up to. I find it hard to believe she’s going to all this trouble for the small sums of money involved. It’s not as if she’s tapping the Rockefeller fountain. Personally, I think she’s using the accident as a lever to screw with you, and it’s working.”

“So you think the timing is coincidental?”

“Yes, I do. You’ve dug yourself in deep and you’re panicking. You need to start thinking straight.”

“Okay, I’ll pay her. How do I diffuse the situation?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to deal with that when we have more information.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. As much as I dislike what you’ve done, I’m here to help you, man. You and Kate have too much going for you.”

“Don’t tell me what I already know.”

“Well, why didn’t you know it at the time?”

Josh didn’t have an answer.

Bob Deuce sat in his office at Family Stop Insurance Services moving paperwork around. Josh’s revelations in the bar the previous night preoccupied him. The impact had left him concussed. He’d never dreamt his

closest friend could have got himself into so much shit.

He’d stayed to watch the game but found his mind

wandering back to Josh. He left twenty minutes after Josh did. His wife, Nancy, detected his mood, but he deflected her questions.

He slept little. Rather than sharing Josh’s burden, he’d taken it all upon his shoulders. He realized the pressure Josh must be under keeping it a secret for all this time. It was bad enough experiencing the situation by proxy. He would find it difficult not to blurt it out the next time he saw Kate. Sharing was a bitch. But friendship was friendship and Josh needed his help now more than ever. Maria, Bob’s receptionist, acted as a welcome distraction when she popped her head

through the door.

“Bob, I have a James Mitchell from Pinnacle Investments outside. He says he’s got an appointment with

you, but I don’t have a record of it. Is that right?”

“Yes, he does. He called after you’d gone. Sorry, I didn’t write it down. Send him in.” Bob managed a thin smile. He didn’t really want to see this guy, but duty called.

Maria disappeared.

Bob looked at his desk. It was a sty. He thought

about making a stab at clearing it up, but blew the idea off. He just didn’t have the heart. Let him see that I’m a slob.

Maria returned with his ten o’clock appointment.

“James Mitchell, Bob.”

Maria saw herself out and the men introduced themselves and shook hands. The strength of the man’s grip

surprised Bob. He looked so ordinary. Everything

about James Mitchell was average—medium build, average height, slightly receding hairline and an unremarkable face. If he had been the basis for “Where’s

Waldo,” no one would have ever found him. He was

about forty-five and dressed conservatively in a generic single-breasted suit.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Mitchell?” Bob said.

“James, please. I’m speaking to various insurance brokers in California to promote Pinnacle Investments and to remind them of our services, especially our unique ones. In the past you’ve been instrumental in providing us business, but things have dropped off and I would like to see what we can do for you and your clients,” Mitchell said.

Bob saw no point in prolonging this meeting for

nicety’s sake. He wanted the salesman out of his office as soon as possible. “Okay, James. The main reason for the decline is most of your services are geared to investments and I’m an insurance agent. I’ve sold some of

your life policies, but I do find that some of your competitors offer much better rates.”

Mitchell asked Bob to outline where the differences were between Pinnacle Investments and their competitors.

Mitchell wrote Bob’s comments in a notebook on

top of his briefcase, which he balanced on his knees.

Bob thought the exercise was a waste of his time, but it took his mind off his other worries.

“I see you’ve sold several of our viatical policies over the last few years—to a John S. Densmore, who is now deceased, a Margaret F. Macey and a Joshua K. Michaels.”

Bob nodded in agreement.

“I wanted to update our records on Margaret Macey and Josh Michaels.”

“Let me get their files.” Bob left his desk for the archives in the rear of the building and returned with the files. Sitting down, he said, “What do you need to know?”

“Josh Michaels, does he still fly and rock climb?”

“Yes, he flies regularly, but I don’t think he rock climbs much nowadays.”

“And how’s his health?”

“Good as far as I know.”

“Good. And how about Margaret Macey’s health?”

“Not so good. I saw her some months ago to renew

her homeowner’s insurance and she didn’t look well.

She’s a very nervous woman. I think she’s very drug dependent these days.”

“So the treatment is not going well, eh?”

“No, I don’t think the doctors have much chance of curing her heart problems.”

“Is she terminal?”

“No, I think it’s just that she’s old and everything is worn out.” Bob added, “She went for the viatical settlement because she needed cash, not because she was

terminal.”

“That’s a shame.” Mitchell looked suitably moved, but then suddenly brightened. “Thanks for the update, Bob. Do you have any other candidates for these

unique insurance opportunities? It’s a thriving division for us. I know it was originally intended to be a program for the terminally ill, but since then we’ve opened up the qualifications. It’s fast becoming an alternative way to refinance.”

“I don’t have many terminal patients. It’s something I have recommended to clients as and when the need has arisen. With regard to refinancing, that’s something I don’t really get involved in unless my clients ask me.”

“I understand, as long as we’re not losing out to our competitors on that one. We like to think that we offer the best viatical service on the market.”

Bob didn’t need to hear the pitch and wrapped up

business with Mitchell. They bullshitted a while about the insurance industry, life, family and sports. He felt sorry for Mitchell. It wasn’t much of a life flitting from motel to motel. He knew. He’d done it himself for six years. He’d given it up to start his own business and never looked back.

How long are you in the area for, James?” Bob

asked.

“Until the weekend, then I move to San Francisco, then LA.”

“Well, if you feel up to it, I’m going to a barbecue on Saturday. Would you like to come? It’s nothing fancy.

Just a friend’s birthday and he’s one of your clients, Josh Michaels.”

“One of our viatical clients,” Mitchell said.

“Yeah, but please don’t mention it. His wife doesn’t know.”

“Oh, I understand,” Mitchell said, stumbling over himself. “Yeah, sounds good. I would love to come.”

Mitchell thanked Bob for his time and hospitality.

He gave Bob his motel address at the River City Inn, on the south side of the city, and they agreed on a time to meet on Saturday. The meeting had briefly perked

Bob’s spirits, but he fell back into his funk once the salesman was gone.

CHAPTER SIX

“Are you two going to play that game all day? It’s beautiful outside and you should be out there,” Kate complained.

“We’re playing until I beat Daddy,” Abby replied.

“Oh yeah?” Mock disbelief colored his words.

“You’re a long way from winning, my girl. I’ll be victorious.

Josh and his daughter were playing the Sacramento version of Monopoly in the living room. The game

had started after breakfast and was still in progress at three in the afternoon. Properties had been bought and skylines built. The pair fought for domination.

Abby held her property cards fanned close to her face like a seasoned poker player, but her face told Josh she was pleased with herself. Occasionally she confided conspiratorially with her adviser, Wiener. He was meant to be representing the bank, but Josh was sure the dog knew something he didn’t. He was losing to his daughter.

“Is that dog helping you, Abby?” he said, and raised an eyebrow.

“No, that would be cheating,” she said, and hid her face behind her cards and giggled. “Your go.”

Josh smiled at Abby. He picked up the dice and

rolled them. A five and a two.

“Damn! Not again.” This was the third time he’d

been sent to the Traffic Jam square. He moved his riverboat piece to the square.

Abby erupted into laughter and Wiener barked in

support.

“No two hundred dollars, no passing Go, Daddy,”

she squealed in delight and hugged the dachshund.

“Josh, I can’t believe you’re getting upset over losing to your daughter and the dog,” Kate said, hoping to inject some sanity into the situation.

“That’s the third time I’ve been on that damn Traffic Jam square in the last five circuits. That must be against the odds, and I bet that’s gonna cost me another hundred bucks to get out,” he said in dismay.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll be around for consolation hugs for the loser, okay?” Kate said to the industrialists at play.

Josh wasn’t really upset. It was all for Abby’s entertainment.

He was actually enjoying himself. His talk

with Bob had lightened his mood and so had his two weeks leave. He wasn’t sure whether the combination of these events contributed to his high spirits, but he hoped so. He was getting back to a normal life, at last.

Abby rolled the dice. A double six. She giggled again.

“What games do you play at school?” Josh asked.

The doorbell rang.

“Can someone answer that please?” Kate called out.

“If you wouldn’t mind, honey. I’m on the verge of scalping this little upstart,” Josh called back.

“No, he’s not, Mom,” Abby shouted.

“Okay, I’ll answer it, shall I?”

“Mommy’s never understood business, not like us

chickens,” Josh said.

Wiener yawned and licked his nose.

Kate opened the door and spoke to the visitor on the porch. Her tone was one of confusion and alarm. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

Josh looked up from the game. Abby, oblivious to

her mother’s remarks, counted off her move around the perimeter of the board.

“Josh, would you come here a minute?” Kate called.

Getting up, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t go Daddy, it’s your turn,” Abby said.

“I’ll be back in a minute, honey,” he said over his shoulder.

Kate turned toward him. Her expression was one of shock. A delivery boy in his early twenties stood on the porch with a confused look on his face.

“What’s up?” Josh slipped an arm around his wife’s waist in a statement of solidarity.

“I have a delivery for the Michaels’s household. I’m very sorry for your loss, please accept my condolences,”

the young man said in a solemn tone, but bewilderment furrowed his brow.

He proffered the delivery, a funeral wreath, for Josh to accept. Josh couldn’t believe what the guy held in his hands and took an involuntary step backward.

“Is this a joke?” Josh demanded, his grip on his temper slipping.

“No, sir,” the delivery boy said.

Josh looked at the boy dressed in a yellow and green windbreaker and peered over his shoulder at the van parked in the street. The van was from Forget-Me-Not Florists and displayed a free phone number and a local address. Appearances seemed to be honest enough; the delivery boy wasn’t bogus. Josh looked back at the boy.

“It’s for the recently departed Josh Michaels,” the driver continued. He made another attempt to give the wreath to Josh.

“I’m Josh Michaels and I’m not fucking dead.” Josh exploded at the expense of the messenger. The delivery boy took two steps back from the force of the blast.

“Josh, for Christ’s sake, he didn’t send it,” Kate said.

“Who sent it?” Josh demanded.

The shaken Forget-Me-Not boy removed the card

from the wreath to read it.

“Pinnacle Investments, sir,” he said, offering the card to Josh.

Josh snatched the card from the delivery boy, almost removing a couple of fingers in the process. The boy snapped his arm back in reflex. Josh read the handwritten card:

To the Michaels family,

Please accept our heartfelt sympathies in your

time of loss.

Pinnacle Investments

“Why did they order this?” Josh shouted.

“I don’t know, sir.” The delivery boy took another step backward, the wreath still outstretched.

“Josh, leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything.”

Kate snatched up her purse and moved between her

husband and the scared driver.

“My husband has had a very traumatic time over the last few days. I’m very sorry.”

She took the wreath and got a ten-dollar bill from her purse. She gave it to the boy and apologized to him again.

The driver took the money and thanked her, but

his gaze was on Josh. He was wary just in case Josh launched into another attack. He marched back to

his van, muttering obscenities as he went.

Kate closed the door.

“What’s your problem?” she demanded. “What was

all that about? That poor bastard didn’t know anything.”

“I wanted to know what was going on. What do Pinnacle Investments think they are playing at sending me a wreath? Why did they think I was dead?” Josh shouted.

“And bawling out some kid helps, does it?” Kate

said, shouting almost as loud as Josh.

He hesitated and bit down his rage. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Who is Pinnacle Investments anyway?” she demanded.

Josh

caught himself before he said something damaging.

He couldn’t afford to tell Kate the truth. In the moment he took to compose the lie, rationality took over and the rage subsided. “I have my life insurance with them,” he said, his anger receding with every word.

“Well, I suggest you take it up with Bob, he’s your insurance agent,” she said.

The shouting died and another sound filled the air—

crying. Abby stood in the living room doorway, sobbing.

She buried her face into Wiener’s body. The dog

didn’t move as her tears soaked into his coat.

Oh, shit, Josh thought.

“Well done, Josh,” Kate said bitterly.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dexter Tyrell sat at his desk in his executive office. It was five hundred square feet of office space luxuriously decorated with the best furniture, the best carpeting, the best of everything befitting a vice president of Pinnacle Investments.

The report lay on the desk in front of him, the result of weeks of number crunching and research. But it didn’t matter how many times he juggled the numbers, he still failed to meet the return he’d promised the board. The growth in revenues would be ten percent, not fifteen, as he’d promised.

Seeing Greg Baxter’s name on the cover filled him with bile. The little shit would be loving this. Ten years his junior, Baxter was the spitting image of himself—

ruthless and hungry for success. Did that bastard think I wouldn’t find out?

Baxter had been playing politics. He didn’t want to be on the losing team and rather than fight for his successes, he wanted to jump ship. He’d been sucking up

to the other divisions.

“I’ll fix you, you little prick,” Tyrell said to Baxter’s name at the top of the report.

He’d see that Baxter’s wings were clipped before he got to scale the corporate heights. He still possessed enough clout to arrange for a crap assignment. Baxter could never be like him. The man lacked the guts and the vision to be capable of what he had done for the division.

The telephone on his desk rang. “Yes?”

“Mr. Tyrell, Mr. Edgar has asked for all VPs to be in the board room in ten minutes for the quarterly review,”

Tyrell’s personal assistant said.

“Thank you.” He put the phone down.

He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. It was an opportunity for the big men to show their disappointment in him like parents reading their child’s lackluster report card. At forty-one, Dexter Tyrell was the youngest vice president to make it to the board. Many in the organization resented his appointment, including three members of the board. They would love to watch him fail, even at their own personal expense. They were big men playing childish games. Screw it, he thought. I make the rules. He flicked through his copy of the report for the last time.

Tyrell had been appointed to the board eight years earlier, a rising star in the corporate heavens. However, he looked older than his years, the price for being the head of a failing business venture. His mop of hair had receded to a widow’s peak with a balding spot on top.

The golden blond had withered away to leave a tangle of gray growing out like weeds in a field.

His rapid rise to success came when he’d presented the board a guaranteed surefire winner. Dexter Tyrell had seen the future and it had been viatical settlements.

A new and unique business opportunity was created and Tyrell was the man given the task of pulling it off.

Terminal illness in the early 1990s was creating a disaster area for its sufferers, especially AIDS victims.

Medical insurance policies were not designed to cover the effects of long-term illness and this left the policyholders out in the cold to fend for themselves. The patients found themselves footing the bills for expensive

treatments to maintain their quality of life. Eventually, patients unable to pay were denied access to drugs because of the cost. But if the patient had a life insurance policy there was a way out for them, through a viatical settlement.

Dexter Tyrell saw the gap in the market. His division and several other competing companies jumped to the rescue. Pinnacle Investments’s viatical division took over payment of the terminally ill’s life insurance policies.

In addition to paying the monthly dues, a generous cash payment was made to the patient. In return,

Pinnacle Investments became the beneficiary of the policy.

The cash payment could be a considerable percentage of the face value of the life policy. The percentage was based on the likelihood of the client’s death—the closer the client was to dying, the greater the payment.

And thus, an industry was born mainly thanks to the HIV virus providing so many potential customers. An industry where everyone got what they wanted. The investment companies returned a guaranteed profit. Patients

had a relatively carefree life until their death. The medical insurance companies got a monkey off their back. Everybody won.

Dexter was the toast of Pinnacle Investments for four years. People died as projected, usually within a twelve to eighteen month period, and the company collected on the insurance policies. All was plain sailing, except for some problems with dependants. The surviving

family members were often upset by the loss of their inheritance to the profit of corporate America. Dexter liked to think of it as sour grapes. It was their unsatisfied greed that was upset. He provided a public service, a good deed, and like all good deeds, someone received a reward. In this case, cash. Publicly he was the Good Samaritan, but honestly he believed he’d exploited a business opportunity to good effect.

The industry snowballed. Pinnacle Investments received the number of requests for viatical settlements in a week that it had received in a month two years before.

At the rate at which their clients died, the company was able to take as many new clients as it wanted.

But disaster hit when the medical community discovered fantastic breakthroughs in the fields of treating terminal illnesses. The major advance had been in the treatment of HIV with reverse transcriptase inhibitors and protease inhibitor drugs. The new protease inhibitors seemed to purge the blood of virus. Drugs with

names like Nofinivir, Thyrimmune, Thydex, and Xered cropped up from all quarters, with others following close behind. Dexter Tyrell’s viatical clients had the cash to pay for the new treatments with the payouts from their settlements. As a result, clients stopped dying as scheduled.

The majority of Dexter Tyrell’s clients were HIV

positive patients. How he wished for the new drugs to fail. The new discoveries meant that life expectancy could be extended as much as ten to fifteen years with a quality of life previously unseen. Patients with an extended lifeline faced the prospect that in ten to fifteen years a cure could be found. The unwelcome possibility of financial ruin now greeted Pinnacle Investments and its competitors.

Pinnacle Investments’s viatical division saw its income dry up and its costs increase over the next eighteen months. Many viatical policies’ monthly dues

needed paying. Dexter Tyrell was blamed for his short

54

sightedness. He was seen as the man who would sink the company.

To Tyrell’s credit, he’d been inventive when his back was against the wall. He’d diversified, changed his investment mix, all but stopping the intake of HIV victims

and replacing them with patients that were unlikely to survive from other illnesses such as cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, and multiple sclerosis. Also, individuals with dangerous jobs or hereditary conditions were welcome.

Those actions and some other extreme measures

he kept from the board had averted the collapse of the viatical division. He was a hero. The board should be thanking him. But they wouldn’t.

The desk clock told Tyrell that his ten minutes were up. He picked up the copies of the quarterly report and his presentation materials and made his way to the boardroom.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Josh paced about the house on eggshells for hours. Bell had said she’d call at noon. It was twenty after. What made matters worse was Kate and Abby were still in the house. He’d hoped they would be out by now, but even after some prompting they’d decided to stay home.

Finally, the phone rang.

Dropping the newspaper he wasn’t really reading,

Josh leapt from the couch in the living room to grab the phone.

“Josh Michaels.” He couldn’t help but hear the overwrought tone to his voice.

“Josh, how are you?” Bell said smoothly.

He shifted to the open doorway between the living room and the foyer, giving him full view of all the downstairs rooms.

He’d have to put on a good show for his wife and

daughter. He knew he had to make it sound natural, like he was talking to a good friend, not his blackmailer. He did a good job. “Fine, fine, and you?” he said pleasantly.

Coming downstairs with her arms full of laundry,

Kate asked, “Who’s that?”

“Hold on a second,” Josh covered the mouthpiece

with one hand. “Flying club.”

Kate nodded and went into the kitchen with the dirty clothes.

Josh was forced to listen to Bell’s laughter while he spoke to Kate. He wanted to bawl her out, but bit back the desire. He took his hand off the mouthpiece.

“Hello,” he said.

“Oh, Josh. You make me laugh. You lie so well. You have a real flare for it.”

Ignoring her derision, he kept a wary eye on Kate in the kitchen. “I think I know what I want to do.”

“So you’ve made a decision?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll pay?”

“Yes.”

“Will you say ‘yes’ once more? Just for me.”

Josh’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. He ground out the word. “Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Josh hated Bell for getting a thrill out of making him squirm under these conditions, but he could do little else than pander to her.

Bell switched to a businesslike tone. “I’ll give you three hours to bring me the money.”

“Where?”

“Sacramento Zoo.”

The location surprised him. He almost repeated it, but caught himself. “Where?”

“In front of the white tiger and lion enclosures.”

Smiling, Kate came toward him. Briefly, she held his hand and mouthed, “I love you,” before returning upstairs.

,‘Josh

smiled for appearances. “Okay, sounds good.”

“Good. I’m glad you’ve come around to my way of

thinking. I’m quite enjoying this phone call. I feel I’m in one of those cheesy spy movies. Quite the giggle, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Josh said. “Quite the giggle.”

“The clock’s ticking, Josh.” Bell hung up.

Josh called up stairs, “I’m going out for awhile. I’m gonna borrow the car, okay?”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Josh waited on a park bench in front of the white tiger and lion enclosures as promised with the five thousand dollars in a padded envelope he had bought from a Rite-Aid on the way to the bank. There’d been no

problem removing the cash from the savings account.

The teller showed no surprise or interest. Kate wouldn’t notice the missing money. The residual cash came from the remainder of the sale of his life insurance policy less the initial blackmail money.

He sat in front of a bank of five habitats in the middle of the zoo that contained the more impressive animals—white tigers, lions, the polar bear, hyenas and snow leopards. Josh ignored the people in front of the caged animals, the burbling from the kids’

chatter and the sound of the animals themselves. Instead, he contemplated what he was going to say to

Bell, how he would finish it with her once and for all.

He wasn’t doing very well; he hadn’t come up with anything good. Josh felt the balance of power was with the blackmailer. He was the one who was willing to pay to hide his secrets. He was holding the weaker hand and a pair of threes never beat a full house. The best he could do was bluff. Was he a good enough

card player?

Josh checked his watch—ten after three. Bell was ten minutes late and he had arrived five minutes early. She’s doing this to get to me, he thought and mumbled a curse under his breath.

He looked at the lion in its cage in front of him. It was a beautiful animal born to roam the plains of Africa, but this lion had never sampled that life. It had been born in captivity and transferred from the San Diego Zoo. It was just as unsatisfied with its situation as Josh was with his. The creature paced its inadequately sized habitat while its mate slept. Josh wasn’t

sure how lions lived in their natural surroundings, but he was sure they didn’t live within twenty feet of where they shit. The lion dropped to the ground by its mate.

“There’s no place like home, eh, Toto?” he murmured.

The crowd to Josh’s right parted right on cue and Bell came through the gap they created for her. She caught Josh’s eye, smiled seductively, walked over and stopped in front of him.

She was the same sexy Asian woman he’d had an affair with nearly two years before. She was a small

woman, only a little more than five feet, with a delicate frame that looked as if she’d break if he held her too tightly. Her skin, the color of coffee with too much cream, was all too abundantly on show. Dressed for a warm spring day, she wore a khaki skirt that stopped three inches above the knee, more provocative than if she wore no skirt at all. The white tank top with spaghetti straps covered a minimal bra for her small breasts. She had the most provocative features he’d ever seen. Her almond shaped face had full lips, dark, knowing eyes and unusually curved eyebrows that always seemed to hint that she knew something he didn’t. Although he detested her, he still couldn’t help but drink her in.

“You look like a lost little boy, sitting there all on your own. Cheer up, things could be worse.”

He stared up at her. “How?”

Bell sat down next to him on a bench donated by a local resident. She flicked her long hair with the back of her hand and the raven strands tumbled over her shoulder obediently. She stretched out an arm along the bench behind Josh.

Without looking at him, she said, “You could be at home explaining what you did all those years ago to your wife. Couldn’t you, hmmm?”

Josh felt Bell’s arm snake around his shoulders. Her touch repelled him, although it once would have made him instantly hard. He uncurled her arm, placing it on her lap.

“Don’t you like that?”

Josh shot her a disapproving look. “I thought you were here to conduct some business.”

“Oh, Josh. It doesn’t have to be all business. I know you’ve got my money, but I thought we could socialize for awhile.”

“I don’t feel like socializing.”

“But I haven’t seen you in such a long time. You look good. I see you’re still in shape. You’re one of the few men I know who has the butt to pull off a pair of jeans,” she said.

Josh steered the discussion back on track. “Bell, why have you come back?”

“I’m a Sacramento girl born and bred. I don’t see why I should be away from my home, my friends…

my lover.” She flashed Josh a coy smile.

Did she honestly think they would pick up where

they left off after what she had done? “We’re not getting back together. Are you crazy?”

Bell seemed unaffected by the accusation. “You never can tell.”

“Why did we have to come here? It’s too public.”

She looked away and briefly surveyed the zoo, its animals and its patrons. Without looking at Josh she

spoke seriously, a side of her Josh rarely saw. “It’s strange. I’ve been away less than two years and I have yearnings for the weirdest things. I don’t know why, but it’s the little things you miss. This is one of them. I haven’t been to this zoo since I was a kid and a lot’s changed since then. I’m not even a big zoo fan, but when I came back to Sac, the memories flooded back and I just had to come. Do you like zoos?”

Josh wasn’t sure whether to believe what Bell was saying.

She never seemed that sentimental before, but maybe San Diego hadn’t been kind to her. “Not particularly.”

Bell snapped out of her reverie and returned to her normal self. “Well, do you have my money?”

Josh removed the envelope from underneath his

denim shirt. He placed the envelope on the bench between the two of them, letting his hand rest on it. As he went to ease his hand back, Bell placed her hand on the back of it and applied pressure to keep it in place for a moment. Josh yanked his hand out from under hers.

The transaction looked more conspicuous than if Josh had just given her the five thousand straight from his wallet. Bell laughed and threw her head back. She picked up the envelope and slipped it into her purse.

People meandered past without noticing the transaction.

Unable to comprehend their behavior, the lion

watched with keen interest the activities of the two people on the bench.

“Josh, you’re so easy.”

Her sense of humor didn’t impress him. “Does this money mean you’ll keep out of my life here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Bell, I can’t have that. I can’t live not knowing when you’re going to pop up next.” Josh felt his

cool slip from his grasp.

“I’m sorry. That’s the price you have to pay for being a criminal. If you’d been a good man, a faithful man, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” Bell’s expression hardened into a sneer. “So you’d better get used to it.”

“But every criminal eventually pays his debt to society,”

he said.

“Yeah, but some crimes warrant the death penalty.”

Josh said nothing. She had him. He was cornered

just like the animals. He couldn’t live like this. His only way out Was to confess and take his chances. He would only tie himself in frustrated knots waiting for Bell to issue another demand. He would tell Kate about the kickback and the affair and hope to God she would forgive him. It wasn’t an enviable choice, but perhaps necessary.

“It won’t be that easy to get rid of me, Josh.”

“You wouldn’t have much hold over me if I told Kate.”

She looked at him with a crooked smile, amused by his attempt at trying to get the upper hand. “Do you think Kate would understand what you did? Besides, even if you did, I’ve still got you for the bribe. I’m sure that your employers, the police and the people living in that apartment complex would be most interested in your part in its dubious construction.”

Josh looked around furtively, checking that someone hadn’t overheard them.

“Don’t worry, Josh. No one here cares about you

and your sordid past,” she reassured.

“So what will it take to get rid of you?”

She paused for a moment. “A lifetime of watching

you squirm because of what you did to me.”

He saw the hatred ablaze in her eyes. “What did I do to make you hate me that much?”

“You dumped me. You had your fun. You came to

me when you had problems at home. You promised

you’d leave her for me, but you chickened out when things got all lovey-dovey again. You shit on me, Josh.”

A woman with her preschool age child walked past

Josh and Bell. Offended by the foul language, she grabbed her daughter’s hand and sped past. She muttered her disgust as she went.

Bell embarrassed him, but she ignored the woman.

“I don’t regret breaking up with you. It was wrong to cheat on Kate. I regret the affair. I betrayed my family and I was wrong.”

“What about me?” she demanded.

“What I did to you was wrong. I never should have gotten involved with you and I apologize to you, right now. I’m sorry.”

“And you think that’s enough?”

“I want it to be enough. I want to be left alone. I don’t care about the money. I don’t want to see you prosecuted for blackmail. I just want peace in my life.”

“I’m not sure that I can grant you that.” Bell stood up. “We all have wants, but we rarely get them.”

Still seated, Josh grabbed her wrist. “This can’t continue.

You know that.”

“I know.” Her smile weakened and she looked away.

He let go of her wrist. Bell walked toward the exit.

He watched the bustling crowd moving from one habitat to another swallow her up.

The professional was perfectly camouflaged amongst the tourists. His target hadn’t spotted him in the crowd. He was good at just fitting in, disappearing amidst the masses. And he doubted anyone in the zoo would remember him by the time they got home. Not even that guy with his two brats in tow who walked right into him at the jaguar enclosure while he watched his target take a seat on the bench. The family man had looked stunned and apologized profusely, swearing blind he hadn’t seen the professional. The hit man took the remark as a compliment.

He watched from no more than twenty feet away,

but found it difficult to listen with all those damned kids whooping like monkeys.

The trip to the zoo had puzzled him. His target had left the house, visited a drugstore, gone to the bank, then come to the zoo. Why hadn’t he brought his

daughter? What good father didn’t bring his daughter to the zoo? But a short fifteen-minute wait revealed all—a clandestine meeting with a woman. What is Mr.

Michaels up to? Is he a bad boy? A lady friend to keep perhaps? This was something the professional would enjoy watching.

Sometimes in his investigations he came across some interesting alternative lifestyles his targets kept. One of his targets had a taste for peep shows and prostitutes when he was not with his happy family at home. Another had been a cross-dresser. It had been hard not to laugh when he saw an overweight middle-aged man

prancing around like a little girl. Several had kept mistresses, and Michaels was turning out to be one of

those. There’d been so many little oddities he had gazed upon in the course of his work. The human race never failed to amaze him.

This meeting was different, not quite what he had expected. His target didn’t look too pleased to see the woman. The professional saw Michaels snap his arm away. Rejecting her affections. Is that money I see being exchanged? Michaels was turning out to be a very

interesting assignment. The professional decided the woman wasn’t a mistress. She might have been once, but not now. It looked like extortion was the name of the game these days.

The professional smiled. There’s an angle here I can exploit. Mr. Michaels, you’re giving me a lot of material. A germ of an idea began to grow. It would be messy, but it would be very dramatic if it worked. It would be one of his best efforts. He leaned his head against the rail of the polar bear habitat, one person among many, but his was the only head not turned toward the marine mammal.

He watched the woman get up and leave his target. It looked like a touching moment and he wished he could tell what was being said. He would look into lip reading classes after this contract. She headed in the direction of the exit and he followed. He could afford to

leave Michaels alone, for now. He had what he needed on him for the moment. He wanted to find out more about this woman. She could be useful.

In the parking lot, the woman got into a black Chevy Cobalt coupe and the professional followed in his Taurus.

He shadowed her progress north across town to

the Radisson Hotel. She went in and he kept a reasonable distance behind. At the entrance, a doorman

greeted her and he checked out her ass after she passed him. The professional was greeted similarly, but without having his ass checked. The woman walked up to

the young female desk clerk.

The professional picked up a free local newspaper off a stand and made sure he got close enough to hear the conversation.

“Hello, how can I help you?” the desk clerk asked.

“Any messages for room three-oh-seven?” she asked.

The desk clerk checked and told her there weren’t any. The woman headed over to the elevator.

The professional went up to the other clerk on duty, a bored looking man in his thirties. “Excuse me, could I use your restrooms?”

“Yes, sir. No problem, just turn left at the restaurant and they’re on your left.” The desk clerk leaned over the counter and pointed to his right, in the opposite direction of the elevators.

“Thanks,” the professional said and smiled.

“Not at all, sir.”

The professional went off in search of the restrooms as directed. He locked himself into a stall and sat on the toilet for a respectable time before flushing and leaving the restroom.

He returned to the reception desk. The male desk

clerk the professional had spoken to earlier was occupied with a customer. He approached the young female

desk clerk who had dealt with Josh Michaels’s secret woman.

She smiled at him.

“Excuse me, you have a lady in room three-oh-seven, an Asian woman, early thirties. Now I’m sure I know her from a company we used to work at and I wanted to check to see if it was her.” The professional managed to look benign, hopeless and charming all at the same time.

She checked her computer records. “Room three-oh

seven is a Miss Belinda Wong.”

“It is her,” he beamed.

The desk clerk beamed back, happy for him and for her. It was probably the first interesting thing to happen all day.

“Do you have a card with a phone number I could

call her back on?”

The desk clerk nodded. She gave him a matchbook

and pointed to the number on the back. “Just change the last three numbers with her room number and

you’ll get straight through.”

“Thanks very much,” he fawned.

“But don’t wait too long, she checks out tomorrow.”

“Does she now?” A crooked smile trickled across his face. “Thank you very much indeed for your help.”

The professional walked away from the reception

back to the parking lot. He would be waiting here tomorrow to see where she went.

The professional didn’t get far before the desk clerk called out to him. He stopped and turned around.

“Good luck sir,” she said in a hoarse whisper and grinned.

The professional grinned back and gave her a

thumbs-up.

The doorman showed the professional out of the hotel. Hello, Miss Belinda Wong, who are you and what do you want? The professional thought.

CHAPTER NINE

“Daddy, Daddy, I heard another car pull up,” Abby said, bouncing on the spot excitedly.

“Well, isn’t it your job to greet them?” Josh asked.

Abby agreed it was by nodding vigorously. She

bounded off down the alley next to the Michaels’s home to meet the visitors to the party. Wiener scampered behind her, acting as her second in command. As

she got to the front of the house, she found people getting out of a Toyota Camry parked curbside.

“Uncle Bo-bo and Aunt Nancy!” Abby called. Her

ribboned, pigtailed hair bounced as she ran, as did Wiener’s, whose ears were tied with similar ribbons.

She crashed into Bob Deuce and hugged him.

“Hi, Abby, you look pretty,” Bob said, picking

Abby up.

“Hello, Abby. Yes, you do look very grown-up,”

Nancy Deuce said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Abby said, grinning.

Bob nodded at the dog. “What’s up with Wiener’s

ears?”

“I wanted to put his ears in pigtails like mine,” she replied.

“Oh, very nice,” Nancy said.

“Who’s this?” Abby asked.

“This is a colleague of mine, James Mitchell. I

thought I’d bring him. Hope that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Abby said. “Hello, Mr.

Mitchell.”

“Call me James,” Mitchell said.

Bob put Abby down at her request. She led the invited guests to her father in the backyard.

Josh was stocking an ice-filled bucket with beers on the lawn next to a trestle table. It was one of two tablecloth-covered tables smothered with snacks and drinks. At the rear of the yard Kate manned the barbecue and waved to her friends. Other early arrivals sat at a picnic table with drinks. The CD player, relocated to the rear porch, sent music across the backyard.

“Hey, buddy, happy birthday,” Bob called across

the yard.

“Happy thirty-eighth, Josh,” Nancy added.

Josh looked up from the ice bucket and smiled at his approaching friends with a stranger in tow.

“I’m glad you made it.” Josh checked his watch. “A fashionable thirty minutes late, I see.”

The birthday invitations were for seven, but Josh didn’t expect most people until eight. Bob’s arrival swelled the numbers into double figures.

“Josh, I hope you don’t mind me bringing someone.

This is a colleague of mine, James Mitchell. He’s in the area for a few days with nothing to do and you know what that’s like, so I invited him.”

“No, not a problem.” Josh put out a hand to

Mitchell. “Hi, James, I’m Josh. You’re very welcome.”

“Thanks very much. I hope you don’t mind me gate

crashing. I’m not as desperate for a night out as Bob makes out.”

“No, really, make yourself at home. There’s plenty to drink and food soon,” Josh said.

“Is Kate manning the barbecue?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, I’m on drinks and public relations tonight,”

Josh replied.

“Barbecuing, that’s a man’s job. You’re losing your control, my man,” Bob said, in mock indignation.

“Oh, shut up, Bob,” Nancy said and punched her

husband in the arm.

“You forget, Bob, when it’s my birthday, my loving ladies do all the work for me and I get to enjoy my day.

So, who is in control now?” Josh responded.

“I think I’ll see if Kate needs any help now that the testosterone is flying,” Nancy said. “I’ll leave you to your fantasies.”

“Thank you, my love,” Bob called to her and blew

her a kiss.

Nancy blew a kiss back.

“Can I get you guys a drink?” Josh asked. They nodded and Josh removed three bottles of beer from the

freshly stocked ice bucket and popped the caps.

“Happy thirty-eighth,” Bob said, producing an envelope from his back pocket.

Josh had a bemused look on his face when he

opened the envelope. The present was a gift certificate for adult swimming lessons. “You bastard,” he said, grinning.

“I thought you’d like it. I’m glad to see you smiling again,” Bob said.

“Happy birthday, Josh!” a man holding Abby’s

hand called. He was in his early fifties, small, no more than five-five. He was slight and as thin as the silver hair that covered his balding scalp.

“Good to see you, Mark,” Josh called back.

“I thought I’d show my face.” Abby let go of his

hand and bounded off.

“Bob, you know Mark Keegan,” Josh said, and Bob

nodded in agreement. “And this is a colleague of

Bob’s, James Mitchell.”

The men shook hands.

“I brought you a couple bottles of wine. I thought I should, seeing as you owe me money. We still on for tomorrow?”

Mark asked, giving the bottles to Josh.

“Yeah, and I’ll bring a check with me.” Josh put the bottles on the table with the rest of the alcohol.

“How is that plane of yours?” Bob asked.

“We just had it serviced, so it’s as good as new.

That’s what the money’s for,” Mark said.

“So you’ve got a plane?” James said, breaking into the conversation.

“Yeah, a little Cessna C152 we bought four years

ago. It needed some work, but we got it at a good price,” Mark explained.

“Mark and I learned to fly at the same time, so we went partners on a plane,” Josh added.

“Yeah, you can’t miss it, either. Fancy paint job with their names on the doors like they’re a pair of top gun aces,” Bob joked.

“We had a bit of luck,” Josh said. “We fly out of the Davis airstrip and a kid from the college there overheard us talking about repainting the plane. He offered to paint a design on it for a school project and we said yeah. All we had to pay for was the materials.”

“That

kid did a great job, it really stands out,”

Mark said.

“I’ve flown a couple of times, but I don’t have a license,”

James said.

“Come out with us some time,” Mark said.

“No, I’m only here until Monday,” James explained.

“Oh, I thought you worked with Bob,” Mark said.

“No, I’m an agent with Pinnacle Investments visiting some of the brokers in California.”

“You work for Pinnacle Investments?” Josh asked.

He wasn’t about to let one of their employees get away.

“I’ve got a big bone to pick with you.”

“Well, if you people have business, I think I’ll give my best to Kate. I’ll see you about ten tomorrow,”

Mark said, excusing himself.

Josh nodded to him. “I’ll catch you later.”

“What’s up, pal?” Bob asked.

“Thursday, Pinnacle Investments sent Kate a funeral wreath to the house with my name on it,” Josh said angrily.

“Jesus, how did that happen?” Bob asked.

“That’s what I wanted him.to tell me.”

“I haven’t spoken to Pinnacle,” Bob said in his defense.

“Christ, I’m sorry, man. That’s the last thing you needed.”

“I don’t know how it could have happened,” James

said. “Please let me apologize on behalf of the firm. Let me make a phone call now. There won’t be anyone

there, but I can leave a voice mail so they get it first thing Monday. Can I go into the house to make the call?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Josh said sharply.

James Mitchell went into the house. Josh and Bob

were alone together, the first time since the sports bar.

They looked gravely at each other, their minds full of unspoken thoughts.

“How did it go with Bell?” Bob whispered.

“I paid her, but she’s not going to stop.” Josh sighed and his anger fizzled out.

What does she want?”

“As far as I can see, just to screw me over.”

“You know this’ll never end unless you do something.”

“Of course I know that.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think it’s time to tell the truth. It’s the only way to stop this.”

“Oh, shit,” Josh muttered.

His response wasn’t to Bob’s comment, but as a reaction to who he saw over Bob’s shoulder. Belinda

Wong walked toward him, hand-in-hand with Abby.

The color drained from Josh’s face.

“She’s here,” Josh whispered.

“What?” Bob turned in the direction of Josh’s gaze.

“What’s she doing here?”

“I think we’re going to find out.”

Josh left Bob by the beer bucket. He intercepted his blackmailer and daughter before they got too near the other partygoers.

“Daddy, this is Bell. It’s short for Belinda,” Abby said.

“I know, sweetie,” Josh said with a plastic smile.

“Hi, Josh. Happy birthday,” Bell said.

“Thanks, Bell.” Josh hugged his ex-mistress and

kissed her cheek. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

he whispered into her ear.

“Having fun,” she whispered back.

Josh broke the hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Bell said.

“I think you’ve done enough meeting and greeting

for awhile. You deserve a reward. Why don’t you see Mommy?” Josh told his daughter.

Abby ran off toward her mother, weaving in and out of the crowd like a wide receiver making a run for the end zone.

“That’s a lovely girl you’ve got there, Josh, so pretty, so innocent, so trusting. I would hate to think what it would be like for her if her heart were broken. It would be hard to see that pretty face through those tears. I bet you’d do anything to prevent that.”

“I would kill if necessary,” Josh said.

“Would you now?” Bell smirked at Josh’s poor show of strength. “Let’s hope you’re never put to the test.”

“Yeah, let’s hope so.”

“Could I have a drink?”

Josh and Bell walked toward the drinks table and Bell slipped an arm into his. Josh shot her a look of rage.

“Now, now, Josh. Play it cool, we have an image to portray. You don’t want these good people to suspect anything.”

Josh poured her a white wine.

“It’s Belinda Wong, isn’t it?” Kate said, walking over to them from the barbecue.

“Yes it is, Kate. How are you?”

Josh stood stone still with the bottle of wine in his hands. Don’t say anything, please. He sent telepathic messages to Bell, hoping she wouldn’t blow the whistle on him. Fear prevented him from producing a smile.

“I thought you were in San Diego,” Kate said.

“I was, but I’ve come back.” Bell turned her head to Josh, smiled cruelly, then looked back at Kate. “I miss my old friends.”

“Have you got a job?”

“No, but I was hoping that Josh could help me.”

“Well, I’m sure he could put in a good word for you.”

“Yeah, but like I was telling Bell, there aren’t any open jobs at the moment, so she’ll have to keep looking.”

He managed to make his words sound strong and

convincing. Not a hint of his fear showed.

“Josh, I can’t believe you didn’t mention Bell was back. You always said she was your best secretary.”

Kate winked at Bell.

Bell grinned at the embarrassment Kate brought to her husband.

It was obscene, watching his wife playacting with his ex-mistress. Watching the macabre play was excruciating, but relief was soon to come. “I’ve only just found out myself.”

“Kate, have you got a minute? Sorry to interrupt.” A woman’s voice called from a group of people nearby.

Kate excused herself and left, attending to the woman’s needs.

“At least someone is happy to see me,” Bell said, watching Kate go.

“Are you going now that you’ve had your fun?” Josh asked.

“No, of course not. The night is young. I think I’ll mingle for awhile if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind.”

She snorted. “Well, I don’t care. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell on you. Your money bought my silence for now.”

Bell refreshed her glass. Josh watched her turn on her heel and strike up a conversation with a group of his friends. What does she have in store for me? All he knew was that it wasn’t going to be good.

It was a small room, poorly furnished with an eclectic combination of bargain basement purchases and long held possessions now in a state of disrepair. The room smelled of musty neglect. The telephone rang on the small table next to the armchair in the living room.

The old woman shuffled in from the kitchen. Even

this small exertion resulted in wheezing. She mumbled “Hold your horses,” to the ringing phone before collapsing into the chair and picking up the receiver.

She hit the Mute button on the television remote.

“Hello?”

“Is this Margaret Macey?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hi, I represent Mutual Life, Mrs. Macey. I was

wondering if I could speak to you about life insurance for senior citizens.”

Margaret got as far as, “I’m not really—”

“Good, I’ll only take a few minutes of your time,”

he said, ignoring her.

“Mrs. Macey, our records show you are a senior citizen.

You must think about having to make provisions

for others when your time comes.”

“No, not really.”

“Do you have children, Mrs. Macey?”

“Yes, I have a daughter in New York.”

“Do you know the average cost of a funeral nowadays?”

“No,

I don’t.”

“It’s over three thousand dollars.” The telemarketer’s voice rose two octaves to drive the point home. “Now, does that seem a fair price to burden your loved one with? Does it?” the terminally happy telemarketer asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“No buts, Mrs. Macey. Now this is where Mutual

Life Insurance comes in. We will provide for you a low cost life insurance that will serve as a lasting reminder to your family of your generosity.”

The pitch was made and Margaret imagined the telemarketer’s toothpaste advertisement smile shining into

the telephone.

“I’m not really interested.”

“Oh, come on, Margaret. Can I call you Margaret?

It’s only ten dollars a month. I’m sure it’s not a lot to ask for peace of mind, is it now, eh, Margaret?”

“I don’t really have ten dollars to spare.”

“Oh, Margaret. I think you could afford ten bucks. I don’t think anyone would miss ten bucks. What do you say, Margaret? Can I put you down? We can do the paperwork over the phone, right now. Come on, Margaret,

what do you say? What do you say?”

The telemarketer offended her by trying to manipulate her just for the sake of his commission. Surely

these people are answerable to some government department, she thought. She had a good mind to contact someone.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m not interested,” Margaret said, her tone abrupt.

“Not interested? Not interested! You selfish bitch.”

Bile replaced the telemarketer’s sickly sweet demeanor.

Her breath caught in her throat. It took a moment before she could speak again. “What?”

“No wonder your daughter lives in New York. She

probably can’t stand being near a twisted old bitch like you. Why don’t you just die? You’d be doing the planet a favor. You’re only taking up oxygen good people like me need to breathe.”

The vile words burned the inside of Margaret’s head.

People didn’t speak to people like this. She wanted to hang up, but her shock kept the phone pressed to her ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that. I’ll report you to your superiors.” Margaret’s voice broke and tears built up behind her eyes.

“Oh, but I do dare, Margaret,” he said, his voice controlled and level. “I’ve been watching you, Margaret.

Oh, yes, I’ve been watching you for awhile now.

You live in that shitty little house of yours. God knows what you find to do in there. You only ever go out to go to the store. I’ve seen you waiting for the bus, hunched up against the bus stop. Have you ever noticed how the people on the bus look at you? They see you and they think, Christ, I hope I never get to be like that. I hope someone will kill me first.”

“That’s not true.” Margaret struggled to speak

through the sobs that shook her body. She wanted to put the phone down, but she was too frightened of what the telemarketer would do if she hung up.

“How’s that heart of yours? When’s it going to give out? I do hope it’s soon.”

“Who are you?”

“Maybe you should be asking where am I?” He let

that sink in before he broke into laughter.

Margaret leapt from the chair and tottered over to the window, receiver in hand. The telephone cord

stretched to its full limit, sending the table with the phone on it crashing to the floor.

“Was that you, Margaret?”

She sniffed. “No, I’m still here.”

“What a shame. I’ll be coming to see you. I want to see the look on your face when you die.”

“I’m going to call the police.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ll know when they come and I’ll take action if you do.”

“What action?”

“Deadly.”

Josh crossed the yard to where Bob stood. His overweight friend was the center of attention in a circle of five people. He’d tried to talk to Bob right after Bell left him, but two colleagues interrupted him to introduce their wives.

Josh arrived to find Bob at the tail end of one of his jokes. He was a good joke teller, although not all of them were in good taste. In his hands were the

weapons of a good partygoer—a beer and a burger.

Bob gesticulated with the booze and food to enhance his performance.

“When I go down, I go down in flames,” Bob said in a bad French accent.

The group laughed loudly at the joke. Josh smiled.

He’d heard that one before. He placed his hands on Bob’s fleshy shoulders. “Can I relieve you of this very funny man?”

The people agreed on the condition that he brought him back. Before he could take Bob away, the group engaged him about his recent accident. Josh underplayed the magnitude of the event and the fear he had

experienced. He didn’t want to talk to them. He had bigger problems with which to deal.

As they walked away from the crowd, Bob asked,

“What did Bell want?”

“She wants to mess with my head. A little reminder of what will happen if I don’t play by her rules.”

They stood against the fence and watched the people enjoying the party.

“Jesus, what a mess,” Josh said.

Bob felt Josh’s despair spread across his friend like an approaching storm front. He wanted to tell Josh everything was going to be okay. But he wasn’t sure that was the case.

“Let me talk to her,” Bob said.

“There’s no point.”

“There isn’t if you talk to her. She’s knows exactly how to yank your chain. It’s not like that with me.”

“I don’t think you’ll get anywhere.”

“That’s my problem. You go out there and talk to

your friends. This is meant to be your party.”

Josh looked at the crowd. It didn’t feel like a birthday.

Well, not a good one at least. He wasn’t much in

the mood for fun.

“Put on a good show for everyone. Let them know

everything is cool and show that bitch she isn’t getting to you.”

“You’re a good friend, Bob.”

“That’s nice. Now get out there, tell some jokes and for God’s sake, cheer up.” Bob shoved Josh in the back with both hands.

Bob watched Kate and her friends welcome Josh and draw him into their discussion. He scanned the partygoers for the blackmailer. Alone at the drinks table, she was pouring herself a glass of wine. Bob appeared at Belinda Wong’s side and cracked open another beer.

“Hi there,” Bob said.

“Hello,” Bell replied.

“I’m Bob Deuce, a good friend of Josh Michaels, and of Kate and Abby, of course.” Bob smiled and offered a hand.

“Of course. I’m Belinda Wong. A pleasure to meet

you, Bob.”

Bob saw the coldness in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Josh has mentioned you before.”

“Yeah, I think we met a long time ago. You used to work for Josh.”

A middle-aged couple arrived at the drinks table to interrupt Bob’s conversation. Bob and Bell moved out of their way.

“Shall we?” Bob indicated they should move on with a swing of his arm, bottle in hand. He needed to get Bell alone. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, it’s a nice party, and you?” Bell gave him a hint of a smile, but her eyes were filled with suspicion.

Bob took a swig from the bottle. “I wasn’t talking about the party.”

Bell narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what you

mean.”

“About you … coming here… uninvited. I know about you and Josh, and the money you extorted.” Bob gestured with the bottle.

The coldness in her eyes bled into her expression and her words. “And what the hell has it got to do with you?”

“Josh is my best friend and I stand by him. I don’t condone what he did. Personally, I think he was an asshole to have an affair, no offense to you. I want you to leave Josh and his family alone.”

Bell’s features tightened into an angry knot. “Did that spineless bastard send you to speak to me?”

“No, he didn’t. I came because I’m a friend. You

have enough money from this. What more do you

want?”

“I want to see him suffer.”

“You hate him that much?”

“I love him that much.” She paused for a moment.

“You have no idea how hard it was to watch him leave me and go back to his wife and his daughter.”

Bell’s sincerity frightened Bob. She wouldn’t leave Josh voluntarily. She’d go kicking and screaming. He couldn’t see Josh surviving this one.

“He’ll never be yours if you destroy what he has

now.

“I know, but if I can’t have him then no one will.”

“Assholes!” Bell poured herself another drink. Anger prevented accuracy and she slopped most of it over the table and her hand.

“Who are?” James Mitchell said, joining the table.

“Men,” she said.

Mitchell took the bottle from her hand and finished the job she’d started. He poured himself some wine.

“I’m afraid I fall into that category.” He gave her a bemused smile. “Who particularly is an asshole?”

“Our lovely host.”

“Josh Michaels?”

“Yes. Are you one of his cronies?”

“No, I only met him tonight. I’m an acquaintance of a friend of his.”

“That makes you part asshole?” She took a big gulp from her glass.

Mitchell blurted a laugh. “Quite probably. Would

you like to talk about it?”

It was a relief when Bob removed Josh from another discussion about his accident. It was the sixth time Josh had recounted the events of the incident. He kept his belief that someone was trying to kill him to himself. With every new telling the event seemed

more and more like the incident happened to someone else.

“Josh, I spoke to her.” Bob was grave.

“And what happened?”

“She is pretty fucked-up over you. She’s not going to go away. This one’s going down to the wire.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s talking to Mitchell.” Bob nodded to Bell and Mitchell over by the drink table.

Josh turned to see. “Do you think she’s telling him?”

“No. She’s angry, but she isn’t ready to throw you to the wolves. Honestly, I don’t think she knows what to do. She still loves you, did you know that?”

“No. No, I didn’t.” Josh’s eyes were still fixed on Bell talking happily to James Mitchell.

The rest of the birthday party went without incident. It was the picture of respectability and mediocrity. No one got too drunk, the music wasn’t too loud and the neighbors didn’t complain too much. People left as the food and alcohol disappeared. The designated drivers were called to duty to perform their role.

Around eleven o’clock, Kate found Abby under a pic

82

nic table curled up in a ball with Wiener at her side.

Kate put her to bed and discovered Wiener smelled of alcohol. She had no idea who had given the dog a

drink. She mused that she’d never seen a dog with a hangover.

It was well after midnight when Josh decided to call it a night and send the party hyenas on their way. He climbed onto the picnic table and surveyed the stragglers.

Bell was gone. He hadn’t seen her go or whether

she was with anyone when she had left. That worried him; she had drunk more than the legal limit and he hoped she hadn’t spilled her guts to someone. Mark Keegan had left around ten-thirty. His flying partner wanted an early night since he and Josh were flying the next morning. Bob, of course, was still there with his colleague. Bob wouldn’t leave until every plate was licked clean.

“Can I have everyone’s attention,” Josh called to the bleary-eyed congregation.

Dulled by alcohol and fatigue, they turned toward him.

“I would just like to say thanks to everyone who

came, especially those who had the decency to have left already.”

A titter of laughter came from the ensemble.

“But the party’s over. There’s no more alcohol left.”

The surviving party revelers expressed a cry of sad comic despair.

Josh smiled. “So you’ll have to go home now.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Bob said.

“I didn’t want you to come. So that makes two of

us disappointed tonight,” he said and got another laugh.

Josh jumped down from the table and everybody

took it as their cue to go. Josh, with Kate’s help, ushered the party stragglers out. They watched their friends leave from the front yard.

Josh surveyed the battlefield of discarded bottles, plates, paper cups, glasses and other victims that fell during the festive clash in the backyard. “I think we’ll leave everything tonight and clear up tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to deal with it tonight,” Kate said.

“Thanks for coming everyone.” Hiding a smile, Josh ignored his wife and focused on his friends’ departures.

After a moment, he looked at Kate and winked.

“You bastard.” She grinned. “You’re flying tomorrow.”

He

put an arm around her and pulled her tight. “I

probably won’t go, anyway.”

“Why?”

“I drank too much and I don’t really feel like it.” Although he had drunk too much, he hid his real feelings.

Bell’s arrival had taken the shine off his party and sapped his desire to enjoy himself.

“Now that everyone’s gone, I thought we could play, maybe?” Kate said seductively. She made little circles with her finger on his chest.

“What—Scrabble, Twister, that sort of thing?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, you mean sex.” He pretended to think for a

moment. “I think I could manage that.”

A car horn tooted as a vehicle went by. Josh waved.

He spotted Bob and Mitchell talking animatedly, fueled by alcohol. The topic: basketball and who would

make it to the playoffs. Nancy tried to ignore her husband and his colleague.

Then Josh’s life changed dramatically, wiping the smile clean off his face as if it had been a smudge. In response to Bob’s question, would the Sacramento Kings

make it to the playoffs, Mitchell stuck his arm out straight with his thumb up. Slowly, the Pinnacle Investments representative twisted his arm until his thumb

pointed down.

There was no mistaking the thumbs-down gesture.

James Mitchell was the man from the bridge.

CHAPTER TEN

Shock paralyzed Josh’s vocal chords. A cold wave

washed over his body, as if a transfusion of ice were being pumped into his veins. He’d entertained the man who’d tried to kill him. Mitchell had drunk his alcohol, ate his food and probably pissed in his toilet.

He had insufficient strength to stand unassisted. Josh slumped against Kate.

“Josh, are you okay? Do you feel sick?” Kate’s expression was a mask of concern.

“That’s him,” Josh said, staring at the vehicles leaving.

“He was here.”

“Who?” Kate looked at her husband, then at their

friends’ disappearing cars.

“The man on the bridge.” Josh became agitated and his voice rose in volume.

“Who? Where?”

“James Mitchell,” he barked, his impotent frustration spilling over.

“The guy Bob brought?” Kate said, incredulous.

“He did that thumbs-down thing, the same as he did on the bridge.” Josh’s frustration turned to rage. He jabbed a finger into the empty street. “James Mitchell tried to kill me.”

“For Christ’s sake, Josh. Calm down and come inside.”

Kate

dragged Josh, still babbling like a madman,

into the house. She got him into the living room, sat him down in an armchair and knelt in front of him.

With considerable effort, she held his flailing arms against his knees.

“Josh, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself. I’m not having you blow up at every little thing that reminds you of the accident. I know it must have been frightening, but I won’t accept that behavior. You shouted at

those cops in the hospital, you scared the shit out of that poor kid with the flowers and now you’re accusing a man you’ve just met of being a killer. Listen to yourself.

This is not the way Josh Michaels acts.”

She scolded him like she did their daughter. But it worked. Josh felt his hysteria pass.

Before he could respond, Abby called from the top of the stairs. The arguing had upset her.

“I’m coming, honey,” Kate said, and got to her feet.

She looked down at Josh. “I’m going to settle Abby down. I suggest you do the same yourself. Gather your thoughts. When I get back, tell me calmly why you think James Mitchell tried to kill you.” Her words were soft and comforting.

He watched her go. He sniffed and ran his hands

through his hair. “Get a grip,” he murmured. He

started to think through all the events leading up to the car crashing into the river. The images were all too vivid. Josh unpacked the jumble of events and repacked them in a neat order. He heard Kate returning from upstairs.

She took a seat on the arm of the chair and slipped an arm around his shoulders. “Do you want to start?”

Josh took a deep breath and started. “I know I didn’t see the guy’s face at the river, but he did the thumbs down thing like I was a vanquished Christian or something.

Just like I told you in the hospital.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen lots of people do that. It’s nothing special.”

“I know, but not the way he did it. His way is different.

And trust me, baby, when I say it was identical to what James Mitchell did. I was there, in that car thinking I was going to drown and I saw the guy standing on the bridge. He was my only hope for survival and he did that.” Josh repeated Mitchell’s action.

Tears spilled from Kate’s eyes. She reached out and wrapped her delicate hand over his thumbs-down fist.

She pulled his outstretched arm to her mouth and kissed the knuckles of his clenched hand. “Oh, Josh.”

Josh’s love intensified for her. For days after the incident, preoccupied with his own problems, he’d ignored

his wife. Her support gave him the strength to get himself out of the briar patch he had fallen into. He drew her to him and hugged her tightly.

He spoke over her shoulder. “I’ll never forget what he did.”

“Nancy said Mitchell works for an insurance company.

What sort of an insurance guy would do that?”

“I don’t—” It struck Josh like an oncoming truck.

“The sort of insurance agent that works for the same insurance company that sent the wreath.”

Kate pulled away from him and stared at him incredulously.

“He works for Pinnacle Investments?”

“That’s what he said. I’ve only just realized.”

“What are you saying, Josh?”

“Mitchell forced me off the road and had his

company send me a wreath. Maybe he thought I was dead and has a sick sense of humor. It really doesn’t make sense to me. It’s like he’s zeroing in on me, but why?”

“I don’t know why and I don’t care. It’s not your job to find out. Talk to the cops. The ones from the hospital told you to contact them if anything develops, and it has.”

“They don’t believe me as it is. They think I was having a biggest dick competition with some idiot or I fell asleep at the wheel.”

“It doesn’t matter, Josh. You can give them something to go on. If this guy is a psycho, he might come

back for more.”

“I’ll talk to Bob. He knows this guy.”

“Josh, don’t call tonight. Bob’s already asleep by now. Don’t wake him.”

Josh frowned.

“For me, please. Sleep on it. Talk to him if you feel the same tomorrow, but call the police.” Kate emphasized the word “police,” reinforcing that it was their

job to track down criminals, not Josh’s.

Kate stood up and took Josh’s hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Happy birthday to me,” he said bitterly.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Josh picked up the cordless telephone in the hall of his home and hit the speed dial.

“Hello?” Nancy said.

“Hi Nancy, is Bob there?”

“Hi Josh. No, he’s still sleeping off last night. I can wake him if you like.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got to go off to the airport, but can you tell him that I called and that I’ll drop by later?”

“Yeah, no problem, Josh.” Nancy paused. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just boys stuff,” he said, injecting a smile into his response to allay her suspicions.

“See you later, Josh,” she said, the concern gone from her voice.

Josh put the phone on the charger.

He went to pick it up again. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the handset. He wanted to scream

through the phone to the cops that he’d found the bastard who ran him off the road, but the seeds of doubt

had been sown. He couldn’t be sure James Mitchell was his man. Kate had made him realize he’d been acting irrationally over the last week. He pulled his hand away from the phone.

He had to plan his actions instead of running head on into the situation. He had to do the sensible thing— find out from Bob what he knew about Mitchell. If Mitchell’s credibility was suspect, then he’d bring the cops in.

“I’m going now,” Josh called to Kate.

She came to the doorway from the kitchen, where she was making Abby’s breakfast. “How long will you be?”

“I’m only dropping the check off.”

“I don’t want to be clearing up on my own,” she said and smiled.

“You’ve got Abby.”

“You are just going to the airfield?” Kate insisted.

“Yes, I am. Trust me.”

Taking a moment, Josh watched his wife from the

doorway, going about her life. He loved her so much.

He feared losing her. She caught sight of him staring at her and she smiled, but it didn’t last. Her worried face was a reminder of last night. He smiled back and

picked up the keys to Kate’s ‘99 Dodge Caravan and closed the door.

Inside the minivan silence prevailed, but inside Josh’s head his thoughts shouted. The car wreck, Belinda Wong clawing for more money, Pinnacle Investments’s funeral wreath and James Mitchell consumed his mind.

He wondered if all the events were connected and if they were, what it meant. He tried to make some semblance of order from it all, tried to make everything fit into little boxes, but he failed miserably. He switched on the radio to block his thoughts.

Josh stopped the car in the parking lot of the small airport. The sound of a piston aero-engine spluttering into life greeted him as he got out of the vehicle. He headed toward the planning office where the club pilots mapped out routes, flight times and calculated fuel requirements.

The unkempt outbuilding posing as an office

consisted of charts of northern California and the type of plain-looking wooden design tables found in drawing offices forty years ago.

Mark Keegan wasn’t in the planning office, but Nick Owen, an instructor with the flying school, was with a student. Nick was a young pilot with his eyes set on a commercial pilot’s lifestyle with a major airline.

Josh leaned through the doorway with his arms outstretched, his hands supporting his weight against the

doorframe. “Hi, Nick. Have you seen Mark Keegan

today?”

Nick turned to Josh while his student busied himself with his route planning. “Yeah, I saw him talking to Jack Murphy earlier. If he’s not with Jack, then he’s probably checking out the Cessna.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“You flying, Josh?”

“No, I have some business to deal with.”

“Shame, it’s a good day. You’ll be missing out.” Nick sounded like a car salesman with a “You’d be a fool to miss this bargain,” pitch.

“It can’t be helped,” Josh said.

Nick returned his focus to his student and Josh went to the apron. He spotted Mark walking toward their Cessna from the workshop hangar, called out and

jogged over to him.

Mark smiled and put his hands on his hips. “Hey,

you’re late—we said ten o’clock. What time do you call this? You turn up after I’ve done all the work. Too much celebrating last night?”

“Hey, sorry, man. You’re going to have to go without me. Something’s come up and I’ve got to deal with it,”

Josh said.

“Nothing serious I hope?” Mark’s smile disappeared.

“No. Life crap. Nothing exciting.” Josh dismissed his problem with a wave of the hand.

He and Mark were flying partners and their friendship was one of camaraderie rather than bonding. Neither man confided deep truths to the other, and Josh

was not going to start now.

“What are you planning to do?” Josh asked.

“Oh, I’ll still fly to Stockton, probably doing some exercises on the way. It never hurts to keep in practice.”

Mark offered an encouraging smile to show Josh

there were no hard feelings.

“Sorry, Mark. Maybe next weekend.” Josh removed

the check from his back pocket and handed it to Mark.

“Here’s my half of the service bill.”

Josh said good-bye and trotted back toward the

parking lot, but Jack Murphy intercepted him by coming out from his workshop.

Damn. The aircraft mechanic was the last person to whom Josh wanted to speak. It wasn’t that Josh didn’t like the man; he did. Murphy was a conscientious mechanic and paid loving detail to the aircrafts he maintained.

He nurtured the machines like prize blooms,

and like all keen gardeners, the product of his labors was evident on his hands. Engine oil and grease were always caked under his fingernails and the same cocktail of fluids stained his meaty hands. Though not obvious at first glance, his hands had the delicate control of a surgeon’s. Josh knew the mechanic would want to meticulously tell him every minute detail of the overhaul, but he didn’t have the time or the desire to talk about his aircraft; he wanted to know what James

Mitchell was after. “Hey, Jack,” Josh said.

“Josh, I suppose you’ve spoken to Mark about the

overhaul, but I wanted to let you know what I found,”

the mechanic began.

Josh feigned interest for about ten minutes before he managed to get a word in and made his excuses. Murphy seemed a little upset by Josh’s brush-off, but he would have to live with it. Josh would make it up to him and let the mechanic bore him for an hour when he had his life back in order. Finally, he got back to the Caravan and set off to Bob’s house to get some answers.

The professional cursed from the protection of the sun bleached brush. Where’s he going? Goddamn it. He

saw his plans trashed, again. Michaels had survived the drowning in the Sacramento River and it looked like he was going to escape death again. He watched Michaels’s minivan drive out of the parking lot.

His target wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do.

From his undercover work at the party, he’d discovered Michaels was meant to be flying this morning, but the view from his binoculars told a different tale, one that didn’t follow the plot. How could something so good go so bad?

Getting invited to his target’s barbecue had been the perfect example of serendipity. He’d only gone to Bob Deuce for background information, but finding out the insurance agent and Michaels were friends was fortuitous to say the least. He could have been knocked

down with a feather when Deuce asked him to the

party. And it got better when his target and his flying buddy blabbed about their plane—their pride and joy.

The plan that came to him was so simple, so obvious.

He’d come out to the airfield after the party and gone to work. The plane was easy to spot with its ostentatious paint job. All it needed was a sign: “I’m Josh

Michaels’s plane. Cripple me.” The lack of airport security made his deed simple. There were no gates or rent-a-cops. He had all the time in the world to do what he wanted.

The professional ran over to the aircraft with a few simple tools in his hands. He stared into the nose of the aircraft. It was child’s play to tamper with a light aircraft.

All its sensitive parts were exposed. It had pathetic door locks, no immobilizer, no alarm system,

nothing. The professional got to work.

He disconnected the unions to the oil cooler in the aircraft’s nose with a pair of wrenches. He snipped the split pins to the nuts on the elevator and rudder and loosened the nuts, just for luck. His work done, he slipped back into the night.

All had gone to according plan until he watched his target rendezvous with his partner, then walk away, get in his car and leave. The professional wasn’t upset because the wrong person was about to fly the unsafe

plane, but because it ruined his good work. Nothing could be done now. He couldn’t remedy the situation.

He watched the multicolored airplane trundle onto the runway, wind up its engine, roar down the runway and lift off for the skies. He took the binoculars from around his neck, wrapped the leather neck strap around them and returned to his car. Michaels hadn’t been aware he’d parked next to his predator. The closeness of their vehicles amused him. He got into his car and drove off to plan another accident.

As Mark Keegan roared down the runway, he failed to notice the oil dripping from the Cessna’s cooler hoses.

The plane climbed slowly. Mark leveled out at 2500

feet and saw the world below him. It was certainly a perfect day for flying—the crisp spring day brought with it an endless view of the San Joaquin Valley. He had to take advantage of days like these as often as he could. When the long California summer began, a yellow layer of smog smeared over the landscape would

blight every flying day.

Josh will be kicking himself when I tell him what it’s like up here. He enjoyed the solitude flying gave; the world and its problems stayed below while he rode above it all. Once he was in the air, his heart rate seemed to slow by five or more beats. This was therapy, not a hobby.

Thirty minutes into the flight, Mark didn’t like the Cessna’s performance. This was the third time he had to apply more throttle to maintain the engine revs and air speed. The aircraft has just been serviced. Nothing better be wrong with it, Mark thought. Even an aircraft as small and as simple as the C152 cost a lot of

money to keep in the air. To Mark’s and Josh’s credit they took every precaution, but something was wrong with this airplane. Nervousness held him like the three point harness that fixed him to his seat. He checked his coordinates and ETA to Stockton.

Mark’s agitation made him cautious. He made a

safety sweep of the instruments for some clue to his plane’s poor performance. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath and let it out with a curse. He

didn’t want to believe what the oil pressure and temperature gauges told him. His nervousness changed to fear.

The two indicators were in the red. The oil pressure had disappeared and the oil temperature was too high.

The dangerous levels meant this was an emergency.

Mark had an agonizing decision to make. Did he shut the engine down and make an emergency landing or

did he chance it and fly on to Stockton? He checked his position through the Plexiglas window. He had passed over Sacramento and was over empty fields, a good sign. Mark wiped a clammy hand over his dry mouth and tried to swallow.

96

Simon Wood

“Murphy, what have you done to this plane?”

He wanted to blame someone for the fear he felt; today, it was his mechanic. He avoided the decision, hoping for a miracle. Mark stared at the pressure and

temperature needles—they weren’t returning to green.

He knew they never would. He had to get with the program and follow his training. His training would save

him. He murmured the steps for landing an aircraft without power.

Made keen by fear, Mark’s oversensitive hearing

heard every missed beat of the engine. He swore he heard the pistons binding up with every passing second.

The plane jolted like a sledgehammer had struck it from beneath as it rode a thermal. Mark’s heart skipped again. For a moment, he’d thought it was the end.

With a shaking hand he initiated the safety procedure.

He pulled back the throttle to idle, the mixture to lean, switched off the fuel pump and turned the magnetos key to the Off position. The prop slowed and shuddered to a halt. The plane began to fall from the sky.

The silence was eerie. As a pilot, his ears had become accustomed to certain sounds in flight. Now, the whistle of the air flowing over the wings was the only sound to be heard. Mark’s heart raced. His sweat chilled him and his clothes clung to his flesh.

Rapidly losing altitude, the plane fell at more than six hundred feet per minute. Mark saw the increasing rate of descent on his gauge. He focused on the crash landing simulations he’d practiced so many times, but this wasn’t practice, it was for real. Josh had always ragged him about his compulsion to plan for the worst.

Josh would be thanking him if he were here right now.

Mark wished he was here to share the burden of this task, the most frightening of events. A crash landing.

Mark quickly established a glide descent that left him approximately four minutes of flight time. He looked out for a landing sight and focused on the field directly below. He would circle the damned thing until he ran out of altitude. He made his distress call to the Stockton Air Tower.

“Mayday … mayday … mayday. Stockton Tower, this is November, two, three, seven, two, niner.” Dread filled Mark’s voice, his words slow, hindered by an inflexible tongue that clung to the roof of his mouth.

Relieved the words had come, the safety procedure started; he knew he could do it. The practice attempts never prepared him mentally to deal with the real thing, but he was coping. Silently, he thanked God that his mind hadn’t seized. Everything was going to be okay.

A concerned air traffic controller at Stockton came back and allowed him to pass his message. Mark gave his details—the plane type, the nature of the emergency, location, plan of action, and who was on board.

His monotone speech was textbook perfect—his instructor would be proud, although he probably would

have complained about his slow delivery. But how

many times had his instructor crash-landed? He gave cursory attention to Stockton Tower. He concentrated on landing the plane. They could do nothing for him. It was his bird to land. He just wanted them to know where to pick him up. Mark guided the plane on its downwind leg for landing.

The Cessna’s rate of descent increased, increasing airspeed as a result. Mark eased back on the column to get the airspeed under control. Nothing happened. The plane continued to fall at a faster rate. He pulled back on the controls even more. The column moved without resistance. Something else was wrong. Mark stared back at the tail and pulled back on the column again.

The elevator didn’t move.

“No. This can’t be happening.”

He stamped on the rudder pedals. The rudder didn’t obey his inputs either. The tail-plane was dead. It was still there, but it wasn’t responding.

It can’t all be going wrong. He’d kept his panic in check, but he couldn’t prevent it from overwhelming him now. His aircraft was going down and he was just a passenger at its controls. He glanced at the altimeter— four hundred feet. It would all be over in less than a minute.

Mark fought to control the Cessna. The plane descended and the speed increased. Every knot in increased

airspeed reduced his chances of survival. With

a paralyzed tail, he’d never be able to bring the plane down for a soft landing.

The airspeed indicator read seventy knots … seventy five knots… eighty knots…

The altimeter read three hundred … two hundred and fifty… two hundred…

Mark stared at the field rushing up at him with increasing velocity, pulling on controls that didn’t comply

while keeping his thumb on the radio transmit

button.

He screamed, “Mayday, mayday, mayday,” over and

over again.

Josh peeled off the freeway to Bob Deuce’s home. He listened to an alternative rock station pump out track after track from its latest playlist. He’d passed through Sacramento and was in the residential district of Laguna when the newsflash interrupted the next scheduled track.

“Some tragic news. A small airplane has crashed between Sacramento and Stockton, not very far from Interstate Five. Rescue services have arrived and are at

the scene,” the disc jockey said.

Josh stamped on the brakes, bringing the Dodge to a shuddering halt. Vehicles behind did likewise, but with angry hands on horns. Fortunately, nobody hit each other. Tires fighting for traction on the asphalt, Josh made a U-turn on the two-lane road. The minivan

roared off in the direction of 1-5.

Josh instinctively knew the downed aircraft was his and he had to see if Mark was okay. Not a believer in clairvoyance, premonitions or anything else found on the X-Files, he still knew the news report was linked to him. Without a care for himself and other road users, Josh tore along the interstate. He listened to the rest of the DJ’s announcement for the approximate location site. He kept his eyes trained on the fields to either side of the four-lane highway. To his left he saw drivers rubbernecking out of their vehicles at something in the

field.

Josh veered off 1-5 onto the exit ramp at a steady seventy-five, ignoring the thirty-five miles per hour speed limit with impunity. He braked hard, the vehicle weaving under the stress. Without halting, Josh turned left onto the road, taking him over the highway and toward the spectacle in the field.

He closed in on the field and the concentration of people and vehicles came into clearer view. All the emergency services were represented—police, fire and paramedics. In the field, people were gathered around an object.

Josh’s Caravan came to another shuddering halt,

stopping with two wheels on the road and two wheels in the dirt. He saw it, recognizable from two hundred feet, the colorful tail of his Cessna C152 pointing skyward.

It looked like a toy discarded by an angry child.

The emergency services people and their vehicles obscured the rest of the plane from sight. He clambered

out of the minivan and raced across the road without paying any attention to other vehicles.

The policemen keeping everyone back from the

scene closed upon him. “Where do you think you’re going, sir?” one officer demanded.

Josh ignored him and ran on. He didn’t have time for questions.

Two officers engaged him and swiftly halted his

progress before he got to the three bar fence. They unceremoniously brought him to the ground. All three

men crashed sprawling on the highway.

“I’m Josh Michaels and that’s my plane!” he

shouted, as one policeman started to handcuff him. He repeated himself twice more before they listened.

The cop uncuffed Josh and said without apology,

“Next time have the presence of mind to approach an accident scene with more sense.”

The officer led Josh to the scene, but Josh half-ran, half-walked and it looked like Josh led the cop. He ignored the whining pain from the cuts he’d taken to the

hands, knees and chin when the policemen had brought him down.

“What makes you think this is your aircraft?” The cop’s speech sounded choppy over the rough terrain.

“That tail section.” Josh pointed at the colorful design.

“Those are our colors. And I left my flying partner an hour ago before he took off for Stockton

Metropolitan.”

“How did you know the plane had crashed?”

Josh ignored the cop’s question as he made it to the constellation of people circled around the crash site.

Men tried to stop Josh from getting too close.

“Let him through. He may be the plane’s owner,”

the out-of-breath policeman said.

The men parted to let him through. Josh came up on the rear of the plane, giving him his first sight of the Cessna. People were asking him questions. Josh didn’t listen.

His plane was buried nose-down in the ground, resting on its starboard wing. The wing had buckled and

split, dumping its fuel load onto the plowed earth.

There’d been no fire, but fire extinguisher foam had been sprayed over the spilt fuel. Josh moved around to the side of the aircraft. Everything on the front end of the plane had been destroyed. The undercarriage was bent and twisted, the nose wheel invisible. The propeller had embedded itself into the ground. Struts had

been torn from fixings. A spiderweb of cracks speckled the Plexiglas window. A trickle of blood ran along the dashboard. The plane’s artwork looked vandalized on its wrecked canvas. Josh read his and Mark Keegan’s names on the door.

“I’m Josh Michaels.” He pointed at his name on the plane. “This is my plane.”

Josh saw Mark Keegan’s body flopped over the control column like an unwanted doll. Over twenty men

from emergency services were just standing around. He went to open the copilot’s door. A paramedic restrained him.

“Why aren’t you helping him?” Josh demanded.

“There’s nothing we can do for him. He’s dead.”

Mark was dead. Everyone could see that.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Again, Josh was talking to the police. He spent the next few hours at the aircraft crash site. For reasons of safety, the police had manhandled him away from the wreckage.

The site had to be cleared, the crash area staked off and the downed plane screened from prying eyes.

Still in sight of the screened plane, he explained all he knew about Mark and the aircraft’s history. He also identified Mark’s corpse when it was finally removed from the Cessna. The questions asked seemed to be coming from a long way away, as if via an old transatlantic telephone line, and he answered in the same

fashion.

Images of Mark flooded Josh’s mind, alternating

from the pilot’s dead body to their last conversation before he took off. He thought about the check he’d given to Mark still in his back pocket. The concept of profiting from the unpaid debt because his friend was dead

plagued him. Mark had no wife and Josh wondered

whom he should contact. He felt obligated to inform someone and repay the money he owed. The only person he could think of was Mark’s sister.

Eventually, the police told him to go home and expect an investigation from the Federal Aviation Authority and National Transport Safety Board. He didn’t do as he was told.

Josh drove back to Laguna and got to Bob’s house

just after five in the evening. Bob welcomed Josh in typical Bob weekend-wear—baggy shorts, a big T-shirt

and Teva sandals.

“Hey, Josh, I was expecting you earlier. C’mon in man.” Bob ushered Josh into his house. “Nancy said you called this morning—what’s up?”

“Mark Keegan’s dead,” Josh said.

“Dead?” Nancy asked, walking into the hall.

“Jesus. How?” Bob asked.

“He crashed our plane this morning, flying to Stockton.

All I know is he radioed the tower with engine

problems and he attempted an emergency landing. The last thing they heard was Mark screaming all the way into the ground.”

Nancy put a hand to her mouth. She walked up to

him and put a comforting hand on his arm. “Oh, Josh, that’s awful.”

“I heard about a plane going down on the radio and thought nothing of it,” Bob said.

“What did Kate say?” Nancy said.

“I haven’t told her. I was coming from the airport to here when I heard the radio report and I just knew it was Mark. Can I call her?”

“Of course you can, man. You don’t need to ask.”

Bob retrieved the cordless telephone from the living room and handed it to Josh.

“Can I get you something to drink, Josh?” Nancy

asked.

“Anything cold would be good,” he replied, and dialed his home number.

“I’ll give you a minute.” Bob walked into the kitchen, where Nancy had gone moments earlier.

Kate picked up the telephone on the fourth ring and Josh told her what had happened to Mark Keegan. The accident shocked and upset her. She was also upset he had not come home first. He apologized and promised to be home soon. He hung up and went into the

kitchen.

“How did she take it?” Nancy handed him the

lemonade.

“About as well as you’d expect. She’s not too pleased I’m here when I should be at home.” Josh took a sip from the lemonade. It was bitter, but good.

“She’s not wrong, is she?” Nancy said.

“You make good lemonade, Nancy.”

“What are you doing here, Josh?” Bob asked.

“Weren’t you meant to be flying with Mark?”

“Yeah, I was, but I wanted to see you about your colleague, James Mitchell.”

“What about him?”

“Do you mind if we walk and talk? I just don’t

seem to be able to stay still.” What Josh said was true, but he also didn’t want Nancy hearing what he had to say.

“Yeah, sure,” Bob said.

Josh took untidy gulps from his lemonade and

placed the empty glass on the sink drainer. “Thanks for the lemonade, Nancy.”

“Any time, Josh.” Nancy smiled, but her concern for her husband’s friend showed through.

They walked deeper into the housing development.

To Josh, the street was eerily quiet. Sidewalks and front yards were deserted, but signs of recent life did exist.

Freshly washed and polished cars sat in driveways. Discarded baseball bats and soccer balls lay strewn across

freshly mowed lawns. It was like a neutron bomb had gone off and he and Bob were the only ones left alive.

His nuclear test theory was swiftly dispelled when a couple of kids came running out of a nearby house. A year or two older than Abby, they resumed kicking a soccer ball in the street.

Josh walked with his head down, staring at the

oatmeal-colored concrete sidewalk. Bob walked alongside him looking forward with his hands behind his

back. Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.

Bob stopped walking. “Josh, what did you want to

know about James Mitchell?”

Josh took two more steps, stopped, turned and

lifted his head to look at Bob. “What do you know about him?”

Bob shrugged. “Nothing, really. He’s an insurance agent with Pinnacle and is in California scaring up business. He’s on the road with nothing to do most of the time. I’ve been there and I felt sorry for him, so I invited him to your party. What’s wrong, did he piss

somebody off?”

“Yeah, me,” Josh said.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Bad idea—”

Josh cut Bob off mid-sentence. “He drove me off the road. And you brought him to my home.”

Bob’s expression changed in increments as he absorbed Josh’s words. It was as though layers of surprise were torn off his face one by one until the pure expression of shock came through. Bob walked forward and

took hold of Josh’s wrist like he was a disobedient child.

“What are you saying? That I knew this guy was the one on the bridge?” Bob demanded.

“I’m asking you what you know about him. That’s

all.”

“That’s all I know,” Bob said.

“Let’s keep walking. I don’t want the neighbors listening,”

Josh said.

They walked again.

“What makes you think he’s the one?” Bob asked.

“When you were leaving last night you and he were talking and he made the thumbs-down sign to you.”

“That’s it? That’s what you’ve based this guy’s guilt on? Oh, come on Josh, that’s a little thin, don’t you think?”

“He made exactly the same gesture. No two people

would do it that way.”

Bob frowned. “Josh, you’re not convincing me, pal.

It still seems you’re reaching for something that isn’t there.”

“And it was Pinnacle Investments that sent the

wreath,” Josh said.

Bob shook his head in disbelief. “So you are saying James Mitchell ran you off the road, found out who you were, then sent you a wreath as some sort of sick joke. And by coincidence, you happen to be one of his firm’s customers. Forgive me, Josh, but it doesn’t sound plausible.”

“Who says that he’s an insurance agent? Don’t you think it’s funny that just as all this shit happens, Bell comes back on the scene wanting money? It occurred to me today they might be working together. I saw them talking last night.”

“Jesus, Josh. You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then help me find out. Prove me wrong,” Josh said.

Bob looked down at his feet and kicked a small

chunk of gravel into the road. He thought for a minute.

“How do we do that?”

“We’ll pay him a visit. You picked him up from his hotel. You know where he’s staying.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure he was making off for San Francisco today or tomorrow.”

“Well, we won’t know if we don’t try. Let’s go now.”

“No, Josh,” Bob said. “Your friend has just been

killed and your wife is worried sick. Go home.”

“He’ll get away.”

Bob sighed. “I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning and we’ll go to the motel and check out James

Mitchell, together. But you’re going home right now.

Okay?”

“Okay.” Josh agreed reluctantly.

“Good. We’ll settle this tomorrow.”

Bob picked up Josh from his home before eight the following morning. They trudged across the city on

commuter-clogged roads like blood struggling to flow through a diseased heart. Bob drove to the southeast side of the city, where he had picked up James Mitchell Saturday night.

Bob found it difficult to strike up a conversation. So far, Josh had given him a collection of one-word responses.

This wasn’t like him. He and Josh never ran

out of things to say. He would make Josh talk to him.

“How are you and Kate?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“No, really. And don’t give another single word answer.

Talk to me, damn it.”

Josh sighed. “Not good. She feels I’m a different person.

She thinks this accident has gotten to me more

than I think. We argued again. Even Abby and Wiener are treating me differently,” he said.

Bob guessed what it must be like living with Josh, if his friend’s behavior was anything like his ramblings yesterday. Life must be hard for Kate, and it couldn’t be doing the kid any good being exposed to Josh right now. Bob hoped their meeting with Mitchell would

clear things up and Josh could move on. Of course, he still had the blackmail hanging over his head. Bell hadn’t been worth it in his opinion. Jesus, Josh had screwed up and it was coming back at him tenfold. Bob pulled off the freeway and the motel came into view.

Bob slotted the Toyota into a parking space at the River City Inn. The motel was positioned on a development that was home to the social security office, a Shell service station, another motel chain and very little else.

Bob had stayed in places like these when he was a salesman on the road. He was glad he’d established roots and built up his own insurance business. Bob didn’t envy James Mitchell’s life. He locked the car and he followed Josh to the motel reception.

“Let me do the talking,” Bob said. “I don’t want to freak anybody out if this turns out to be nothing, especially Mitchell. I still deal with Pinnacle Investments

and I don’t want to alienate them.”

Josh nodded in agreement.

The motel receptionist, a pretty blond woman in her mid-twenties, all lipstick and cotton candy hair, looked up when Bob and Josh entered. Her name

badge said tammy. She flashed a welcoming corporate smile. “Hi there, welcome to the River City Inn. Can I help you?”

Bob leaned on the reception desk and flashed the

same plastic smile Tammy gave. “Yes, I hope so. I was looking for a colleague of mine, James Mitchell, but I can’t remember what room he’s in.”

“Let me check that for you, sir.” The receptionist looked up James Mitchell’s name on the computer

records. “I’m sorry, there’s no James Mitchell here,”

Tammy said.

“Oh, he did say he was checking out either yesterday or today,” Bob said. “Did he leave a forwarding address?”

“No,

sir. I don’t have a James Mitchell checked in or

out,” she said.

Bob looked at Josh in confusion. “I don’t understand, I picked him up from …” Bob let his words

trail off. “I must have the wrong motel. Thanks very much for your help. I’m really sorry to have put you to any trouble.”

“No problem at all, sir,” Tammy said, still smiling.

Josh shot Bob a baleful look that said everything.

“We may have his name wrong, he’s only visiting

us,” Josh said.

“What did he look like?”

“He’s about forty-five, average height, medium build, brown, graying hair, very ordinary looking,” Josh said.

“We have a lot of men here who fit that description.”

“C’mon, Josh, we’ve got the wrong place,” Bob said, and started to move away from the reception desk.

Tammy’s smile collapsed immediately when the two

turned their back on her to leave. A non-corporate look of puzzlement replaced her smile.

In the parking lot, Josh couldn’t contain his frustration.

“What was that? You bailed on me, Bob.”

“Hang on, Josh, wait a minute. I know this is the place I came to on Saturday and I don’t know why they don’t have a record of him, unless he gave them a false name. And I don’t see a reason for an insurance agent to give a false name.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think you’re right.”

Josh calmed down. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel no one’s in my corner.”

“Believe me man, I’m on your side. Something is beginning to smell here.”

“How did you meet him on Saturday?”

“I met him in the reception area. He was ready and waiting.”

Bob fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a Pinnacle Investments business card. He always kept business cards. James Mitchell hadn’t given him one, but

Bob had one from another Pinnacle representative. He looked at the embossed card and brandished it like a winning lottery ticket.

Bob removed his cellular from his jacket pocket and dialed the telephone number on the card. “Moment of truth.”

“Hello, Pinnacle Investments. Your life is in our hands. My name’s Karen. How can I help you?” the receptionist said.

“Hi, Karen, could you give me a contact number for one of your insurance agents, James Mitchell, please?”

“Just checking for you, sir.”

Silence greeted Bob for nearly a minute.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one by that name working

here. Are you sure you have the correct name?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check my paperwork and get back to you. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Could I have your name, sir?” the telephone receptionist asked.

Bob hung up.

“What did they say?”

“They’ve never heard of James Mitchell.”

“Why are we going to see a florist?” Bob asked.

“I want to know who sent that wreath,” Josh said.

“Pinnacle Investments, right?” Bob answered.

“So the card said, but there’s no proof. James Mitchell, or whoever this guy is, said he was from Pinnacle Investments, but he wasn’t. So who says they sent the wreath?”

The florist that sent the wreath was situated a few blocks from Josh’s home, a small business amongst many on the strip mall put up to service the local community.

Forget-Me-Nots was sandwiched between a

delivery pizza joint and a manicure parlor that sold false nails for 7.95. Bob pulled into a parking space directly in front of the store, just vacated by an old woman in a Cadillac Seville.

They entered the store and the electronic buzzer

sounded. The staff consisted of one person—a tall middle-aged woman who came out from the rear of the shop. She was gaunt and a good fifteen pounds underweight.

She looked as though someone had let the air

out of her. Her iron-gray hair was thick and loosely curled to the middle of her back. Her jeans and big wool sweater hung on her like clothes on a coat

hanger.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked.

“We were after some information,” Josh said. “You sent a sympathy wreath to my house last week. It came from Pinnacle Investments.”

The woman pursed her thin lips as she narrowed her eyes. “You’re Josh Michaels?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, you’re the one. Chris was none too pleased

with your … outburst.”

Josh flushed a little, embarrassed by his misdemeanor being brought to book. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to kill the messenger. And if Chris is here, I would like to apologize to him in person.”

Her face softened at Josh’s apology. “Well, he’s not and I don’t think he would be too interested in what you had to say anyway.”

Josh winced and looked at Bob. He smiled flatly.

“Is that all you wanted?” she asked.

“I hope you can understand that my friend was under a lot of stress and someone played a sick joke on him. His car was forced off the road into the river. And we are here to get to the bottom of it,” Bob said.

“That was you? Wow. I saw the car dragged from the river on TV.”

Josh nodded.

“Can you tell us who placed the order for the wreath?”

Bob asked.

“Let me check.” She disappeared into the rear of the store.

Bob placed his hands in his pockets and leaned back slightly, forcing his jacket open, displaying his ample belly. He looked approvingly around the store.

The florist returned through a string bead doorway.

“It was ordered by Pinnacle Investments from their head office, in Seattle.”

“And it definitely came from Pinnacle Investments?”

Bob asked.

“Yeah, I had to call them back to check some details.”

Josh frowned.

“Is that the answer you were looking for?” the florist asked.

It wasn’t.

Josh walked the five blocks from Forget-Me-Nots to his home with a bunch of roses in one hand. The flowers would be something nice for Kate. He hoped it

would put a smile on her face. Also, the purchase was in some way Josh’s apology to all those employed at the florist he’d offended. He hoped he would start making people happy.

But he was far from happy. He’d tracked James

Mitchell down to his motel, but that wasn’t his name and there was no sign of his existence. He’d expected the man to have bought the wreath, but he hadn’t. Pinnacle Investments had sent it. It didn’t make sense.

There was no connection, no conspiracy, no nothing.

Maybe he was overwrought from the stressful events of the last week and his paranoia was unfounded. An irritated driver beeped her horn at him. Josh snapped back

into the real world and found he had stepped onto the crosswalk when the light was against him.

Josh arrived at his home a few minutes later. He let himself in and called out to his family. He heard voices from the backyard and immediately put the flowers behind his back. He closed the door with his foot as Kate and Abby came in from the patio.

“Hi Dad,” Abby said.

“Everything okay?” Kate said.

“Yeah.” Josh produced the flowers from behind his back. “These are for you, babe.”

At a loss for words, Kate took the flowers, put her arms around her husband and kissed him. “Thank you.

I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

“I’ve been such an idiot,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that.”

Their embrace was brought to a sharp conclusion by Abby. “What about me?” she said.

They looked down at their daughter.

“Oh yeah,” Josh said.

He released Kate and removed a single rose from the bunch. Kneeling, he gave it to Abby. “Of course a rose for my other lady.”

“I’ll put it in my room,” Abby said, and tore up the stairs.

“Don’t forget to put it in water,” Kate called after her.

“Am I a good husband?” he asked.

She smiled at him crookedly, bemused. “Yeah, I

suppose.”

Kate turned her back on him and went into the

kitchen. She arranged the flowers in a vase and placed it on the kitchen table.

In the living room, Josh flopped onto the couch, exhaled and ran his hands through his hair. Kate came

into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of him.

“How did you get on?”

“Okay, I guess.” He paused. “I don’t know. We

didn’t find anything out really.”

“Tell me,” Kate said.

Abby bounded down the stairs and ran into the living room.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said.

Standing over Kate, looking as menacing as an eightyear-old could, Abby asked, “Can we go now?”

Kate smiled and slipped an arm around her daughter.

“I suppose so.”

“Go where?” Josh asked.

“The zoo,” Kate said. “I was waiting until you got back. You coming?”

The zoo brought back a recent unpleasant memory.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some paperwork to put together for the FAA.”

“Okay. Your loss.”

She got herself and Abby ready for their afternoon at the zoo. Josh saw them out. Before he closed the door, Kate said, “Miss you.”

He busied himself with the task of producing the

documentation for the destroyed Cessna. In his office, he removed his copies of the certificate of airworthiness, technical logs, insurance certificates and other

mandatory documentation that would be requested for inspection.

He still had to inform the insurance company that the airplane had been destroyed. That was a nuisance he could do without. Insurance companies were the bane of his life at the moment. He picked up the phone and started to dial the claims line.

The doorbell chimed.

Josh put the phone down and answered the door, his thoughtful mood shattered upon opening it. Belinda Wong stood on the porch.

“You asshole!” Her beautiful oval shaped face was screwed up in hate. She pushed the door wide open and walked in without invitation.

Josh checked that none of his neighbors had seen

Bell’s arrival and quickly closed the door behind her.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know why I’m here, Josh.” She spat his name

like she had venom in her mouth. “And don’t worry.

Your wife and kid didn’t see me. I can see the look on your face.”

She was right. Her invasion of his home in broad

daylight terrified him. But she didn’t have to rub his face in it. Throwing her out by the scruff of her neck seemed a very appealing option, but the undesirable scene it would bring prevented him.

“I’ve been waiting for your family to leave all morning,”

she continued.

“What do you want, Bell?” Josh demanded.

“You coward. Sending your fat friend, Bob, to tell me not to ruin your little family unit.” She mocked him by speaking in baby talk. “Did you tell him to do that?”

“No, I didn’t. And I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Bell shook her head in disgust.

“Why did you crash the party, Bell? I paid you as you asked and I shouldn’t have seen you again.”

“Because I wanted to, because I want you to know

that I can drop into your life any time I want and I don’t need to ask.” She scraped an index finger with a wicked looking manicured nail under Josh’s chin. The nail rasped against his stubble when she curled her finger back sharply.

Anger, hate and frustration welled up inside him. He should have known that Bell’s return hadn’t been intended to be a brief encounter. She toyed with him like

a cat with a mouse and he wondered when would she go in for the kill. He’d had enough.

“How much to make you disappear forever?” he

asked.

“Josh, that’s only half your problem. You think

money will solve everything. If you hadn’t been so fascinated with the stuff, you would never have gotten

yourself into this shit pile you’re in now.”

“That’s bullshit, Bell. I took that money because I needed it for Abby’s medical treatment and you know it.”

Suddenly, Bell softened. She became seductive, sexual.

“Josh, you know it doesn’t have to be like this. You know what you have to do to stop all this …”—she searched for the word—“unpleasantness. Don’t you, Josh?”

Josh allowed her to come close to him. She slipped an arm around his neck and looked into his eyes. His body went rigid, unbending to her will. He resisted her.

“No, I don’t, Bell.”

“Leave that wife and brat of yours for me, of course.

Silly boy.” She oozed sex and temptation.

Raising a hand to his face, Bell caressed his cheek and kissed his mouth. The kiss was brief. He slapped her hand down, then gripped her wrist and twisted it behind her back. The kiss had been broken before she could make it openmouthed. Bell released a short

laugh, taking pleasure from Josh’s rough play.

“I don’t think so,” he whispered.

She laughed. “You seem in the mood to play. Are you sure?”

“Never in a million years would I ever want you

back.”

He released her arm and pushed her away with a

sharp shove to the chest. He’d washed his hands of her.

He didn’t want her.

Bell stumbled back, nearly falling, but saved herself by steadying herself against a small table with the telephone on it. The impact rocked the table and the telephone fell, the receiver clattering to the hardwood

floor.

Hatred consumed her face again. “You prick, Josh.

You think you’re so righteous, so perfect. Well, I’m not the one who took a bribe, cheated on my wife and

screwed my secretary. Josh, you’re going to be so sorry when I’ve finished with you.”

“And are you going to do that alone, Bell? Or are you going to get your new friend involved?”

Bewilderment crossed Bell’s face.

“You know, the guy who pushed me off the bridge. I saw you with him at the party.”

After a long moment, recognition, then a malicious grin spread across her face. Still slumped against the table, Bell righted herself. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well?” Josh wanted an answer. Was James Mitchell her partner?

“Fuck you, Josh. I think I have the answer I was

looking for from you. And you will be hearing from me … in one way or another. Or your wife will.”

“Get out!” he barked, shaking with rage.

“Suit yourself,” she said, the evil grin still present on her face. She opened the door and let herself out.

“Dammit!” Josh said to himself, his hands balled up into fists.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The park was a full city block of grass in the downtown area, one of several plots scattered throughout downtown like green property squares on a Monopoly

board. The children’s playground occupied one corner of the park. Unsupervised and shrouded by trees, it was home to tire swing sets, slides, monkey bars, seesaws and a merry-go-round, all contained in a sandbox.

Abby had the playground to herself. It was late in the afternoon, and she had free run of the amusements and no petty arguments about whose turn was next. It was every child’s dream and today, Abby’s had come true.

Abby’s good fortune wasn’t because of good timing or knowing an out-of-the-way place. She had the playground to herself because most of the city parks were

populated with bums spending their days lounging or panhandling, and parents feared their children coming in contact with an undesirable. They would rather take them to more secure places. However, this park playground was the exception. Not in a part of town heavily

populated with city workers who had money to

give, the park was virtually unmolested by bums who gravitated to places with better pickings.

Squealing, Abby came down the slide, her dress riding up and wedging under her bottom. Wagging his

tail, Wiener waited at the bottom of the slide and barked in time to Abby’s squeal. She ran back to the steps to climb up for another go.

Josh and Kate occupied two of the swings. The

adults looked like giants on the swingset designed for children. Josh stretched out his long legs far in front of him, his heels digging into the sand. Kate rocked slowly back and forth. They watched their daughter at play.

Neither said anything to the other.

Low in the sky, the sun cast shadows on the narrow streets. A gentle breeze ruffled the trees, producing a sound similar to waves lapping a sandy beach.

Kate shuddered. “I’m getting cold. What time is it?”

Josh looked at his watch. “Just after five.”

“I think we’ll go in a minute,” Kate said to Josh; then called to Abby, “Another five minutes then we’re going, sweets.”

Both Abby and Wiener looked Kate’s way at the bottom of the slide. “Oh, Mom! Can’t we stay longer? I’m not tired or anything,” Abby whined, as only kids can.

“We’ll have five minutes to think about it and let you know. Okay?” Josh said.

Abby nodded happily and ran off toward the monkey bars, Wiener bouncing after her.

“Why the delay?” Kate asked.

Josh started to speak, but the words didn’t come.

Kate turned in the swing, twisting the chains above her. “Come on, Josh, spit it out. You brought us here and you haven’t had two words to say in the last hour.

I’ve talked and you’ve stared into the distance.”

Josh took a breath and released it as a sigh. After Bell’s visit yesterday, he knew it was better he told her now rather than Bell telling her later. He turned to face Kate. “There’s something I want to tell you. It’s something I should have told you a long time ago. It’s something I did. Something that I think is coming back to