Lethal Experiment: A Donovan Creed Novel

“Uh huh.”

“This a bad time for you? Interferes with your love life? Prevents you from making an extra million bucks? Gee, that’s too bad. Fuck you!”

It was a bad time. Callie was counting on me to track down Tara Siegel in Boston, something I’d planned to do tomorrow after getting a good night’s sleep. I’d had a long day, what with the funeral, Kimberly, the rainstorm, the flights, the late dinner with Kathleen. Last thing I felt like doing tonight was pulling a four-hour flight to Denver with a turn-around to Dallas.

I said, “What do you mean, ‘fuck the accountant’?”

Chapter 26

The girl sitting next to me kept glancing at my jewelry. We’d just gotten settled into our seats when—there, she did it again.

“Business or pleasure?” I said.

The corners of her mouth turned slightly upward. Not a smile, exactly, but not a frown either.

“Business, I’m afraid. You?”

“The same. By the way, I’m Cosmo.”

She gave up a quick laugh that made her eyelids crinkle at the corners. Then looked up and saw me not laughing. “Oh,” she said. “You’re serious.”

I showed her a wan smile. “I curse my parents daily. How about you?”

She giggled. “I don’t even know your parents,” she said.

I shared the smile. “Good one.”

“Thanks. I’m Alison. Alison Cilice.”

“Cilice with an “S?”

“With a C,” she said, and spelled it for me.

It never ceases to amaze me how much personal information total strangers reveal about themselves in casual conversations on an airplane. In less than three minutes I can get almost anyone to tell me where, when and how to kill them.

“Nice to meet you, Alison. What sort of work do you do?”

“Oh, Gawd. It’s so boring!”

I laughed. “Try me!”

“Okay. You know the Park ‘N Fly’s?”

“The parking lots by the airports? That’s you?”

She laughed. “How old do I look? No, I don’t own them. I’m their internal auditor.”

Alison was about thirty, had an easy manner with men. Darwin probably had all the sexual details in a file on his desk.

“You must travel a lot,” I said.

“Every other week.”

“How many locations?”

“We’ve got nineteen lots across the country,” she said, “so I stay pretty busy.”

“I bet a lot of managers hate to see you coming.”

“Serves them right if they do,” she said.

“Do you always find irregularities?”

“Always.”

“That means you’re good at what you do.”

She smiled.

I looked away a moment and stretched my hands in front of me so she could get a closer look at my sparkles.

“Nice jewelry,” she said.

I looked back and watched her eyes take it all in: the Presidential Rolex on my left wrist, the four-carat diamond ring on my right hand, the lack of jewelry on my left ring finger.

I said, “Let me guess: the company parks you at one of the airport hotels, and expects you to stay put the whole week.”

She looked surprised. “How’d you guess?”

“We’re living the same life. This is my first trip to Dallas, so naturally they’ve stuck me at the Airport Marriott.”

“For real? Me too!” she said.

“Not such a huge coincidence. The pilots and flight attendants will probably be there too, along with half the salesmen on the plane.”

She thought a minute. “Now that you mention it, I have seen a lot of the same people where I stay.”

Alison had great hair, a pretty face, and a flirtatious personality. She dressed well enough to hide most of the extra thirty pounds she carried, though her use of jewelry was a bit over-the-top. She wore rings on her fingers, numerous bracelets on each wrist, diamond studs in her ears—and probably elsewhere. I wondered how long it took to get all that shit off before going through the metal detector.

Neither of us spoke until we were wheels-up and had to answer the flight attendant about our drink orders. I asked for a cabernet, Alison wanted a Diet Coke.

“You ever get to see much of the cities you visit?” I said.

“I’m usually too tired for night life,” she said. “But I might hit the hotel bar for a quick drink once in awhile.”

“Let me guess: mojito?”

She laughed. “Yuk, no. I’m a cosmo girl all the way.”

I gave her a look. “Are you making fun of me?”

She put it together. “Oh, Gawd no!” she said, giggling. “But your name and my favorite drink: now there’s a coincidence!”

This had been no coincidence. Darwin hadn’t just saddled me with a ridiculous name out of spite or boredom. He’d been showing off , trying to impress me with the depth of his preparation. I wondered about the surname he’d given me: Burlap. I slipped my credit card into the slot and waited for an internet connection. It took me a couple tries to make it work, but when it did I plugged in my phone and typed “burlap” into the search engine. I learned that burlap is a breathable fabric made from jute and vegetable fibers. I learned that its resistance to condensation protects its contents from spoilage. I read a little further and discovered that burlap is sometimes used in a religious ceremony called “mortification of the flesh,” during which believers wear an abrasive shirt called a cilice.

As in Alison Cilice.

For the hundredth time I made a mental note never to fuck with Darwin.

Alison said, “You doing some research?”

“Part of the job,” I said.

“Which is?”

“I’m a jewelry salesman.”

“For Rolex?” she said, drawing out the word.

“Among other top brands,” I said.

I slid my watch off my wrist and handed it to her and wondered if she could tell it was the real thing. Judging by her eyes, my guess was she could.

“It’s really heavy,” she said.

“Much bulkier than the Piaget in my case,” I said. Her smile grew wider than I would have thought possible. Her eyes took on a dreamy glaze and she held the tip of her tongue against the bottom of her upper lip and tapped it in a way that seemed sexually suggestive.

“I wonder if we’ll run into each other in the bar one night this week,” she said.

Completely in love with Kathleen, I had no intention of bedding this plus-sized jewelry whore. Still, I had a part to play on behalf of national security.

“I’m positive we’ll not only meet, but share a drink as well,” I said.

“You’re that sure of yourself?” she said, holding that same wide-mouth smile.

“I am. Or my name isn’t Cosmo Burlap.”

She burst out laughing. “Oh Gawd!” she said. “You poor man! Tell me you’re lying.”

Chapter 27

Here’s the story on Alison Cilice:

Several days before I shared a flight with her to Dallas, Alison Cilice’s image was captured by a Denver Airport parking lot surveillance camera in the company of a suspected terrorist named Adnan Afaya. This, according to Darwin.

“And guess who Afaya has been linked to?” Darwin said.

At the time I was in a hurry to get back to my dinner with Kathleen at The Spotted Pig. I said, “Just tell me, okay?”

“Fathi.”

That got my attention. “Father or son?” I said. The father, being the UAE diplomat, was virtually untouchable. The son, on the other hand…”

“Abdulazi,” he said. “The son.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thought you might be.”

Last Valentine’s Day, Callie and I thought we’d killed a woman named Monica Childers by giving her a lethal dose of botulinam toxin. This was a contract hit ordered by Victor. As it turned out, Victor had two reasons for killing Monica: first, he wanted to test his army’s ability to divert a spy satellite, which he used to view the hit, and second, he wanted to see if his antidote for botulinam toxin would work. His people found Monica’s body and managed to resuscitate her. Then, having no further use for Monica, Victor sold her to the Fathis, to be, as he put it—their sex slave. I asked Victor if Monica was still in country and he basically said that the Fathis had fucked her to death.

And that has stuck in my craw ever since.

I can just imagine my psychiatrist, Ms. Nadine Crouch, asking, “Since you tried to kill her, why do you care how she died?”

It would be a good question, and I’m not sure I’d be able to supply a credible answer. But for whatever reason, it pisses me off . Maybe it’s because I’m a counter-terrorist and I don’t like the idea of terrorists raping American women to death. Maybe it’s because I felt used by Victor, or because Monica turned out to be a decent person who didn’t deserve to die that way. In the final analysis my subconscious reasons aren’t important. What’s important is that I made a decision to punish the Fathis, father and son, for what they did to Monica. And maybe this link to Alison Cilice could put me in a position to do just that.

Of course, Darwin wasn’t interested in punishing the Fathis. He’s all about destroying terror cells before they have a chance to mount attacks on domestic soil. Not that he’d shed a tear if I managed to kill either or both of the Fathis. At any rate, Darwin believed Alison and Afaya were having an affair, and that Afaya was planning to use Alison to infiltrate some of the Park ‘N Flys.

“In three months it’ll be Thanksgiving,” Darwin said, “One of the busiest times of the year.”

“So?”

“If the terrorists get a driver into the Park ‘N Fly trucks, they can load them up with explosives and crash them right into baggage claim.”

“What can I do?”

“Get close to her, find out what she knows.”

“You want me to sleep with her,” I said, trying to sound indignant.

“Sleep with her, torture her, what do I care?”

“What if she doesn’t know anything about it?”

“That’s my guess, by the way,” Darwin said. “And if that’s the case, you can hang out with her and keep your eyes open, because sooner or later, someone’s going to make a move.”

“I’m not going to be able to shadow her. Not after she’s met me.”

“Creed, you’re missing the point. I believe she’s already being shadowed. If they see her getting close to you, they’re going to come after you.”

“So I’m the bait.”

“If Alison doesn’t know anything, then yes, you’re the bait.”

“So who’s going to come to my rescue when the bad guys strike?”

“That’s up to you. Maybe you can call your midget army, hide them under your bed.”

“Little people,” I said.

“Whatever. The bottom line is, if you need backup, make the phone calls.”

“Fine,” I said. “What’s my cover story?”

“Jewelry salesman.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. So dress sharp and wear some expensive jewelry.”

“I don’t own any.”

Darwin paused a moment, trying to decide if what I’d said could possibly be true.

“You’re hopeless,” he said. He sighed. “I’ll have something appropriate waiting for you in a box on the Lear jet. And Creed—”

“Yeah?”

“I want it back.”

I said nothing, choosing to ignore the implication that I might steal his jewelry. A lesser man might feel compelled to point out specific examples to certify his unparalleled honesty. But I’m a bigger man than that. Plus, Darwin might think to remind me that I was still living off the millions of dollars I’d stolen from Joe DeMeo, after having killed most of his crew.

“A jewelry salesman,” I said, again, trying to make my voice sound as skeptical as possible.

Darwin jumped to defend his decision: “Pun notwithstanding, this jewelry salesman cover is pure gold. I’ve had a team on Alison two full days, which means I know more about her than her own mother. Trust me, Creed: you tell her you’ve got jewelry in your overnight bag and she’ll be all over you like Octo-Mom in a sperm bank.”

“That’s a nice visual.”

We hung up and I made a quick call before rejoining my slightly miffed girlfriend. I gave her my best stuff and managed to salvage the evening—until I explained I had to take her home and repack my bags and fly to Denver.

I slept on the Learjet and got to Denver in plenty of time to catch Alison’s flight. We chatted all the way to Dallas, landed, got our luggage, and caught the shuttle to the Marriott.

Inside the lobby, the guest registration line moved quickly between two velvet ropes. After Alison checked in she motioned me to join her at the front desk. I did so, trying to guess what she was hoping to learn by watching me check in. Did she want to see if my legal name was really Cosmo Burlap? Did she want to see what type of credit card I’d use to secure the bill? Could she possibly be waiting to find out my room number so she could call or visit me later? Maybe she was just being polite. I asked the clerk to give me the room adjoining Alison’s.

She looked at Alison and said, “Is that okay with you, Miss?”

“Oh, Gawd, yes!” Alison purred, displaying not the slightest trace of embarrassment. To me, she said: “This handsome jewelry salesman just made my day!”

As we rode the elevator to our rooms I said, “I’ve got to make a few calls. You want to get together in an hour, have some dinner?”

She said, “That sounds great. I’ll freshen up. Just knock on the door whenever you’re ready.”

Dinner with Alison had to be someplace other than the Marriott because of the terrifying man in the lobby she thought was staring at her. We hustled past the scary man and caught a cab to I Fratelli’s.

Though I like Italian food, I generally prefer a more upscale dining experience. Still, this family-friendly restaurant was good food at great prices. Their wine tasting highlighted a wide selection of Italian coastal varietals. That, along with flatbread and antipasto would have made a meal for me, but I kicked in for their specialty, a large, hand-made, thin-crust pepperoni pizza, which I shared with Alison.

As often happens on a first date that’s going well, our conversation focused on a wide range of safe subjects, and only a couple of suggestive ones, such as the loneliness of road travel, which she mentioned several times. Since we were eating finger food, there wasn’t much physical contact during dinner. But there was no question where I stood: between her sultry facial expressions, winks and sensual lip licking, Alison was throwing more signals at me than a third base coach in the bottom of the ninth.

In other words, Darwin had nailed her on the cover story.

For a dedicated auditor, Alison possessed a surprising tolerance for liquor. In addition to three glasses of wine, she polished off one of her trademark cosmopolitans and was deep into her second when her face suddenly turned white.

“There he is again!” she whispered.

I started to turn, but she grabbed my arm. “Don’t look!” she said.

“Who are we talking about?”

“The big, creepy guy from the hotel lobby.”

I took a minute to process. “The one that scared you? Are you sure?”

“Yes!” she whispered. “I just saw him through the window.”

“Maybe it was the lighting or a reflection off the glass.”

“Cosmo, I swear it was him.” She was visibly frightened. Shaking. She tightened her grip on my arm. “Thank God you’re here,” she said.

“What do you think he’s up to?”

“I think he’s following us.”

Chapter 28

I got the waiter’s attention, gave him a credit card and asked I him to call us a cab. I stood and said, “I’m going to check out front, make sure he’s gone.”

Alison said, “Please don’t go out there. You might get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll just have a quick look around.”

“Wait,” she said. “Log in my cell phone number. If something happens, just press send.”

She gave me her number and I punched it into my phone. Then I went out the front door and circled the restaurant, looking for darkened areas where a big guy might be able to hide. When I turned the second corner I found myself face to face with him. He pointed a finger at my face with his thumb up, as if it were a gun. He let the thumb fall. “Bang,” he said.

The horrifically deformed giant had indeed been following us, just as I’d asked him to do when I called him from The Spotted Pig after talking to Darwin.

His job was to meet us in Dallas, follow us around and scare the shit out of Alison. His name is Augustus Quinn, and, like Callie, he’s an integral part of my team, which is to say, he knows where most of the bodies are buried.

Literally.

“She hasn’t mentioned Afaya,” I said. “Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to.”

“Doesn’t matter. Darwin was right about her.”

“In what way?”

“She’s robbing you.”

“No shit?”

He chuckled. “After you guys left I used the key you put in the planter, got your suitcase like we planned. I took it down the hall to my room—I’m in three twenty-six by the way—and when I came out I saw two guys enter your room.”

“With a key?”

He nodded.

“Must have worked a deal with the girl at the front desk.”

“Bellman,” Quinn said.

“You sure?”

“Positive. I went back to the lobby and waited for them. They got off the elevator and went straight to the bell desk and had a loud argument with the bellman. There was enough arm waving for me to spot a prison tat on one of the guys trying to rob you.”

We were quiet a moment.

“You sure Alison’s in on it?” I said.

“Otherwise, why would the bellman think you had something in the suitcase worth stealing?”

“So she flirts me into a dinner date, calls the bellman, he calls the thugs.”

“That’s my guess,” Quinn said.

“Seems pretty risky for an auditor.”

“Auditors look at other people’s money all day long,” Quinn said.

“Good point.”

“Be interesting to see how she plays it tonight,” he said, “when she finds out the robbery was a bust.”

“You think she won’t be able to let it go?”

“Exactly what I’m thinking.”

“So you think the plan will work?”

Augustus Quinn nodded. “Only I think we’ll catch convicts instead of terrorists.”

“Maybe the convicts and terrorists are connected.”

“One way to find out.”

“I better get back,” I said. “Make sure you beat us back to the hotel.”

“Give me a five-minute head start,” he said.

Chapter 29

Back in the restaurant Alison seemed frantic.

“Thank God you’re okay!” she said. “I was so worried about you!”

I had to admit, she was a natural con artist. But I also had to agree with Quinn: the true test would come later that night, when she had to cobble together a Plan B. At the time I was thinking if she could pull it off convincingly, I’d probably offer her a job when this whole thing was over.

“Did you see him?” she said.

“I did. But he ran away.”

“You think he’ll come back to the hotel?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it.”

The cab came and we got in and rode quietly to the hotel. I asked if she wanted to grab a coffee before going up to the room and she declined. As we walked through the lobby I watched her carefully to see if she made eye contact with the bellman. She did not. Again, I thought, very impressive. A natural.

We got to the elevators and I pressed the button. “So,” I said, “you want to raid my mini bar, maybe have a glass of wine?”

She smiled. “What a lovely offer,” she said. “But it’s been a long day. I think I’ll turn in early. Can I get a rain check on the nightcap?”

“Any time,” I said.

The elevator doors opened. She gave me her best little-girl-lost look and said, “Will you walk me to my room?”

I bowed. “It would be an honor,” I said.

“Cosmo Burlap—my knight in shining armor!”

She let me kiss her on the cheek before retiring. I slid the key card into the lock on my room, entered, and went straight for the mini bar.

“Already poured you a wine,” Quinn whispered, gesturing to the two glasses on the table.

“Thanks,” I whispered back. “But you know the rules.” I opened the mini bar and rummaged around for another bottle of wine.

“They only had the one bottle,” he said. Then he sighed and added, “How long have we known each other?”

“Not the point,” I said.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to break down and trust someone.”

“Maybe so,” I said, “but not today.”

“Fine,” Quinn said. He took a sip from each glass and waited for me to select one. Quinn watched with amusement as I waited a full five minutes before picking up one of the glasses. Finally, I took a sip.

“Marriott stocks a good house wine,” I said.

Quinn picked up the remaining glass of wine and held it up in a silent toast. I did the same. We sat and sipped quietly until we heard the light tap on the connecting door to Alison’s room.

“Showtime,” Quinn said, silently mouthing the word.

He took his wine with him to the bathroom and closed the door. I waited for him to get settled, and she tapped again. I crossed the room and opened the connecting door.

“I can’t sleep,” Alison said. “I’m scared that guy might have followed us back to the hotel.”

She had freshened up and put on a red flannel nightshirt that had pink Vicky Secret hearts all over it. She showed as much leg as she could without revealing her own secrets. Normally I’d have made it easy on her and let her lure me into her bedroom so her goons could try to make good on the robbery. But I wanted to test her improv skills, since I was still considering her as a possible employee.

“You want to spend the night with me?” I said.

“No,” she said. “I want you to spend the night with me.”

“What’s the difference?” I said.

“I’ve already got all my girly stuff laid out in my bathroom,” she said. “Plus, I’ve got my iPod hooked up to some speakers. To set the mood.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I am,” she said. “But not that tired.”

“And you’re scared,” I said.

“Without my knight in shining armor I’d be terrified,” she said.

“I should probably bring my jewelry cases,” I said, “just to be safe.”

She raised her arms over her head and clasped her hands together, arched her back, and pretended to yawn. Which of course caused her nightshirt to rise exactly ten inches—I know because I’m a trained observer, and have developed an eye for detail.

“I have to compliment you on your grooming,” I said.

“Oh, Gawd,” she said. And, bless her heart, she managed to blush without pinching her cheeks.

Alison tilted her face and put some huskiness in her voice and said, “Come here, Cosmo.”

I followed her into her room. She closed the door behind me and turned the lock. Then she stepped to the nightstand, dimmed the lights, and turned on her iPod to mask the sounds of the robbery that would soon take place in my room.

She swayed to the music a bit and peeled off her nightshirt. “Cosmo, you know what I’d like to do right now?” she purred.

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to give you a blow job.”

“Of course you would,” I said. “But what’s in it for me?”

Chapter 30

To borrow a phrase from my former Commander In Chief, I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Alison Cilice.

In fact, I didn’t even engage in the type of relations that would cause a stain or force me to define the word “is.” I thought about it, wondering if I could find a way to justify it in the name of national security. After all, the mission started out as a national security issue, right? Unfortunately, it quickly made a left turn into this hotel robbery ring. Alison was certainly a thief. But was she a terrorist sympathizer as well? I didn’t think so. If the guy from Denver—Adnan Afaya—was trying to infiltrate the Park ‘N Fly’s, as Darwin believed, I didn’t think he’d made the pitch to Alison yet. My guess was the cameras caught them on a first or second date. I also didn’t think Afaya was tied to the hotel robberies, so I didn’t see any way to justify making stains with Alison. But I was in a spot: I didn’t feel comfortable having sex with her, but I also couldn’t leave yet, since I had to let things run their course next door.

Which is why, after initially rebuking Alison’s advances, I agreed to lie in her bed awhile, fully clothed. I routinely test weapons and torture devices for the military, so I wasn’t worried about succumbing to her advances. But she came at me from a different place than the military. Where the weapons relied on pain, Alison nibbled my ear and gently blew warm air into it. This part wasn’t cheating, I told myself. But it wasn’t torture, either, and she was making progress. I knew I had to put a stop to it. But before I could make that announcement, Alison started moving her hands in a practiced manner all over my body. This still wasn’t cheating, but it had some of the earmarks of torture. She quickly got to the area of my body that would constitute cheating, and it was finally time to draw the line. I managed to find my voice.

“Sometime later tonight I’m going to regret that I said this now—but you need to stop doing that,” I said.

“Can’t hear you,” she said, playfully. She grabbed my hand and thrust it between her legs and held it there while she bucked her hips. Thinking back on it now, I probably could have muscled my hand out of there a few seconds quicker than I did.

“You’re hired!” I said.

“What?”

“What I meant to say was, I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s that time of the month.”

“Not funny,” she said.

“I have a headache. I’m tired. The kids might come in.”

“Is it me? Is it because I’m fat?”

“Of course not,” I said. “You’re beautiful.”

“What, I’m not sexy enough for you?”

“You’re definitely sexy enough.”

“Then really,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sort of involved with someone.”

“Unless she’s here, I don’t see a problem.”

“The problem is—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I’d be using you. And that would be—what’s the word I’m searching for? –Oh yeah: wrong.”

I may have heard the slightest sound next door. Alison definitely heard it. She moved closer and whispered, “Cosmo, what you just said—it’s so respectful. Maybe you didn’t mean to, but you’ve gotten me all worked up tonight. Can you just lay here with me a few minutes while I sort of solve my own problem?”

“I can do that,” I said.

Over the next twenty minutes I forced myself not to laugh as Alison pinched, tugged and slapped various parts of her body while performing an over-the-top vocal medley from her sexual songbook: high-pitched, chirping sex sounds, throaty moans, and some sort of maniacal horse whinny toward the end that erupted into a crescendo of low-budget porn passion.

Which taught me that sex, when you’re not a participant—can be hysterical. I’ve never been disinterested in sex before, so this was a ground-breaking experience for me. It gave me a sense of power I’d never felt before.

So this is what it must feel like to be the woman, I thought. To have all the sexual power in the relationship.

When Alison’s last gasps and spasms had subsided, I said, “I need to make a quick call.”

I brightened the light, lifted her phone from the cradle and dialed my room number. Alison heard the phone ringing next door.

“What the—”

I held up a finger to silence her. Quinn answered, said a few words, and I said “Okay.”

I hung up the phone and said, “Alison, we need to talk.”

She sat up in the bed and covered her breasts with her arms, a gesture that seemed odd, considering what we’d just been through.

“What’s going on?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, but failing miserably.

“There are two dead bodies next door.”

Her eyes grew wide. She instinctively looked at the door that adjoined my room, then back at me.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

I looked at her. “Alison, I genuinely like you, but you’ve stumbled into something far more dangerous than you think. But I’m going to try hard to keep you from getting killed, because I have a job waiting for you when this is all over.”

Something in my voice gave her the reassurance to say, “If you think I’m going to sell jewelry for a living—”

“Alison, listen up. I’m not a jewelry salesman.”

I let that sink in for a minute before continuing. “I’m an assassin for the government. I kill terrorists.”

She started laughing.

“I admire the fact that you can laugh at me when there are two dead men lying on the floor next door, men that are dead because you and the bellman tried to rob me tonight.”

She stopped laughing.

“You know the big, scary guy that was following you tonight?”

She tried to speak, but the words didn’t make it out of her throat. She swallowed and nodded her head slowly, not wanting to hear about the big, scary guy.

“His name is Augustus Quinn,” I said. “He works for me.”

There was a long pause. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost most of its power.

“What’s going to happen now?” she said.

“You’re going to get dressed and then we’re going next door and see if you can identify the two goons on the floor. Then we’re going to have a little chat about the bellman and your boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend?”

“The guy in Denver. Adnan Afaya.”

“Who?”

“Maybe you know him by a different name. But the guy you’re dating in Denver is Adnan Afaya, a known terrorist.”

Alison let out a gasp that sounded much more convincing than the sexual sounds she’d made a few moments earlier. Her face went pale and she seemed about to faint. Either she was the best actress in the world or she was genuinely frightened.

Again it took a little time before she was able to speak.

“Would you be a gentleman and turn your head while I put on my clothes?” she said.

“No.”

She did a double take. “Why not?”

“I turned down enough action tonight to make me eligible for sainthood. This might be the last opportunity I’ll ever have to see you naked.”

“I can guarantee it,” she said.

I gestured toward her open suitcase on the floor.

She stared at me with a blank expression, trying to read me, but that was getting her nowhere. I’ve made a career out of not being predictable. I tilted my head toward her suitcase. “This would be a good time to get moving, Alison.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Knock yourself out, then.”

She slid out of the bed and began pulling an outfit together: clean underwear, pink tank top, gray sweat suit, socks, jogging shoes. As she stepped into her panties she said, “I knew your name wasn’t Cosmo Burlap.”

“It’s that type of perception that makes you a good job candidate,” I said.

“What type of work do you have in mind,” she said. “Killing people? Because I don’t think I can do that.”

“We can talk about it later. Right now there’s work to do. You ready?”

She laced up her jogging shoes and nodded.

We crossed the floor to the connecting door. I turned the lock and put my hand on the doorknob and paused.

“You need to prepare yourself for what you’re going to see in here,” I said. “Try not to scream.”

“I’ve seen dead bodies before,” she said.

“I’m talking about Quinn,” I said.

Chapter 31

Entering the room, this is what we saw: Quinn, sitting at the table with a Diet Coke, finishing a phone call, two guys laid out peacefully on one of the queen-sized beds. One of the robbers was weasel-faced, with thick black hair slicked straight back. The other had a shaved head and a Fu Manchu mustache. Both were big and covered with prison tats. I made my voice as eerie as possible and whispered, “I see dead people.”

Quinn said, “Sixth Sense, 1999.”

Alison surprised me by walking straight up to Quinn with her hand extended.

“I’m Alison,” she said.

Quinn looked at me before responding. I nodded, and he got to his feet. Alison took a step back to accommodate his size, but never took her eyes off him. He placed her hand in his and studied it, as if it were a plaything and he was a gorilla. He lifted her fingertips to the area of his face where lips are normally found, and made a kissing sound.

“I already like you better than your friends,” he said, gesturing toward the bodies.

Alison looked them over carefully. They were dead, with no visible injuries.

“How’d they die?” she said.

Quinn looked at me. I nodded again.

“I Pronged ‘em,” he said.

It was Alison’s turn to look at me.

I said, “Robert Pronge was a fearsome psychopath who discovered a way to mix cyanide with dimethyl sulfoxide, which he used to put in spray bottles. He sprayed his victims in the face like they were bugs, and like bugs, they died within seconds.”

To Quinn I said, “These guys are big. How’d you manage to spray both of them?”

“One came in while the other stood guard in the hall. The first guy kept the door cracked so he could leave quietly after robbing you.”

He glanced at Alison, and she dropped her eyes and looked away.

“The guy searching the room finally opened the bathroom door. When he did, I sprayed him and grabbed him by the shirt to keep him from falling. Son of a bitch was heavy, and hard to maneuver onto the bed, but I managed. Couple minutes later the other one’s getting antsy, puts his face near the open part of the door and whispers to his partner, ‘You need help?’ I whisper back, “Yeah!’ He comes in and I Pronge him and lay him next to the first guy.”

“Alison,” I said. “You know these guys?”

She looked at me through eyes of sincerity. “I’ve never seen them before. But Hector knows them.”

“Hector the bellman?”

She nodded. “This whole thing was Hector’s idea.”

“You’ll only get this one warning,” I said.

Alison looked at Quinn.

“You’d kill me?” she said.

“At first I would,” he said.

Alison said, “I’m not sure what that means, but it’s so creepy I want to amend what I said just now. Okay, so yes, I planned the robbery. But it was Hector’s idea to use these guys. He was supposed to rob you.”

We were silent a moment, and Alison said, “You understand, none of this was planned with you specifically in mind, right?”

“You’d planned it beforehand, and I happened to be the mark.”

“Right.”

“But I’m not the first.”

“At this hotel you would have been the first.”

“So you’ve done this elsewhere.”

“Couple of places.”

“Denver?”

“Not yet, but I was hoping to talk to Adam about it.”

Quinn said, “Adam?”

“Adnan Afaya, the terrorist,” I said.

Alison said, “Guys, I swear to God I didn’t know he was a terrorist. He approached me last time I was here. He wanted to apply for a driving job. I told him we didn’t have anything. He said the job wasn’t for him, said he was rich and the job was for his cousin, trying to get a work visa. He offered me a thousand dollars to get his cousin a job.”

“You took the money?”

“Yes. But I told him his cousin had to go through all the proper channels. He’d have to start cleaning cars, work his way up.”

“When was he going to start?”

“He started last month. When Adam—or whatever his name is—picked me up at the airport, he gave me some more money to get his cousin pushed up to driver.”

“You give him a time frame?”

“I said I’d do my best.”

“And he said?”

“I’d get a thousand dollar bonus if his cousin was driving a van by the first of December.”

I fi shed out my cell phone. “You guys chat a minute,” I said, punching in Darwin’s number. I went into Alison’s room, closing the door behind me. My new information had Darwin concerned. This was either the very beginning of a major attack, or closer to the end stage, and we had to find out which it was. I completed my call and opened the door. Quinn and Alison both looked up.

I said, “Alison, how would you like to make some real money?”

“It’s all I ever wanted,” she said.

“Then, lucky day.” To Quinn I said, “You packed and ready to roll?”

He nodded. We moved our suitcases to Alison’s room and watched her finish packing. Then we went back into the room with the dead guys, or as we say, “the Bernies.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Alison said.

I waited.

“What are you going to do with the dead guys? And when can we get out of here?”

“That’s two questions. But the answer’s the same: we wait for the door knock.”

Alison said, “I’m new here, remember?”

“What I mean is our cleanup crew is on the way. In addition to the bodies, they’ll eliminate all trace evidence. When they get here the three of us will move to your room and leave with our luggage.”

“No offense,” she said, “but you can’t possibly get away with this.”

“Why not?”

“Umm, gee, I don’t know,” she said sarcastically. “Dead bodies? Security cameras?” She tilted her head, spread her palms out, gave me a you-can’t-be-serious look.

“The cleanup crew will disable the cameras when they get here,” I said, “and confiscate all tapes of the last twenty-four hours.”

She closed her eyes a moment, thinking things through.

“If you’re about to ask me how they do it, don’t waste your time,” I said, “Because I have no idea. I only know they’re clean freaks—not like your Aunt Ethel, who doesn’t like a messy home. No, these guys want to clean a crime scene like Rainman wants to see Judge Wapner. They’re abnormal, they’re sick, and look about as professional as Nick Nolte and Mel Gibson after a hard night on the town.”

Alison looked as though her mind was unable to process the thought. “Two guys are going to remove two bodies and clean this room of all evidence?”

“They’re really unusual guys,” I said. “I could write a book about them. Maybe I will, after I retire.”

Quinn laughed.

“What?” she said.

“I was just thinking about something that happened one time.” He chuckled again.

“Do I want to hear this story?” she said. I looked at Quinn. “This the one about the new guy and the maggot trail?”

“Jesus, guys,” Alison said.

Quinn laughed again, harder. “That one’s a classic,” he said. “No, I was talking about the 400 pound naked fat guy they couldn’t push out the window.”

“The one they had on his knees, belly stuck in the window frame, butt hanging out facing the door? That guy?”

“Yeah. And every time they pushed his ass—what’d they say? Sounded like the attack on Baghdad?”

I grinned. “Shock and awe.”

“Right. So they get a can of Crisco, then the new guy calls from the lobby, and they decide to play a prank on him?”

“The initiation ceremony prank.”

Alison held up both hands. “Please. This might be funnier in another setting, like—oh, I don’t know—the boy’s bathroom in junior high school?”

Quinn threw his head back and roared. It was good to see him happy; though I worried that hotel guests might report the unusual sounds.

After the laughter subsided, Quinn and I exchanged a silent conversation wherein I looked at him and raised my eyebrows and he shrugged in response. Which meant, “Do you think she’ll ask about Hector?” and his shrug meant that he wasn’t sure. Or didn’t care.

Alison opened her eyes. “What am I supposed to tell Hector? He’ll be calling me any minute now.”

“I think not,” I said.

She gave Quinn a look of disbelief. “You killed him, too?”

Quinn shrugged.

“I need a drink,” she said.

I went to her room and brought her a miniature bottle of vodka.

She took it, saying, “I may have touched some of the stuff in the fridge.”

“The cleaners will take care of it.”

“They’ll still have a record of us being here. You may have checked in with a phony credit card, but I didn’t. They’ll fi nd me and question me.”

“You’re staying somewhere else.”

“Oh really? And where might that be?”

“Don’t know yet. The cleaning crew will bring your key. Your credit card history will show you checked into that hotel today instead of this one.”

She looked at the door, as if mentally calculating her odds of escape. “Who are you people?” she said.

Quinn said, “It’s complicated.”

Alison finished her drink and placed it on the table. I said, “Augustus, tell me what you can about the Bernies.”

Still looking at Augustus Quinn, Alison mouthed the word “Bernies?”

Quinn said, “You know the show? Weekend at Bernie’s?”

She nodded.

“When we’re stuck babysitting dead guys, we call them Bernies.”

“Of course you do,” she said.

While Augustus picked up one of the Bernie’s forearms and studied it, Alison asked, “Why would Mr. Quinn know anything about these men?”

“They’re ex-cons.”

“So?”

“Prison tats.”

Chapter 32

Here’s what I know about prison tattoos: they’re almost always blue or black, since those are the easiest colors to make. The prison tattoo artist fashions a needle from whatever type of scrap metal is on hand: a paper clip, nail file, staple, nail, a bit of coat hanger, a piece of steel guitar string. Ink is usually fountain pen or ball point ink, but it can also be melted plastic. The artist usually puts the sharpened metal in a plastic holder like a ball point pen cylinder and attaches it to a small motor that causes the needle to move up and down. Once started, a hundred things can go wrong, ranging from misspelled words to hepatitis or AIDS.

On the bed in front of us, both Bernies had the letters T and S on their forearms.

“What’s the T and S stand for?” I said.

“Texas Syndicate.”

“You know anything about them?”

“One of the oldest prison gangs in Texas.”

“Hard core?”

“Very.”

Beyond the classic teardrops below the eyes, I wasn’t skilled at reading tats. Quinn, on the other hand, was fluent. I said, “What else they have to say?”

Quinn ripped their shirts off and studied the markings like an Indian scout reading a trail.

“See the fine lines and shading on the drawings of the women? Tells me these guys were inked by an expert. In the prison world, no one gets more respect than a skilled tattoo artist.

“Big deal,” I said. “What’s this other stuff ?”

“Prison tats are the first line of communication between inmates. A guy’s tattoos tell you the gang he’s affiliated with, his status in prison, the number of people he’s killed, the city or country he’s from, his marital status, number of children he’s fathered, the tragedies he’s suffered, his religious and political views.”

“Thanks for the lecture,” I said. “What are all these numbers?”

“The first part says they’re local,” he said. “Guy on the left claims he’s killed three people, guy on the right claims two. I believe them.”

“Why’s that?”

“You don’t want to lie with your skin,” he said. “Too many people want to kill you for it.”

“What’s the thirteen mean?”

“They use marijuana.”

“And you know that because?”

“The number thirteen stands for the letter “M,” thirteenth letter of the alphabet.” He pointed to the guy on the left. See the eight on this one? Stands for the letter “H.” Means he uses, or has used, heroin. Sometimes you’ll see a guy with an eighty-eight, which means “Heil Hitler.”

“Why do they want people to know they use drugs?” Alison said.

“It tells drug dealers that they’re buyers,” Quinn said.

“What are those numbers on their shoulders?” Alison asked, getting into it.

“Their prison I.D.’s.”

“That’s how we find out who they are?” she said.

Quinn smiled. “Exactly.”

I called Darwin, rattled off the prison ID numbers for him. After hanging up I said, “Darwin’s going to run the numbers and find out if there’s any connection between the Bernies and bombers.”

“And if there is?” Alison said.

“There won’t be. You approached Hector with this robbery scam, but Afaya approached you about getting his driver into your bus. My boss thought Afaya might be dealing with you here in Dallas, and in the other cities you work.

“Afaya did ask me about the other cities where I work. But he hasn’t said anything about putting his other relatives to work as drivers.”

“Not yet, but you can bet he will.”

“So what are you going to do, kill Afaya?”

“Darwin gets to make that call. But he’ll probably want you to go on about your work, business as usual, and he’ll put some people into your companies to keep an eye on things.”

“Am I supposed to help Afaya’s people get hired?”

“Again, Darwin’s call. But my guess is he’ll want you to get close to Afaya, develop a relationship, let him talk you into putting someone at most of your Park ‘N Fly’s.”

“What if I want to walk away?”

Quinn and I exchanged a glance.

“There’s no walking away at this point,” Quinn said.

Alison folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not going to sleep with a terrorist,” she said, indignantly.

“You will if you have to,” I said. “And you’ll give him the full treatment.”

“Once you guys leave, you won’t be able to make me do anything. I’ll get a new identity, go into hiding.”

“Alison, you’re in this up to your eyeballs. You’re going to help us bring down the biggest terror cell in America, and you’re going to do it for all the right reasons.”

“What,” she sneered, “Patriotism? A sense of duty?”

“That, and two hundred thousand dollars, tax free.”

“You’ll put that in writing?” she said.

“We don’t put anything in writing. But we’ll put the money in a locker for you and give you the key.”

“What stops me from taking the money before you kill the terrorists?”

“You won’t know the location of the locker until the job is finished.”

“What, I’m just supposed to trust you?”

Quinn said, “If you like, we could just kill you instead.”

“What a charmer,” she said.

Quinn bowed.

“There’s a more immediate problem,” I said. “The Texas Syndicate. When they find out what happened they’ll want to make an example of you.”

Alison’s face tightened. “This wasn’t my fault,” she said. “Hector’s the one that got them involved.”

“That’s not how they’re going to see it, Hector being dead and all.”

She looked around, started to panic. “I can’t stay here,” she said.

We were silent awhile, Quinn and I thinking it through, Alison waiting to hear something reassuring. Finally I said, “When Darwin calls to ID the Bernies, I’ll have him find out who’s the head of the Syndicate. I’ll arrange a meeting and see if I can keep you alive awhile.”

Alison had used many voices in the short time I’d known her. The one she used now told me she finally understood the danger she was in: “If you keep me alive and give me two hundred grand, I’ll do my part.” She thought a moment about what she’d just said, set her jaw, and nodded once, firmly. “I will. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“That’s my girl,” I said.

Alison pursed her lips. “Since we’re going to work together, I don’t have to keep calling you Cosmo, do I?”

Quinn laughed. “Far as I’m concerned, that’s his new nickname.”

I frowned.

“My name is Donovan Creed,” I said to Alison.

“I like Cosmo Burlap better,” she said.

“Of course you do.”

Chapter 33

The Control Unit of the maximum security prison at Lofton, Texas, was built four years ago, in response to the riot that ended the lives of four guards and twelve inmates. The unit houses 320 male prisoners under six different levels of security. The worst offenders are locked in solitary confinement twenty-three hours each day. Their cells are concrete chambers, with steel doors and a steel grate. Cell furniture, including the bed, desk, and chair, are comprised of poured concrete. The top of each cell contains a four-inch high by four foot long window that allows prisoners a view of sky and nothing else. This design has a purpose: without landmarks, inmates can’t discern their specific location within the building. Their one hour per day outside solitary gives them an opportunity to exercise alone in a concrete bunker. Each month they’re allowed one family and one attorney visitation. My visit was an exception, courtesy of Darwin’s connections.

Roy “Wolf ” Williams had recently bought three years at Level Six security for attempting to kill a guard. Now that Roy was removed from the general prison population, I had no doubt that some other maggot would soon step up to head the Texas Syndicate. Until then, Wolf Williams was the man.

“I don’t give a shit how they died,” Williams said. “It’s on her, now.”

“Alison didn’t even know those guys. Hector’s the one that brought them in.”

“Yeah, well Hector’s dead. So that leaves the girl.” He sneered. “Tell her it’s gonna be ugly.” He licked his lips. “Real ugly.”

Wolf Williams knew all about ugly. He was a six-five, three hundred fifty pound turd, with vacant eyes, a puffy, pock-marked face, and cruel Joker-type lips that exposed a mouthful of tiny teeth in various shades of yellow, brown and black. Prison regulations ensured his hair was shaved short in a buzz, but you look at him and know he’d wear it long and filthy if he had the choice. Like the way he wore his greasy, scraggly beard.

“I’m going to ask you nicely not to kill her.”

“Fuck you.”

Visitors and inmates are separated by thick, floor-to-ceiling bullet-proof glass.

Lucky for him.

“Look,” I said. “You want to go after someone for killing those pukes, go after me.”

“We plan to. You’re a dead man walking.”

“Fine. So leave Alison alone.”

“No way. She suffers. It’s part of the code, man.”

We looked at each other through the glass. “I’m willing to barter,” I said.

“You wanna barter? Get me out of here.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then no deal. I got little to gain and nothing to lose. I got no family, nothing to live for when I get out.”

“You could have had family waiting if you hadn’t killed them.”

He shrugged his shoulders and stroked his wormy beard. I kept quiet, waiting for him to get to the question I knew he had to ask.

“What’s she look like?” he said. “She hot?”

I took a plastic baggie from my pocket, held it up to the glass. Inside the baggie was a picture of Alison, fully dressed.

“Not bad,” he said. “Tell you what: you get me a hundred grand and a conjugal visit with her once a month, and I’ll let her live for a year.”

I’d have bet a grand he couldn’t have pronounced the word “conjugal.”

“I can do the hundred grand,” I said. “Not the sex.”

“No deal, then.”

“Look. They’re not going to let you anywhere near a woman for the next three years. Surely they explained that when they put you in the hole.”

“You’re a big shot with the government, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. So make them do it.”

“Doesn’t work that way unless you’ve got something huge to bargain. And we both know you don’t.”

“Which is why she’s gonna die.”

“I’d rather she live. And what’s more, she’d prefer not to die. Let’s wrap this up, Gumby. Here’s the best I can do: a hundred grand and a hundred naked pictures of Alison.”

“Th ey won’t let me have naked pictures in here.”

“They’ll never know.” I showed him Alison’s picture again. “The reason this is in plastic, it’s a rub off . You give me the name of your guard, I’ll make sure he sneaks you the pictures a few at a time. The way it works, you rub the picture with your finger. Th ere’s a totally naked photograph of Alison under this coating.”

“Bullshit.”

I held the photo at an angle so he could see the raised portion above her clothing.

“How long they been doing that?” he said.

“The technology is new, but the idea goes back to Leonardo Da Vinci. If you take an x-ray of the Mona Lisa, you’ll find two other paintings beneath it. Back in those days canvasses were hard to come by. If you wanted to paint something new, you painted over a used canvass.”

“I look like I want a history lesson?”

“Rub the picture with your thumb or index finger just hard enough to make some heat. That’s what melts the coating. I’ll get you a hundred photos of Alison with clothes on. You can enjoy her that way or rub the pictures and make her nude, it’s up to you.”

“What kind of girl poses for a hundred naked pictures?”

“The kind who wants to live.”

“She know about the hundred pictures yet?”

“Nope. She’s only done this one.”

“You seen it?”

“I have.”

His face was flushed. He licked his lips. It was enough to make you sick. He said, “You’re gonna bribe the guard, just give him the naked pictures in the first place.”

“If I give him naked pictures, you think he’ll pass them along to you?”

“Hell, no! Not that degenerate bastard.”

“That’s why I’m printing pictures on top of the naked ones.”

I could see it in his pitted face: he was intrigued.

“She shaved?” he said.

“You want her shaved?”

“I want her shaved.”

“Okay, well she’s not shaved in this one, but I’ll make that happen next time.”

We worked out the logistics for getting him the money, and he gave me the name of his guard.

“How did it go?” Alison said.

We were in my rental car, heading to our motel room at the Quality Inn.

“For now you should be safe. That’ll change in a few days or weeks when he loses the power to decide.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Kill him.”

She’d been looking out the window, but when I said that, her head spun back to face me.

“Why? How?”

“Why? Because it’ll send a message to whoever takes his place in the gang. How?” I smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”

“We still going back to Dallas tonight?”

“Soon as I fi nish talking to Wolf ’s guard.”

“What time’s the meeting?”

“The guards get off at eight, so I’m hoping around eight-thirty. Wolf says his guard likes to have a few drinks at the titty bar on Euclid before going home to beat his wife.”

She looked at her watch. “That’s like, six hours. What are we going to do till then?”

“Nap. It’s a long drive back to Dallas, and neither of us got any sleep last night.”

“You only got the one room today.”

“One room, two beds.”

“What, you think I’ll run away if I have my own room?”

“I think it would be harder for me to protect you.”

“But I’m safe for now. You said so yourself.”

“I said you should be safe for now. You want to take a chance?”

Chapter 34

For five hundred dollars and the promise of more to come, the guard was glad to smuggle Alison’s photo into Wolf Williams’ cell. I gave him the picture and cash in the parking lot behind the titty bar, and Alison and I were finally flying back down the highway to Dallas.

“I didn’t pose for any nude photo,” Alison said.

“It’s only important that Wolf thinks you did,” I said.

“I still don’t understand. He’s going to get the picture, he’s going to rub it with his finger, then what?”

“The reason the picture is in the plastic baggie, there’s a coating on it, made out of snake venom. There are hundreds of microscopic glass shards imbedded in the coating. When Wolf starts rubbing the photo, he’ll cut his finger and create an entry for the venom.”

“You’re insane,” she said.

“Probably.”

She gave me a look of exasperation. “I’m supposed to hang my life on that ridiculous plan?”

“Trust me, he’ll be dead fifteen minutes after getting the picture.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“I have.”

“What kind of person imbeds broken glass and snake venom onto a photograph in two hours’ time?”

“Say it.”

“What.”

“You’re glad you’re on my side.”

She shook her head. “You are seriously fucked up, Creed.”

“And you’re noisy in bed.”

She looked at me. “Are you talking about last night? For your information, that was an act.”

I didn’t say anything.

“What, you think I actually wanted you?”

I didn’t respond.

“Someone sure has a high opinion of himself,” she said.

I sighed.

“Touching you last night gave me the creeps,” she said, and she was just getting started.

It was a long ride back to Dallas.

Chapter 35

I’ve lived my entire adult life by what I call the phone call theory.

The way my theory goes, you can be good, bad, or somewhere in between. You can be rich, poor, or middle class. A winner or loser, a builder or breaker, a giver or taker, makes no difference: we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event.

I’ve seen it a thousand times: you can abuse your body or nurture it. You can be the most honest, loving, generous person on earth—or the worst. You can live your life by strategy or pure chance, run with gangs or walk with kings, doesn’t matter. We’re all hostage to the phone call. And if there’s one thing in life you can count on, it’s that at some point in your life, you’re going to get one of these calls.

Like Ronald Goldman, a waiter, Mezzaluna Restaurant, LA: June 13, 1994, he got a call that Nicole Simpson’s mother, Juditha, left her glasses at the restaurant. It was a call that changed his life.

Not all calls are bad.

Herbert Plant, former homeless guy, Worcester, England: got a call he’d won five million dollars playing the Lucky Dip Lottery.

Happens to someone every day. A guy with a perfect life gets a call. His white blood cell count is off the charts. A woman with a perfect life gets a call. Her husband is cheating on her. Or he just died in a car wreck.

Want to live like me? Every time the phone rings I wonder if this is the call that shatters my life or saves it. Not saying my life needs saving. I’m just saying.

So I’m in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, waiting to catch a flight to Nashville, when my cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw Kathleen was trying to reach me.

“What time does your plane get in?” she said.

“My plane?”

“Don’t tell me you’re still in Dallas.”

“Sorry.” I wondered what she was expecting me to do that day.

She sighed heavily. “You’ll at least be here by dinner, right?”

“In New York City? By dinner?”

“Oh. My. God, Donovan. Please tell me you didn’t forget.” She sounded heartbroken.

Of course I forgot. My life was running at warp speed. Until that very moment I was planning to hit Nashville running, kill Trish and Rob to satisfy the requirements of Victor’s creepy social experiment, then rush to Boston to start hunting Tara Siegel, to talk her out of using Callie’s girlfriend for her body double.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. How could you possibly think that?” I said, stalling while forcing my brain to rewind.

“Thank God. You had me scared there for a minute.”

Something big was happening today with Kathleen and I needed to figure out what it was. “Just a sec,” I said, “I’ve got to give my credit card to the counter lady.”

I covered the mouthpiece and started a brain backtrack. The day before, Alison and I had driven to Lofton, where I’d met Wolf at the prison. Later that night I’d bribed his guard to deliver the death picture. Then we drove back to Dallas, where I helped Alison get settled into her new hotel room. I spent the next four hours giving her a crash course in how to help Darwin set up the terrorists. Afaya should be contacting Alison soon. Until then, she’d continue her Dallas audit of the local Park ‘N Fly as though nothing unusual happened the past two days. Wolf Williams’ body had been discovered, and Augustus Quinn was guarding Alison until I could work a deal with whoever wound up replacing Wolf as head of the Texas Syndicate. Darwin would let me know when that happened, and agreed to set up a meeting between me and the new boss.

“Any clue who’s first in line for the job?” I had asked Darwin.

“Could be any of a half-dozen guys,” he’d said. “It’ll probably be a guy on the outside this time.”

“Any guess how long we’ve got?”

“No, but shit eventually floats to the top.”

The mind backtrack wasn’t working. Maybe I should try current events featuring Kathleen.

Let’s see, I thought. Kathleen was planning to move to Virginia so she and Addie could be closer to me. Something about the move? Something about…Aw, shit. How could I have forgotten?

“Today’s the day you get Addie,” I said. “Of course I’m planning to be there.”

“In time to go with me to pick her up, or in time for dinner?”

I looked at my watch. “In between those. With any luck, I’ll be at your house before you get her home.”

“I wish you were here already. I could sure use the emotional support.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I know it’s all part of the job. Maybe we ought to re-think that job. It sure keeps us apart a lot.”

I didn’t respond to that. But I was beginning to see why a bright, beautiful girl like Kathleen was still on the market. In the few months we’d been dating, she’d added a child to our romantic dynamic, had plans to move closer to my work, disapproved of my traveling lifestyle, and wanted me to change professions.

“I know about the big dinner at Serendipity tonight,” I said. “But do you want me to arrange something special for afterward?”

“It’s already taken care of. After dinner we’re going back home. We’re going to get on the computer and go video house-hunting until it’s time to put her to bed.”

“Sounds great!” I said, putting what I hoped was the precise amount of enthusiasm into the response.

She paused. “You’re still all for this, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to push you,” she said. “I want you to want this as much as me and Addie.”

“I do,” I said, wondering if I was being honest.

“You sure?”

“Of course.” Still wondering.

“You promise?”

Jesus, I thought. Is this how normal people talk? No wonder there’s so much drug use in the suburbs!

“Donovan?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes, of course I promise I’m sure!” At least that’s what I think she was asking me to say.

She kissed the air on her end of the line and giggled when I didn’t kiss her back.

“What,” I said.

“You always try to act so tough. It’s adorable.”

I couldn’t wait to tell Quinn how adorable I was.

After we hung up I sat in my chair by the gate that would have taken me to Nashville. Now I’d have to go all the way back to the main terminal, cancel the Nashville flight, and book the twelve-fifteen to New York City—which boards from the gate directly opposite the Nashville gate. On the bright side, I didn’t have to get any suitcases off the plane. The phony jewelry suitcase I’d booked on the trip down had long since been discarded.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them I saw a well-dressed guy, late-forties, checking into first class astride a stunning, long-legged beauty, roughly half his age. She was toned and tanned and ponytailed, with shiny pink lipstick and perfect white teeth, and that effusive, self-confident-yet-naïve, perky quality that reminds every guy of the cheerleader from high school he loved from afar but could never approach.

In other words, she looked like half the hookers I’d taken on similar trips.

All of us in the waiting area stared at her like a kid trying to find Waldo in a picture book. Speaking only for myself, if Waldo had been hidden anywhere near her denim miniskirt or the pale pink panties we’d gotten a glimpse of, I’d have found him twenty times. I felt a tug of desire and realized I’d just gotten the phone call—the one that would either save my life, or destroy it. I might have been sitting at a gate in an airport at the time, but I was literally at a crossroads. Nashville loomed to the left, representing the status quo, my comfort zone, and the known.

The door to Nashville offered a future filled with hookers and free time, travel, excitement, bullets and danger.

The door to my right led to New York and Kathleen, who seemed to be moving me at breakneck speed toward monogamy, fatherhood, and the wedding altar. If I took that door, in three years the sex faucet will have slowed to a drip and the arguments will take longer to quell. Routine things would start annoying us about each other, and resentments would build. Addie would steadily crowbar her way into our hearts and lives and it was only a matter of time before we’d lose the “us” that brought us together in the first place. There would be endless hours of babysitting, homework, tears, adolescent issues, sleepovers. There would be obligations to church, school, friends and sports, and all spontaneity would vanish from our lives.

I glanced at the gate to New York City and saw a future unfolding before me that made me question my commitment to Kathleen and Addie. Would I have to give up my job and don a suit and tie and work for some corporate schmuck? Would Kathleen expect me to get involved in her charity work? Could I ever see myself playing tennis or golf at some tight-assed country club or hosting mind-numbing cookouts for the neighbors, having to deal in a civilized way with the guy that drools over my wife’s ass and comes on to her every time I’m looking the other way?

I looked at the babe, cooing in the middle-aged guy’s ear. He said something and she giggled and gave his earlobe a gentle bite with those perfect, porcelain teeth. Both of them seemed completely oblivious to the glares and stares of the disgusted women and envious men watching their public show of affection. As they headed through the jet way, he cupped her ass in his hand. Did she scold him or call him a pervert? No. She rewarded him with a squeal of delight.

It’s not too late, I thought. I can still be that guy.

Chapter 36

In the end, it wasn’t such a hard decision. While it was clear Kathleen was leading me to the altar, she wasn’t forcing me to take the plunge immediately. She’d let me enter the water an inch at a time. I knew what it was like to take a hooker to Nashville, but I didn’t know what it was like to live with Kathleen and Addie. And I wanted to find out.

Hours later, in New York, I waited in Kathleen’s duplex until I heard the taxi door slam shut. I raced outside like any other suburban goober and hugged Kathleen and Addie like the lifelines they were.

Addie said, “Me and Kathleen are BFF’s!”

“Wow, BFF’s!” I had no idea what that was, and Kathleen knew it.

She smiled and whispered, “Best friends forever.”

I whispered back, “I knew that.”

“Of course you did!”

I paid the cabbie, picked up Addie’s suitcases, but paused at the front door landing when Kathleen said, “Wait. Let’s take a moment to appreciate this. When we enter that door, our lives are going to change forever.”

She beamed with happiness, and Addie smiled back at her. This little burn victim had lost her parents, her twin sister, and all her possessions in a ghastly fire six months ago, but you’d never know it today. I might test torture weapons for the military, but my strength and endurance is nothing compared to Addie’s. Beyond her strength of will, she had a plucky optimism that was as inspiring as it was contagious. Addie was part Little Orphan Annie and part Superman.

They passed through the doorway and Addie squealed with delight and clapped her hands when she saw the cookies I’d baked and set out for them on the kitchen table. I could only imagine how excited they’d be to see the gifts I’d bought: a large wicker picnic basket and a blue checkerboard quilt. I wondered if we would someday remember these as the first things bought for our new family.

I lingered the slightest bit on the landing before joining them, giving extra weight to what Kathleen had said. She was right, of course. After today, my life would never be the same.

And that was a good thing.

Two hours later, celebration dinner.

I don’t know any restaurants in New York City that are the exclusive domain of little girls, but Serendipity 3 comes close. With its giant clock, colorful Tiffany-style lamps, white tea party tables and chairs, the interior made me feel as though we’d fallen into a movie set of Alice in Wonderland. It wasn’t all about the décor. I’d been told the deserts, especially the frozen hot chocolate—was to die for. Addie raced around the little restaurant store while Kathleen and I waited for a table. When we were seated, Kathleen looked at me and burst into laughter.

I raised my eyebrows. “What?”

“You sitting here,” she said.

“Uh huh.”

She laughed again. “It’s so, I don’t know…”

“Incongruous?”

She looked at me and mouthed the word and made a funny face to express her disbelief.

“Okay,” she said, “that settles it. You’re the homework parent.”

I nodded.

She cocked her head and peered at me curiously.

“What now?” I said.

She reached her hand across the table and took mine. “I love you, Donovan,” she said, “and I’m looking forward to our first picnic together.”

“You want to have one tomorrow?”

“I want to have one in six weeks.”

“Why six weeks?”

“That’s when Addie will be able to stay outside more than a few minutes at a time.”

“Cool. Six weeks then.”

“It’s a date,” Kathleen said.

Addie ran back to the table, took a seat, and told us about the treasures she’d discovered. Like a perfect BFF, Kathleen was enthralled listening to her, matching her new daughter’s level of animation and enthusiasm. No doubt about it, Kathleen was going to be a great mom.

While they chatted, I couldn’t help but notice the curious stares from the other kids in the restaurant as they took in Addie’s horrific deformities. The house fi re that killed her family had done a number on her face, neck and arms. But I was pleased to see that no one was pointing at or making fun of her.

I didn’t envy what this plucky kid would have to go through in the years to come, though I’m sure she was depending on me to be there to help. Would I be part of her life? Part of her family?

At that moment, I believed I would.

Chapter 37

The four days and three nights I spent in New York City with Kathleen and Addie could not have been better. We hit the aquarium, the planetarium, and several museums, and Addie settled easily into her new life with Kathleen. Our evenings were spent on the internet. Addie loved virtually touring houses for sale near Bedford, Virginia, and we found several that we planned to visit as soon as my schedule permitted.

One happy surprise for me: Kathleen appeared totally content with our relationship such as it was, and never once mentioned or even alluded to marriage. It must have been obvious to her that I cherished my time with the two of them, but it was probably just as obvious that I wasn’t ready for full-time duty yet. I tried not to show it, but by the fourth morning together in that cramped little house I was starting to climb the walls.

I hadn’t entirely ignored my work, I’d made some calls. Quinn was still with Alison. She’d finished her work in Dallas and the two of them were heading to Phoenix, where she’d be conducting next week’s audit. She hadn’t heard from Afaya yet, but Darwin was certain she would, and soon.

Speaking of Darwin, he called to tell me that the new head of the Texas Syndicate was a slime ball named Darryl Hobbs. Darwin was putting together a profile on him, but because Hobbs would be paranoid these first weeks, we’d have to take extra precautions before arranging a sit down with him.

I’d also put together a plan for dealing with Tara Siegel, assuming I could locate her. I’d need Callie for backup, and at least one other soldier. My diminutive, power-crazed employer, Victor, claimed to have an army of little people scattered all over the country. I hesitatingly called to ask if he had any capable associates in Boston I could contact in case things got too hairy with Tara. Victor was less than enthusiastic when I explained what I had in mind, since he preferred that I go to Nashville to kill Rob and Trish. Nevertheless, he gave me the contact information for a little person named Curly.

“Watch out for Curly,” Victor said.

“Why’s that?”

“He’s a real lady’s man.”

“Uh huh.”

“You and Callie really can’t handle this woman by yourselves?”

“Tara might have soldiers of her own,” I said.

Chapter 38

The odds of finding Tara my first night in Boston were less than zero, so I decided to let her find me.

The Life after Suicide Therapy class (LAST) meets weekly at Boston’s Norton Community Center on Franklin Street, near Devonshire. I purposely walked in a few minutes late hoping to catch Tara by surprise, but she wasn’t there. It had been nearly two years since I’d been to one of these sessions, and I didn’t recognize any of the attendees. The instructor was the same, and he remembered me well enough to frown. I nodded at him and took a seat and he continued his lecture.

“More people commit suicide in New York City than are murdered,” he said. “And it’s the same here in Boston and most major cities in America. Suicide has become the third leading cause of death among adolescents and young adults between ages fifteen and twenty-four.” He paused to let his words sink in.

Then he said, “What’s going on, here, people?”

Then he proceeded to tell us.

I listened as long as I could, which was about twenty minutes, before making an early exit to avoid becoming thoroughly depressed. His words, as always, brought back the memories.

Tara and I had hooked up during my dark days, when Janet and I were first separated. We were brooding, depressed people with several things in common: we were both freshly abandoned by our significant others, both worked for Darwin as assassins, both orphaned at a young age, and both of us were the offspring of suicidal parents. Tara’s parents committed suicide together. They tried to take Tara with them, but at the last minute, for reasons unknown, failed to follow through. Both my parents attempted suicide several times, but only my mother succeeded, and that didn’t happen until my father died from a heart attack. Tara and I had gone to these sessions for a while, as well as the annual convention held at the Park Plaza Hotel.

Those who have been affected by a suicide in the family—five million of us in America—are called survivors. As a group we have a tendency to dwell on death, and because only twenty percent of suicides leave notes to explain their behavior, most of us spend an inordinate amount of our adult lives trying to divine some sort of meaning from our devastating losses.

Suicide affects the surviving family members in a unique way. Sure, it saddens, confuses and angers us. But more than anything else, it worries us, because we know our chances of cocking that trigger or stepping onto that ledge are much greater than it is for the general population.

Women are three times more likely than men to attempt suicide, but men are four times more likely to succeed. Women like Tara Siegel often go through life with an internal suicide bomb set to explode at any moment, and when some external factor comes along to light the fuse—they’re sitting ducks. What I came to realize over time is that Tara had a death wish. But while the two of us and the rest of Darwin’s monkeys were mentally unstable, Tara was hyper suicidal as well, and her self-destructive behavior manifested itself whenever things appeared to be going smoothly in her life.

Like when we were at our best.

That night I left the Norton Community Center building and walked to a nearby diner for a cup of coffee. Then I caught a cab to my hotel and spent an hour sipping whiskey in the hotel bar, watching people come and go.

No Tara.

I paid my bill and loitered in the lobby a few minutes, and caught the elevator to the sixth floor. I stood in front of the door to my room, slipped in the key, and took a deep breath before pushing the door open and ducking to the side.

No gunshots fired by Tara.

I entered the room, checked the phone for messages, checked the room for booby traps, and finally undressed, turned out the lights and climbed into bed.

An hour later I awoke to the sound of a gun being cocked four inches from my face.

Tara said, “100 billion people have died since the dawn of the human race.”

Morbid as it sounds, Tara and I always started our conversations by quoting trivia death facts to each other.

I said, “In Madagascar, families dig up the bones of dead relatives and parade them around the village, along with the shroud their loved ones were buried in. Then they bury the bones with a new shroud.”

“What do they do with the original shroud?” she asked.

“They give it to a young, childless couple.”

“Why?”

“They drape the shroud on their bed and have sex on it every night.”

“Eew.”

“Eew indeed.”

“How’ve you been, Donovan?”

“Good, actually. Mind if I sit up?”

“Actually, I do mind. As you can imagine, I don’t trust you. I think the safest thing would be for me to kill you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you tried.”

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

“I’m carrying a scar, says I’m right.”

During the time we were together, I’d always suspected that as long as she could kill other people, Tara Siegel wouldn’t have to kill herself. But I was wrong. One night after sharing a bottle of Cakebread with her I awoke to a gurgling sound. I flipped on the light and was horrified to find Tara lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

“Goodbye, Donovan,” she whispered.

I called 911 while rushing to her side. As I flipped her body toward me, she lashed out at my face with her weapon of choice, a 10-inch AGA Camploin Catalana switchblade, causing the scar I’ve worn ever since. Tara has always maintained she wasn’t trying to kill me, just trying to prevent me from saving her life. Either way, it was the defining moment in our relationship, and the one that brought it to an end.

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it that night,” I said.

“Maybe you came to your decision recently.”

“Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”

“Sorry, Donovan. It’s your own fault. You’re too fucking dangerous.”

I shouted, “Now, Curly!”

Tara was about to laugh at my feeble attempt to distract her, but Curly’s Taser found her thigh before she could get it started. I burst upward from under the covers and pushed Tara backward. Though virtually incapacitated, she managed to squeeze off a shot, and her .45 caliber hollow point cut a hole in the ceiling.

I made a mental note to check if anyone had been sleeping in the bed in the room above me.

The Taser worked its magic, and Tara was unable to maintain her grip on the gun. I climbed out of bed, grabbed her gun, and placed it on the end table. I turned on the light. Curly and I watched her writhe helplessly on the bed a few seconds. I wrapped my belt around her neck and spun her face down and placed my knee in the small of her back.

“Good job, Curly,” I said. “Can you hand me a zip tie?”

He tossed me one of the plastic twist-tie handcuffs with his free hand, and I secured Tara’s wrists behind her. Only then did he remove the Taser barb.

Tara had used a silencer, so we didn’t have to worry about the gunshot waking anyone up. Curly and I got her onto a chair and hooked her arms over the back of it. He fastened her ankles to the chair legs with zip ties while I kept my belt tight around her neck. Then Curly cut the ties around her wrists and re-zipped each of them to the arms of the chair. Then he walked over to the door that connected the adjoining room and opened it. I released the belt and came around to face her.

“Where’d you get the midget?” she said.

“Little person,” I said.

“How long has he been hiding under the bed?”

I looked at Curly. “What, six hours?”

“Give or take,” he said.

To Tara I said, “Who tipped you off I was in town, the lecturer?”

“Doesn’t matter. You going to kill me, or what?”

“I told you. I just want to ask a favor. You look great, by the way.”

“Uh huh. What’s the favor?”

“Have you ever seen your body double?”

“The little gymnast from Atlanta? Eva something?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, I checked her out one time.”

“You think she looks like you?”

“She doesn’t look anything like me. You know how it works. She’s close enough. What’s this got to do with you being here? What’s the favor?”

“I want you to tell Darwin you want a different body double.”

She looked at me a moment before speaking, and something cagey showed in her eyes.

“And if I don’t?” she said.

“You will.”

She laughed. “Why’s that?”

“Because she’s become a talented trapeze artist. She’s about to get her big break in life, and it’s such a small thing to ask of you, and by doing it you and I will be allowing one perfect thing to survive out of all this madness in our lives.”

“Uh huh. So how long have you been fucking her?”

“Hand to God,” I said. “I’ve never even met her.”

“He’s doing it for me,” Callie said, coming in from the adjoining room.

Curly saw her and said, “Jesus, take me now!”

“Ah,” said Tara. “The pretty killer.”

“How are you, Tara?” Callie said.

“I’ve been better. You?”

Callie said, “That sort of depends on you.”

Tara nodded slowly, working it out in her head. “I see. So you’re the one fucking Eva. But more than that, you’re in love with her. How sad.”

Tara didn’t sound sad, but she’d said it, and that was something. Tara sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll tell Darwin.”

“You will?”

“Sure. Why not.”

I turned toward Callie, to see what she thought, but all I saw was the gun in her hand, pointed at Tara’s face. She pumped two rounds into the space between Tara’s eyes, and perhaps a third one into my heart because I felt a stabbing pain. I grabbed my chest and fell to the floor. Callie raced to my side.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Is it your heart?”

Just before losing consciousness I heard Curly ask Callie, “You ever thought about doing it with a guy? ‘Cause if you have, I’m available.”

Chapter 39

I came to after hearing my voice say, “I’m okay, it’s all psychosomatic.”

I opened my eyes, looking for Callie, but received the shock of my life when the person who came into view was a total stranger in a nurse’s outfit.

“Oh, my God!” she screamed, and pressed the button hanging on the side rail of the hospital bed I was laying in.

Hospital bed?

The nurse raced out of the room, leaving me to wonder what the hell was going on. I tried to figure out what happened. I remembered Callie shooting Tara, and then the pain came. I know why Callie shot her. Tara wasn’t the type to let things go. If we turned her loose she might track Eva down and kill her out of spite. At the very least she’d tell Darwin, and he’d have Eva killed. So Callie’s actions made sense.

But I should have seen it coming.

I looked around the stark room, trying to get my bearings. I may have been in a hospital bed, but I wasn’t in an actual hospital. I was in one of the hospital rooms at my headquarters at Sensory Resources. I wanted to think about how I got here, and if someone had contacted Kathleen yet. I wanted to think about Addie, wanted to worry if she was scared. The poor kid couldn’t afford to lose someone else in her life. I wanted to think about settling down and becoming a family. I wanted to think about all those things, but they’d have to wait because all I could really focus on was what Darwin might do to Callie.

You just don’t go around killing Darwin’s people without repercussions. I had to find Callie and get her somewhere safe. I had to speak to Darwin, had to work this out. I tried to sit up, but found I was hooked up to a battery of machines.

That couldn’t be good.

I reached my hands around my body, searching for my cell phone. Surely Callie had put it within arm’s reach. No, I thought, she wouldn’t have come here with me. She was probably in hiding, waiting for me to find a way to call her, so we could put together a plan to deal with Darwin. Or maybe she rushed back to Vegas to protect Eva.

Wait.

Tara Siegel had been in the room, dead, strapped to a chair when I went down with the chest pains. Callie couldn’t have been there when the paramedics arrived. She and Curly would have had to clean the scene as best they could, and then run.

If that’s the case, Darwin has every reason to believe I killed Tara.

Thinking about it now, I realized what caused the crushing pain in my chest was the same thing that caused it at the Peterson sisters’ trailer, and the same thing that made me question my motives for killing all the Rumplestilskin Loan candidates before them. It’s the same thing that made me put off killing Rob and Trish in Nashville, and the same thing that bothered me about every other person I’d killed for Victor going all the way back to my first job for him, when he hired me to kill Monica Childers last Valentine’s Day. As it turned out, Monica didn’t die by my hand, but Callie and I had done all we could to carry out the hit.

They were people who didn’t deserve to die. I’m not saying they were innocent. When someone has a contract on his or her head, there’s always a reason. They’ve been found guilty of something and sentenced to die by whoever employs me.

But that doesn’t mean the punishment fits the crime.

In all the years I’d killed people before meeting Victor, I knew the world would be a better place without those people. Whether I was killing terrorists or spies for the government, or wise guys for Sal Bonadello, I never lost a moment of sleep over my job.

But then, less than a year ago, Victor came into my life.

My first contract for Victor was Monica Childers. I killed her the day after I met Kathleen. Victor had given me some story about how we all have at least two people in our lives that deserved to die because of the terrible things they did to us. That was easy for me to relate to, since I’d had a number of these types of people in my life and I’d done something about it.

Monica Childers may have done something bad enough to make one person wish her dead, but in the court of humanity and justice, she didn’t deserve to die. I think I knew it at the time, but I was running on auto pilot. I’d sold myself on the idea that a hit man shouldn’t ask questions. I believed a hit man’s job was to carry out executions, not weigh the merits of them.

But my conscience obviously felt different.

The reasons for Monica’s execution didn’t stand up. When she turned up alive, I felt relief. Then to learn she’d been raped to death by the terrorists I’d been hunting—it hit me hard.

The Rumplestilskin Loan recipients had certainly done a monstrous thing, allowing someone to die in exchange for receiving a loan, but they’d been told it was an unpunished murderer. I knew in my heart it was a major stretch to kill them for allowing other people to die. By the time I got to the Peterson sisters, my body decided to rebel.

So Victor’s victims were responsible for my heart issue. That makes sense, except for one thing: I got the pain again when Callie killed Tara Siegel. And Tara was not one of Victor’s lethal experiments.

I’m no psychiatrist, but I think Tara fit the pattern of a person who didn’t deserve to die. Tara was certainly no innocent, and there were several circumstances under which I’d have killed her. But she was good for the country, in that she was working for the government, killing terrorists. Also, she and I had a history, and in this particular situation I hadn’t intended her to die. When Callie shot her, I felt responsible for the death of an innocent person, a former friend—even though my “friend” tried to kill me moments earlier.

Looking around the hospital room, hooked up to various monitoring devices, I made the life changing decision to never again accept a contract from Victor. I wasn’t worried about my ability to kill guilty people, or those who deserved to die. After all, I’d recently done it, with no repercussions.

Ned Denhollen had probably been a decent man, but I suffered no remorse for killing him. Was it because he’d been supplying those kids with date rape drugs? No. It was because I feared my daughter Kimberly was about to be dragged into it. So Ned had to die. The kid I shot the night they tried to rape Callie didn’t affect me because he was already dying and I’d done nothing more than put him out of his misery. As for Wolf Williams, he deserved to die for a number of reasons, including his threat to kill my new employee, Alison.

The door burst open so suddenly it startled me. The nurse flew into the room, dragging a doctor behind her.

“Calling Doctor Howard,” I said, “Doctor Howard, Doctor Howard—The Three Stooges, remember?”

Dr. Howard managed to repress a grin. “That wasn’t funny the last time you were here, and it isn’t funny now. Good to see you back with us, Mr. Creed.”

Dr. Howard treated me years ago for a particularly nasty bullet I took from a Ukrainian enforcer. If the good doctor was treating me, that meant I was back at Sensory Resources, in the medical center. My offi ce was a mere hundred feet from this very room. When we buy our new house, Kathleen, Addie and I will be living about twelve miles from here, in Bedford.

“Mr. Creed, I’m Carol,” said the nurse.

I lifted my arm and gave her a small wave. “Nice to meet you, Nurse Carol.”

Dr. Howard assaulted me with questions and annoyed my eyes with his pen light. Ignoring him for the moment, I turned to Nurse Carol.

“I need my cell phone,” I said.

She opened the drawer by my bed, moved some items around, then she tried the closet, where she searched through the clothes someone had hung there.

She handed it to me. I pressed the power button.

Nothing.

I looked at her. “The battery’s dead? How’s that possible?”

Dr. Howard said, “Mr. Creed, there’ll be plenty of time for questions later on. In the meantime I really must insist you cooperate with me.”

“That would be easy to do if my life weren’t at stake.” To Carol I said, “Can you call Lou Kelly for me?” Lou was my right-hand man. His office was on the other end of the building.

“Why don’t you go get him in person, Carol,” Dr. Howard said. “It’s probably a good idea you leave us alone a few minutes.”

She hooked the door to the wall so it would stay open, and headed down the corridor to fetch Lou.

Dr. Howard tried to beat McCauley Culkin’s question record in the movie Uncle Buck, and I answered them the same way. Yes, I felt that, yes, I can focus; no, not dizzy, yes, I’m thirsty, yes, yes, yes.

I had to know something. “Doc, what kind of machines have you got me hooked up to? I know I came in with a chest pain, but that’s psychosomatic. You can call my shrink on that, you don’t believe me.”

“Mr. Creed,” he said. “You’re hooked up to these machines because you’ve been in a coma for the past three years.”

Chapter 40

In a coma? Three years?

I was, as the British say, gobsmacked.

Gobsmacked is much stronger than being surprised. It’s a term used to describe something that stuns you speechless and stops you dead in your tracks.

That’s what I was, gobsmacked.

I thought about eating live scorpions, or smearing cattle dung all over my body. Maybe I’ll become a Whig, I thought, or take up phrenology. Every one of those things made more sense than what he’d said to me.

“Could you repeat that?” I said.

“You’ve been lying in this bed, unresponsive, for…” he consulted a chart. “Three years, two months and five days.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“You know me better than that.”

I did. But it still didn’t make any sense.

“Why am I so lucid?” I asked.

“Psychosomatic comas are different than those caused by direct physical injury.”

“Come again?”

“You didn’t suffer any physical trauma to the brain or brain stem. Basically, your brain took a three-year vacation.”

The room seemed to swirl around me as the significance of my situation hit home. There were a million questions I probably should have asked. But the first thing that popped out of my mouth was “When can I get up?”

In the movies, when the beautiful starlet opens her eyes and comes out of her coma, she does so in full makeup, with every hair in place. By the end of the scene she’s out of bed, drinking champagne, dancing, and lives happily ever after. In real life it’s not as easy as you think to get out of a hospital bed after three years of hibernation.

While Dr. Howard explained all this, he addressed some other aspects of my medical condition. He said there’d be weeks of tests and physical therapy before I could safely be released. He said I could get off the feeding tube, and they would gradually introduce real food into my diet, and see how I responded.

Three years?

That means Kimberly was half-way through college! Afaya could have blown up the airports years ago. Callie, Quinn, Alison…could all be dead by now. And what had happened to Kathleen? I must have scared her to death being unconscious all this time. And Addie must be what, eight years old?

And Darwin. Why hadn’t he killed me already? His people could have waltzed into this cracker box medical room and snuffed me faster than Monika Lewinski blowing out the candle on a one-candle cake. Wait, I thought. Is that reference dated now?

I had to get up and out of here before Darwin got the news of my resurrection. I had to get my cell phone working, had to make some calls and get some help. I didn’t want to involve Kathleen in all this, but I had no choice. Unless the world had turned completely upside down during the past three years, Darwin would know my condition within hours, and my life expectancy would be about as long as a Twinkie in Kirstie Alley’s pantry. Wait. Three years has passed. Maybe she’s lost the weight again. I made a note to catch up on my pop culture first thing.

“Donovan, thank God!”

I looked up and saw Lou Kelly entering the room, followed closely by Nurse Carol.

“Nice haircut,” I said.

“Wait till you see yours!” he said.

“Lou. Turn your back to the doctor and look at me.”

He shrugged. “Okay…”

“Have I been in a coma?”

He nodded.

“How long?”

“Three years, give or take.”

The nurse joined us. Lou said, “Right. Carol, could you get me a newspaper and a magazine and anything else you can find with a recent date on it?”

“How about a movie ticket stub?” she said.

“Perfect.”

“Lou, this is crazy,” I said.

“I know, buddy. But it is what it is. At least you’re back with us. How do you feel?”

“Pissed.”

He laughed. “Same old Creed,” he said.

Dr. Howard continued his examination. The thermometer went in, then out. Th e little thing with the light went in my ears. Then he felt my lymph nodes, checked my pulse, pushed on my stomach, looked up my nose and in my mouth.

Nurse Carol returned with enough evidence to convince me I’d been Rip Van Winkled for more than three years. I tried to get to my feet.

“Whoa,” said the doctor. “You’re still on life support. You can’t get up yet.”

Lou moved to hold me down, but I waved him off .

“Can I at least sit up?”

Lou and the doctor exchanged a look. Lou nodded.

“Lie still a minute,” he said. Th e nurse helped the doctor remove several tubes. She held some gauze against the wounds to stop the bleeding.

“I think you’re out of the woods,” my doctor said, “but I’ll need to keep the rest of the equipment hooked up for twenty-four hours. It’ll help us monitor your brain activity and let us know if you start experiencing seizures.”

“Why am I still alive?” I said.

“Because you’re receiving the best medical care in the world,” Lou said.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Why hasn’t Darwin killed me yet?”

Dr. Howard said, “Let us finish up so you can speak freely. Carol and I don’t want to hear anything that’s unrelated to Mr. Creed’s treatment.”

Five minutes later it was just Lou and me, with the door closed.

“Catch me up,” I said, “starting with last night.”

“You mean—”

“Yeah, I mean the last night I can remember. The night Tara got shot.”

Lou took a deep breath. “Okay. Look, I’ll try to keep everything in chronological order, but I might miss a detail here and there.”

“Just do your best. We can fill in later.”

“Okay.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Before you start, tell me this: is Kathleen okay?”

“She is.”

“Addie?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She’s winding up second grade.”

“Shit. I can’t believe I’ve missed her formative years. She and Kathleen must be devastated. What about Kimberly?”

“Let me save you some time,” he said. “Kimberly, Janet, Callie, Quinn—they’re all alive and well. You want me to go into detail about them now, or you want to hear about that night?”

“Both. But let’s start with Afaya. Did Darwin get him?”

“No, he never showed.”

“Alison?”

“I never thought to ask,” Lou said, “but I’ll find out and let you know.”

“Okay, so tell me about that night. I need to know if my life is in danger.”

Lou said, “I’m the one Callie called when you had the heart thing that night. She told me she’d just shot Tara, and you were having a heart attack.”

“She tell you the details about shooting Tara?”

“Later on, yes, but at that moment she was in a panic. She thought you were dying, but she couldn’t call 911 because there was no time to hide Tara’s body or clean up the crime scene. Blood spatter was everywhere, including your clothes.”

“Makes sense. The EMS guys find blood, they’d have to call the cops.”

“Exactly. Plus, all this happened in your hotel room, a room filled with your fingerprints, and—well, you get the picture.”

“She had to move fast.”

He nodded. “We were lucky this happened in Boston, where we’re thick with support. I called two cleaning crews and caught one of our doctors at home. At the time, I didn’t know about your psychosomatic thing, you’d never shared that with me. So we thought you were in the middle of a full-fledged heart attack. Since we didn’t have time to get our doctors to your hotel room, I told Callie to go up one floor and check for cameras in the hallway. If she didn’t find any, she was to set off a fire alarm.” That’s what she did. Then I told her to get the midget Victor sent to help you—”

“Curly.”

“You remember that?”

“Like it was minutes ago,” I said. “I’m still not convinced it wasn’t.”

“Let’s stay on track. Okay, so Callie stood watch in the hall, waiting until someone exited the room next to you on the far side. When the guy ran out to join the re drill evacuees, Curly broke in, dragged you into that room and called 911. While waiting for EMS, he got your clothes and luggage and put them in the new room. We were lucky, turns out the guy next door to you was alone, a businessman.”

I could see where this was going and didn’t like it.

“What happened to the businessman?”

“Callie needed his ID and other information for the preliminary report. So she followed him down the steps. When they got outside she struck up a conversation with him.”

Lou paused to make sure I caught the implication.

“When was his body found?”

“Sometime the next day.”

I shifted my body in the bed and thought about the way I plow through life, the wake of bodies I leave behind. I instinctively touched my hand to my chest.

“You okay?” Lou said.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Lou continued: “EMS got to the hotel about the same time as the firemen, and put you on a gurney. By then, Callie was back in the room and she followed along and climbed into the ambulance with you. Curly was in his car by then, following you. Callie let them drive a few minutes, pulled a gun on the EMS guy in the back and made them stop the truck. Curly pulled up, got out of his car, put a gun on the driver, and Callie made the EMS guys load you into Curly’s car. He drove you to the air ambulance while Callie shot the EMS guys. She ditched their bodies and drove their vehicle to the airport, where she was met by the second cleaning crew. They did their magic on the EMS truck, drove Callie to the FBO, where she boarded our jet to fly here. She beat you here by half an hour, but you were in the medical chopper getting the best care possible. The Chopper landed, and you’ve been here ever since.”

I said, “I assume the first cleaning crew did a good job on the hotel?”

“By the time they finished, you couldn’t prove humans had ever entered it.”

“Where did Darwin fit in all this?”

“See, that’s the thing. Callie called me because she was afraid Darwin would blame you for Tara’s death. She wanted me to arrange a meeting so she could tell Darwin what really happened, and why.”

“And you said?”

“I told her she and Curly were never there.”

“So Darwin thinks I killed Tara?”

Lou nodded. “He thought you killed her and then got the heart thing because you’d been close to her in the past. Remorse, or whatever.”

“So why didn’t Darwin have me killed?”

“See, Darwin was getting ready to kill Tara anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He had already approached me about having you do it.”

All this could have been avoided, I thought.

“What stopped him from giving me the hit?” I said.

“He thought you might be too close to her. He wanted to try someone else.”

“There was no one else capable of killing Tara.”

“That’s what he found out.”

“Who’d he send?”

“A couple of mafia guys. After that didn’t work, I told him I’d talk to you about doing it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was about to, but that whole thing came up with Afaya, and he told me to wait until you got back from Dallas. Then you wanted to spend a few days with Kathleen and Addie, so I put it off .”

Timing is a funny thing. But this explained why Tara wanted to kill me. She thought I’d been sent to finish the job the mafia guys botched.

“So Darwin thinks you told me to kill Tara, and I did. So he’s happy?”

“In general,” Lou said, turning to open the door.

“What does that mean?”

Lou turned back to face me.

“He didn’t like the part about you being out of commission all these years.”

No surprise there.

“What does Darwin know about my heart issue?”

“He backtracked. He found the doctor that treated you after the Camptown incident…”

“Dr. Hedgepeth.”

“Right. And Hedgepeth led Darwin to the psychiatrist…”

“Nadine Crouch.”

“Right, and, if you’ll raise up and look over my shoulder…”

“That’s not necessary,” Dr. Nadine Crouch said, entering the room. “I’ll come closer.”

Chapter 41

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“This might come as a surprise to you, Donovan, but I’ve worked for Homeland Security longer than you have.”

“What?”

“I was on the payroll before the helicopter brought you from Camptown.”

“Dr. Hedgepeth personally recommended you. Are you saying he’s with Homeland too?”

“No. When you arrived at the hospital, Darwin was in close contact with Dr. Hedgepeth. He got the results of your tests before you did. When Hedgepeth decided you might require psychiatric evaluation, Darwin told him to recommend me. He felt it was best to use an in-house psychiatrist.”

“Your practice just happened to be in Newark?”

“Philadelphia. We had to move my practice to Newark to accommodate you. We worked a deal with Agnes Battle, the child psychologist, to sublease her back office.

My mind was swimming, but I’m a great detail guy. “The antique coat rack in the office seemed out of place. Was that yours?”

Dr. Crouch laughed. “Funny you should notice that. Homeland gave the office a complete makeover. When Agnes realized the coat rack didn’t go with it, she gave it to me as a present. I felt obligated to keep it.”

“So you’ve known all along what I did for Homeland?”

“Not specifically. Darwin told me almost nothing at first. He wanted me to report your comments to him. But he filled me in just before your last visit.”

“I remember thinking at the time that you were awfully astute, for having known me such a short time.”

“I’m still astute. For example, I can see that you’re handling your current situation with an amazing degree of calm.”

“How did you know I’d be conscious today?”

“I didn’t. I’ve been waiting a long time for you to wake up.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I arrived a month after you did.”

I laughed. “They paid you all this time to wait for me to wake up? That’s hard to believe.”

“I’m stationed here because of you, but remember, I work for Homeland, so I’ve got other duties and responsibilities. Of course, you’re quite an asset to them, and now that you’re awake, you’re my main concern.”

“How much have they told you?”

She looked at Lou. “As far as I know, everything.”

Lou said, “She knows most of what you’ve done for us. She’s got a general understanding about your work with Sal. She has specific knowledge about the contracts you fulfilled for Victor, and the thing with Tara.”

“Well, that’s all in the past,” I said.

“Is it?” Nadine said.

“According to you guys, I’ve just lost three years of my life. Three years I could’ve been with Kathleen and Addie. Three years I could’ve spent building my relationship with Kimberly. Yeah, I’m done. I’m done with all this bullshit. I’m going to get out of this nuthouse, marry Kathleen, and be a proper father to Addie.”

Dr. Crouch looked at Lou. “Should I leave?” she said.

Lou frowned. “I’m going all in. You definitely need to stay.”

“Lou?” I said. “What do you mean, ‘all in?’ Talk to me.”

Lou asked Nadine if she had a mirror in her purse. She produced a compact and gave it to him.

“Lou…” I said, warily.

“Donovan, you may want to brace yourself,” Lou said. He handed me Nadine’s compact. I looked at both of them carefully before opening it, but none of us said anything. I closed my eyes a second, shook my head.

“This sucks,” I said.

Lou nodded.

“I’m so very sorry,” Dr. Crouch said.

I opened the compact and looked into the mirror.

Chapter 42

They’d given me a new face.

Not a normal face, like I’d had before, but a Hollywood, movie star-type face.

Without the scar.

I closed the compact and handed it back to Nadine.

“I need a drink,” I said.

Lou hesitated. “That’s probably a bad idea.”

“Bottom left-hand drawer of my desk,” I said.

“I can ask the doctor, if you want,” Lou said.

“Next to the bourbon you’ll find four Glencairn glasses. Feel free to join me.”

“Twenty-year Pappy?”

“It was when I bought it.”

“I’ll join you,” he said.

We looked at Nadine.

“I’ll pass,” she said.

Lou called his assistant and placed the order.

While waiting, I touched my fingers to my face. Nadine handed me back the compact. I snuck up on the mirror this time, peering at myself from different angles. In every case it was like I was looking at someone else.

“Nice work,” I said. “But it’s too nice.”

“I know it’s quite a shock,” Nadine said, “But you’re gorgeous—not that I place a lot of value on a person’s exterior.”

“Lou? This is crazy. I mean, I know our guys are good, but I’ve seen their work before, lots of times. No one comes out of surgery looking better than they started.”

“You did.”

“How’s that possible?”

“Our guys never had this much time before, or such a perfect environment for healing. We knew our surgeons were exceptional, but none of us knew they were this good. You know who you look like?” Lou said, getting into it.

I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t tell me.”

Lou nodded. His assistant showed up with a bottle of Pappy and two glasses.

“Mr. Creed!” she yelped. “I thought we’d never see you again. You look great!”

“Thanks, Linda. Nice to see you, too. Want a drink?”

She looked at Lou hopefully. He shook his head. “Another time, perhaps,” Linda said.

Nadine moved some things off the end table to accommodate the glasses. As Linda placed them on the table, she said, “What’s it like, waking up after all this time?”

“Surreal. For you it’s been years. But in my mind, I saw you less than two weeks ago.”

“That is so weird,” she said.

Linda left the room, Lou poured the drinks.

“You sure you don’t want a pull, Nadine?”

She gave me a world-class frown. “I think it’s a dreadful idea. As for you, Mr. Kelly…”

Nadine abandoned the rest of the sentence, but shook her head with disgust, leaving no doubt where she stood on the subject of Lou’s behavior.

I held up my glass as if making a toast. “Bourbon,” I said, “Is cheaper than therapy.”

Lou grinned. We clinked glasses and began sipping.

“Like heaven in a bottle,” I said.

We were quiet awhile before I broke the silence.

“Why’d they do it, Lou?”

He sipped again, took a deep breath, let it out very slowly. He bit the side of his lip before speaking.

“A lot of decisions had to be made in a short period of time.”

I wasn’t going to second-guess at this point. These decisions had been made years ago, so there was nothing I could do about the time I’d lost or the new face. There was only one thing that mattered.

“Has Kathleen seen me…like this?”

They looked at each other, silently trying to decide who should do the talking. Lou took the lead.

“There’s a lot I need to tell you. But before I say anything, keep in mind, I’m the messenger. I was involved in the discussions, but I didn’t make the decisions.”

“Noted. So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying everything that happened was done because it made the most sense at the time.”

I passed my glass to Nadine. Two sips of whiskey had left my head swimming.

“Serves you right,” she sniffed.

Like all the rooms at Sensory Resources, the one that held me was windowless. It could have been noon outside, or midnight, I’d have never known the difference. A person could be wide awake in here for two weeks and not be able to give a proper accounting of the time he’d spent, so it made sense there would be a period of disorientation. But I was more than disoriented, I was in shock. Based on my timeline, in a handful of minutes I’d lost the face I was born with, and more than three years of my life! There were no instruction books to tell me how I was supposed to react.

But it’s not what I’d seen and heard that led me to the bourbon. Bad as it was, I knew things were about to get much worse. Th e proof was in Nadine’s eyes and Lou Kelly’s voice. And the fact that Darwin kept Nadine working here at Sensory all these years just to prepare me for what Lou was about to say.

Chapter 43

“You died,” Lou said.

I paused a moment. “You mean I died on the table and they brought me back to life?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean we killed Harry.”

Harry Weathers had been my body double.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Lou said.

I said nothing.

He continued, “You were here, completely unresponsive, barely alive. Days went by. The doctors hoped you’d be okay, but stopped believing it.”

A thousand thoughts raced through my brain, competing to make sense.

Lou continued: “Tara Siegel had a lot of friends who heard you came to Boston looking for her. A few hours later she went missing, and no one ever heard from her again.”

I shouldn’t have had the drink. Or maybe I should have had more. I had to force my mind not to get too far ahead of his words. Otherwise it would take longer to find out what I needed to know about Kathleen and Addie, and where things stood in the present.

“Go on,” I finally heard myself say.

“Well, there were two problems. First, Tara’s friends—picture what Callie and Quinn would do if Tara showed up and you’d gone missing. Anyway, her friends demanded answers from Darwin, said if he didn’t tell them, they’d beat the truth out of Kathleen.”

I set my new jaw, clenched my fists, but said nothing.

“The second problem, quite frankly, was Kathleen.”

“How so?”

“When she didn’t hear from you, didn’t get her calls returned, she went into a panic. She knew just enough to be dangerous.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “She knows—knew nothing.”

“She knew Sal Bonadello,” Lou said, “and Victor.”

“So?”

“She also knew—or thought she knew—that you worked for Homeland Security.”

“She started making calls?”

“She did.”

“And?”

“She got stonewalled. And didn’t like it.”

I let a small, proud smile play around the corners of my mouth.

Lou saw it, said, “Yeah, I know. But she contacted the press, started demanding an inquiry.”

“Oh shit.”

“Exactly. So Darwin created a phony mission and produced enough of Harry’s body to convince everyone you’d been killed.”

My heart sank.

I said, “And this was more than three years ago, and no one ever told Kathleen any different.”

Lou remained silent.

“And Kimberly and Addie—they watched my burial.”

“I’m sorry, Donovan,” Lou said.

Nadine moved to my side, placed a reassuring hand on my arm. She said, “As they explained it to me, it was the only way to protect Kathleen and Addie.”

“Not to mention Sensory Resources,” I said.

“That too,” Lou said.

I rolled it around in my head a few minutes, trying to find a way to make it work for me. Of course they had to kill me off . In their shoes, I’d have done the same. Okay, so I’d lost three years. No problem, I’d just have to come back from the dead. I could kill Tara’s friends before they knew I was alive, then break the good news to my loved ones. Nadine could be helpful with that part. I’d tell Kathleen and Kimberly everything, make a full confession. Then I’d retire. It could work, I reasoned. I could still salvage my relationship with Kathleen.

“How did I die?” I said.

“Excuse me?” Nadine said.

“Harry’s body wouldn’t have fooled the people that knew me well. They couldn’t say I had a heart attack.”

Lou sighed. “This sounds so much worse when I say it out loud,” he said.

I waited.

“Aw Christ, Donovan,” Lou said. “Harry got thrown off a highrise.”

No one spoke for a long time. We didn’t need to; Nadine’s expression said it all.

“On the bright side,” I said, “I look like a movie star.”

Nadine said, “You’re taking this awfully well. Are you sure you understand the complexity of the situation?”

“Pardon the pun, but I’m trying to put my best face forward.”

“He’s facing his fears,” Lou said, “putting on a brave face.”

“Well,” said Nadine, flashing a smile, “I think it’s time to face the facts.”

I returned the smile. “Good one,” I said. “For a shrink.”

“We can start with your new name,” she said.

That wiped the smile off my face. “My what?”

Chapter 44

“Conner Payne,” Lou said.

“A sissy name.”

“Blame Darwin,” he said. “Still, it’s better than the last one he gave you.”

“Cosmo Burlap?”

Lou chuckled.

Nadine said, “This just occurred to me, but what about all your bank accounts, investments, legal papers, and so forth?”

“Everything is in my legal name.”

“Your legal name. So Donovan Creed—”

“Was my third name.”

“You people are insane,” Nadine said.

“That your professional opinion?”

“Don’t start with me,” she said.

Dr. Howard entered the room and injected something into my IV.

“Did you just give me a sedative?”

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he said.

“You’re at least going to let me try to walk…”

He sighed. “The natural tendency with these things is to try to make up the time you’ve lost right away. But it’s much more complicated than that. Your brain shut down for a reason, and we need to find out what it was, so we can prevent a recurrence. In the meantime, relax, take it easy, and understand you’ve got all the time in the world.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Look, we’re trying to avoid a blood clot here,” he said, “or worse. Don’t worry, I’ve been ordered to get you moving as fast as possible, so your rehab is going to be supervised by the best in the business. You’ve waited this long, what’s another day?”

“You contact them yet?”

“They’re on their way.”

“Okay.” I gave him a mock salute.

Nadine said, “How is it you’re completely lucid after being knocked out with a sedative?”

“I test weapons for the military.”

“So?”

“Sedatives are like candy to me.”

“Wait. You test weapons?”

“Uh huh.”

“What sort of weapons?”

“Death rays, psychotic drugs, torture devices, live viruses, that sort of thing.”

She gave Lou an exasperated look. “I can’t believe I wasn’t told this before. How do you expect me to do my job if you won’t tell me what I need to know?”

“You’re the psychiatrist,” Lou said. “How would we know what you need to know?”

“To think that fourteen years ago I had a legitimate practice,” she mumbled.

“Why’d you give it up?” I said.

She shook her head. “When your government calls you into service, you tend to believe they can’t save the world without your help.”

“I’ve heard that lecture myself. Many times.”

Chapter 45

“The difference between a good man and a bad one,” Nadine said, “has nothing to do with their jobs or the choices they make. What matters is the motivation—why they do what they do.”

“You are so in the tank for Sensory,” I said. “They must have paid you a queen’s ransom.”

“I won’t deny the paycheck, and I’ll leave it to you whether I sold out. But I’ve spent a lot of years learning about this agency, and I have to say, I believe in what you’re doing.”

“What I used to do.”

“What you were born to do.”

Dr. Nadine Crouch had been trying to reprogram me for days. Today she wore an ebony jacket and matching skirt over a white crepe blouse.

“You’re wearing long sleeves again,” I said. “Is it winter?”

She pursed her lips. “I must try to keep in mind how difficult this is for you. No, it’s Spring,” she said, “and I always wear long sleeves. When you’re my age, the arms have a tendency to sag.”

“You’ve got bingo arms?” I said.

“I beg your pardon?”

I laughed, thinking about it. “Like when the old ladies at the bingo parlor hold their cards over their heads and yell ‘Bingo!’”

“That’s a harsh observation.”

“Oh, please.”

“You’ll be old someday. See how funny it is then,” she snapped.

“Hey, I was just kidding around. There’s nothing wrong with your arms.” I grinned. “Or your legs, for that matter.”

“Let’s just get back to the topic at hand,” she said, trying not to smile.

She’d been showing me dozens of news articles depicting senseless, tragic deaths, in an attempt to convince me that innocent people die every day, and they’re going to die whether I kill them or not.

“I’m done with this,” I said.

“This is who you are,” she said. “You’re a tragic hero.”

“Me? A hero? You mean, like Superman?”

“Like Joan of Arc.”

“I remind you of a chick? Must be my sissy new name.”

“Fine, forget Joan. A tragic hero is an inherently noble, extraordinary person. He has a greatness about him that makes him seem almost super-human to others, and a purpose that serves mankind. He sacrifices his life for a great cause or principle.”

“I sense a however coming.”

“However, he has a fatal flaw that ultimately brings about his destruction.”

“And mine is?”

“Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost your ability to remain detached.”

“Have you met Callie?”

“I have, many times. She visits you regularly.”

“And Quinn?”

“Not so regularly.”

I nodded. “Quinn is very detached,” I said.

“I know you consider him a friend, so I’ll refrain from criticism.”

“I can’t believe Darwin hired you to reprogram me. Wait—yes I can. But how does that sit with you? I mean, you treated me as a patient. Do you really feel it’s ethical to brainwash me into killing people?”

“I’ll say it’s appropriate. As for your use of the word ‘brainwashing,’ I’m not going to split hairs over terminology.”

I’d used the term on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her. But she didn’t bite. I said, “Nadine, you’re the most honest professional person I’ve ever met.”

“It helps to believe in the cause.”

“You know about Monica Childers?”

“I do. She was the catalyst, the one that put the wedge of doubt in your mind.”

“You’re very good at what you do, Nadine.”

“Not as good as you,” she said.

I kept my eyes fixed on hers until she blinked. “You’re a psychiatrist,” I said. You’re supposed to stand for something. You seriously expect me to believe you want me to keep killing innocent people?”

“Your issues with innocence started with Victor, and they’ll end the moment you stop working for him.”

“It’s good money,” I said, though I had already made the decision to stop.

“You took the work for one reason. And I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is.”

I already knew. “There was too much hang time,” I said, “between the killings.”

Nadine’s eyes misted briefly. She patted my hand. “This is one of the three reasons it’s worth giving up my practice to work with people like you.”

“What are the other two?”

“Money and Joan.”

“Joan of Arc again?”

“You remember the first time we met, the pictures on my desk?”

“The two Japanese-American boys your sister adopted?”

“You have a prodigious memory,” she said.

“For me it was a month ago.”

“Joan was my sister. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she worked on the top floor of the World Trade Center.”

I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“She called her husband that morning, but he was busy with a client. She called me, terrified, but I was busy with a patient. She tried to leave me a message, but her phone went dead.”

“You feel somehow responsible?”

“Of course not. But it shouldn’t have happened. And when it did, I should have been there for her.”

“And now you want revenge.”

She shook her head. “Revenge is a waste of emotion.”

“But you want me to prevent it from happening again, even though innocent people will die. Sounds to me like you have a fatal fl aw. You can’t remain detached from what happened to your sister.”

“Let’s keep this about you,” she said. “You’re a soldier, a man of action. You can’t survive in captivity.”

“By captivity you mean settling down, raising a family?”

“You tried it before, with Janet and Kimberly. Didn’t you learn anything? Your domestication only served to torment the people you love.”

“You think you know me—”

“We both know you. You’re an eagle. Eagles don’t flock. They can’t be domesticated. They do not thrive in captivity.”

“You must be the worst marriage counselor in the world,” I said.

“Quit working for Victor. Get your mind back in the game.”

“My country needs me, eh?”

“Not to make a cliché out of it, but yes, we do.”

“What about Sal?”

“Sal Bonadello?”

“Do you object to my working for him?”

Nadine took some time to weigh the question. She sighed. “I suppose not.” She saw my eyebrows rise in disbelief and added, “Sal’s jobs keep you sharp. In the end, what’s it to society if tomorrow morning we all wake up and find there’s one less bit of scum on the pond?”

“Nadine, you’re an astonishingly bad psychotherapist.”

“That’s entirely possible, but it doesn’t change who you are, or what you were meant to do.”

“Nevertheless,” I said, “I aim to quit the business, marry Kathleen, and help her raise Addie.”

She said nothing.

“You’re disappointed in me,” I said.

“Not true. As for marrying Kathleen, if that’s your motivation for getting strong and healthy, it’s as good as any.”

Chapter 46

I’d been warned that the physical therapy would be agonizing. Instead, it was thrilling. Every stabbing pain made me feel alive, eager for more. Dr. Howard kept trying to back me off the weights and leg machines, but I was relentless, having set a goal to be in Kathleen’s arms within ten days. Nadine was just as relentless in her attempt to keep me out of “captivity,” but what could she do? In a competition for my soul, Kathleen would always win.

One day Nadine walked into my room and turned off the CPM machine that had been flexing and extending my knees.

“Conner,” she said, “there’s someone here to see you.”

My heart raced. “Kathleen?”

She shook her head. “If you choose Kathleen, you’ll have to approach her on your own.”

“So who’s here?”

I heard the electric whir before I saw him.

“Good to…see you…Mr. Payne…you’re…looking…well.”

“Hello, Victor. Where’s Hugo?”

“He’s…in the…corridor…with…someone.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me alive.”

“Curly…told me…you were…alive.”

“And you’ve not told anyone all this time? Not even Sal?”

“It was…not my…business…to tell…anyone.”

“Who wound up killing the couple from Nashville?”

“No one…I termi…nated…the pro…ject…after you…got here.”

“And you’re here to talk me into coming back to work for you?”

“No, I’m…part of…your…therapy…Dr. Crouch…wanted…me to…show you… something.”

“Then do so.”

Victor was a quadriplegic, which means his paralysis affects all four limbs. But like many quads, Victor’s paralysis and loss of function was not complete. He still retained partial use of his hands. With them, he controlled an array of buttons and toggles, one of which he used to summon his general, Hugo, and his mystery guest.

Hugo walked into the room with a very attractive woman who seemed familiar to me.

“Creed,” he said.

“Hi Hugo. These days I’m going by Conner Payne.” I studied the woman standing next to him. I knew it would come to me. She had shoulder-length blond hair. The eyes were a different color than the last time I’d seen her, but they were still deep set and expressive.

“Holy shit,” I said. “Monica Childers. I thought you were dead.”

“I wish you’d died,” she said. “But I take comfort knowing you’re going to suffer.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

I glanced at my wheelchair-bound former employer. “Victor, you told me Monica had been fucked to death by the Fathis.”

She gave him a hard look.

“That…was a…cover…story,” he said.

I said, “Monica, you’ve got every reason to hate me, but seriously, I’m glad to know you’re alive.”

“Fuck you,” she said.

“It’s a generous offer, but I’m already spoken for.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“You’re a saucy little thing,” I said.

“And you tried to kill me.”

I said, “Victor, what’s the story here?”

Victor gave Hugo a single nod, and Hugo said, “Monica was married to Baxter Childers, the surgeon who botched Victor’s operation and left him paralyzed.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Monica met Victor during the lawsuit. They kept in touch with throwaway phones. Baxter was a serial cheater, and a piece of shit human being,” Hugo said. He looked at Monica, held his hands up as if asking her to take over. She did.

“Not that I give a rat’s ass what you think,” she said to me, “but I knew for years he’d been cheating. I forgave him twice. Then I opened my heart to another man and fell in love. During the trial, I shared information with Victor’s people and they reciprocated. I found out Baxter had a child with one of his young lovers. He was getting ready to divorce me and marry her. I could go through an extended divorce, or I could see him put away for my murder.”

“And you chose the latter.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed, causing her eyebrows to flare like the wingspan of a predatory bird. “Victor said he’d take care of everything.” She turned to address him face-to-face: “You failed to mention I’d be beaten and murdered.”

Victor grimaced. “I…believed…you would…live, but…if not, then… Doctor…Childers…would…lose his…wife…and…the case.”

I said, “So one day you’re jogging at Amelia Island, and I kidnap you. Soon thereafter, you’re with your lover, savoring your sweet revenge.”

“Let’s keep the story straight,” she said. “You beat the shit out of me, injected me with a lethal poison, kicked me out of a moving truck, and left me to die.”

I glanced over and saw Dr. Nadine Crouch holding her head with both hands.

“Bygones?” I said.

Hugo offered his version: “You killed Monica, our people brought her back to life, she’s living on a plantation in Costa Rica, and Baxter’s serving twenty to life.”

“All’s…well that…ends well,” Victor said.

“You could have smuggled me out of the country,” Monica said. “You didn’t have to let him kill me!”

“We’ve…been…through this…many…times,” Victor said.

“Right. You were testing your anti-serum on me, killing two birds with one stone.”

“But you’re happy now,” I said.

“Eat shit and die,” she said. “It took four surgeries to repair my ear. The pain was excruciating.”

“You keep dwelling on the bad parts,” I said. I looked at Victor. “Is she always like this?”

“In my…experience…she is.”

“Fuck you both!” she said.

Dr. Crouch said, “Monica, I want to thank you for coming today. Though you can’t imagine it, or care to, your presence here has been meaningful.”

“I only came so I could look this bastard in the face and tell him about Kathleen.”

“What about her?” I said.

Monica’s eyes grew ice cold. Her mouth curled into a smug smile. You could tell she’d rehearsed this scene many times. I think she planned to say more, but changed her mind at the last minute, realizing the faster you say it, the quicker it hurts. She’d come all the way from Costa Rica to get this out, so I waited as she paused to gather the proper venom in her voice. When she was ready, she lifted her chin defiantly, and spit two poisonous words at me: “Kathleen’s engaged.”

Chapter 47

Monica’s words sent my heart into freefall. I blinked, forcing my brain to accept what I’d heard. Nausea flooded through me in that terrible way you feel when you can’t quite vomit. You know you’ll feel better if you do, but your body won’t cooperate. I took a deep breath. I should have stayed in the coma. This was too much to deal with all at once. When I let the breath out it felt as though my life force went with it.

Nadine broke the silence: “How nice for you to take this opportunity to tell him that.”

“No man ever deserved it more,” Monica said. “I bet her fiancé is fucking her right now, making her say his name.”

Hugo shook his head. Victor lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Monica kept the smug look on her face, and I thought, revenge agrees with her. She’s probably never looked more beautiful than she looks at this moment.

I wanted to scream, but I found myself smiling. I mean, you have to smile, right? During the past week I learned I’d lost three years of my life, lost my face, lost my name. And now, hearing I may have lost the love of my life, well, what else are you going to do?

Monica sneered. “How does it make you feel to know another man has taken over your life? A man who at this very moment is screwing your lover, spending your millions, and raising your little match girl.”

“How does it make me feel?” I repeated.

Like I’d been tied to a whipping post, I thought. But what I said was, “I feel like thanking God.”

“What?”

“No matter how much I love Kathleen and Addie, I can’t live like that. Dr. Crouch spent the past week helping me understand that, and what you’ve told me just makes it a lot easier to leave them behind. I’m glad they’ve found someone special to take my place.”

“Bullshit,” she said.

“I’ll miss the sex,” I said. “And Addie.”

“And the money?”

I laughed. “I’ve got as much as I need and I can always get more.”

“So your story is that you’re fine with all this,” Monica said.

“It’s true,” said Nadine, “though I wouldn’t have chosen you, or this time and place, to tell him about Kathleen.”

“Well I think he’s bluffng,” she said. “He won’t admit it, but I think I hurt him worse than he hurt me.”

“And I think you look sensational,” I said.

“What?”

“I like the whole package. You’ve got a kick-ass little body, and I bet you’re a wildcat in the sack.”

Her face smoldered like a live coal. “From what hellish pit have you summoned the gall to talk to me like that?”

“What do you expect me to say? I haven’t been laid in three years. Suddenly you waltz in here all worked up, wearing those ‘check-out-my-tight-ass’ pants!’”

“How dare you!”

I shrugged. “A kind word never broke a tooth.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Monica said, but stormed out before I had a chance to answer.

“Guess you’d better chase after her,” I said to Hugo. “She won’t like it when security pins her against the wall.”

He left, and Victor said, “It…was all…about you.”

“What was?”

“The…experi…ment.”

“The experiment,” I repeated.

“We…wanted…to see…how far…you’d…go.”

I thought about the seven loans Victor had Callie make to four couples and three individuals, loans that represented eleven lives and seven hundred thousand dollars—loans made and lives taken for nothing more than a bet between two midgets.

“You had me kill all those people just to see how long I’d do it? Why?”

“You…ever see…that…movie…Trading…Places?”

“Yeah…”

“Well…we had…a bet…Hugo…and me.”

“Who won?”

“He did.”

I stared at him blankly. “How much did he win?”

“Like…the movie.”

“One dollar?”

“Yes but…it’s the…principle…not the…money.”

Hugo made a bow, reached into his pocket, pulled out a single dollar bill, held it up, and performed a strange little victory dance.

Victor said, “He’s…very proud…of his…victory.”

Nadine and I looked at each other.

“I think we’re done here,” she said.

When it was just me and her in the room I said, “When were you going to tell me?”

“I was working up to it.”

“You and Lou let me believe everything was fine with Kathleen and Addie.”

She looked at me awhile before speaking. “You want the truth?”

“Tease me with it. We can always default to your bullshit later.”

“Dr. Howard asked us not to say anything that might interfere with your recovery.”

“She’s engaged,” I said.

“She is.”

This, along with all the rest, was almost too much to bear. “I guess Kathleen’s had it pretty rough,” I said, “Addie too.”

“And Kathleen had every reason to believe you were dead. She attended your funeral, don’t forget.”

“Did she seem pretty broken up at the time?”

“I wasn’t there, but I understand she took it hard.”

“You think she brought a date?”

“That sort of talk is destructive, don’t you think?”

“You really want to know what I think?”

“I do,” she said. “It’s my job, after all.”

“I know she wants to be married, and it’s certainly better for Addie. Still, I think it’s pretty quick on her part. Don’t you agree?”

“I try to avoid judgment,” Nadine said.

Chapter 48

“Hello, Sal,” I said.

“What? Who is this? How’d you get this number?”

“Listen to my voice. You know who it is.”

“The fuck?”

“You got some work for me?”

From the dead silence on the other end of the line I could practically hear the wheels turning.

“What is this, a—whatcha call—previous recording? Someone trying to be funny? Trying to play a bad joke?”

“It’s me. Creed.”

“Bullshit.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Ask me something only I would know.”

“Holy shit, it is you!”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Only you woulda said something like that. Jesus H. The friggin’ attic dweller comes back from the grave.”

Then, as if something just struck him, Sal said, “I want my money back for the—whatcha call—funeral wreath.”

I laughed. “Take it out of my next job.”

“Don’t think I won’t. So who got killed and passed off as you? And where the hell you been, anyway?”

“You know how it works. That’s classifi ed.”

“And you government fuckers wonder why I have—whatcha call—trust issues.”

“So, you got any work for me, or not?”

“I could give you ten jobs today.”

“Give me an easy one to start. I’m at half strength right now.”

“Which means you’re still the best I ever seen.”

“Stop,” I said. “You’re making me blush.”

“You want easy?” he said. “I was gonna do this one myself.”

“What, some girl scout forgot to deliver your cookies?”

“After all these years you’re still a wise guy,” Sal said.

“I didn’t know wise guys called other people wise guys.”

“I could write a book on what you don’t know. You want this candy job or what?”

“Feed me, Seymour.”

“The fuck you talkin’ about?”

“I want the easy hit first. Then we can talk about the others.”

“That’s my boy.”

“So,” I said, “what makes this hit so easy?”

“The fucker wants to die.”

I didn’t know the fucker, but I knew how he felt.

Chapter 49

“Callie, it’s me.”

There was the briefest silence, and then an explosion took place on the other end of the line.

“Oh my God, Oh, my GOD, OH MY GOD!” Callie shrieked.

“I’m back.”

“Oh, Donovan. Thank God!”

We went through all the questions as if checking them off a list, and set a date to have dinner.

“I’m looking forward to meeting Eva,” I said.

She laughed. “There may be some gay girl stuff going on. Think you can handle it?”

“Let me think a minute. Yes.”

“Good. I can’t wait for you to meet her. Did you hear? She’s the lead now.”

“I never doubted for a minute that she would be. But here’s the real question: have you told her what you do?”

“Of course. I’m a decorator, all A-list clients.”

“A job that requires extended travel.”

“Exactly.”

We were silent awhile.

“How are you with explosives?”

“Pretty current. Why, you’ve got a job for me already?”

“I do.”

I went through the details of what I needed from her, and she had a number of questions about that. When at last all her questions were answered, some more silence passed between us.

“You ever think about quitting?” I said.

“Every day. But then I come to my senses. You?”

“Same.”

Callie and I are alike in more ways than not. We both believe that the killing we do for the government is necessary, and we both love the danger rush. At the same time, we both long to be normal someday, with normal lives, surrounded by people who care about us.

Oh, and we both love beautiful women.

“Good to have you back, Donovan. I thought I’d lost you. I can’t wait to see you.”

I closed the phone as Lou came into my office with a folder.

“We’ve played this scene before,” I said.

“With different results,” Lou said.

“So, the new boyfriend is clean?”

“Like an eagle scout. Sorry, Conner.”

I stared straight ahead at nothing in particular. “It’s for the best,” I said. “And Lou?”

He looked at me.

“Stop calling me Conner. I’m sticking with Creed.”

He frowned. “Darwin’s not going to like it.”

“Fuck Darwin.”

“Always an option, I suppose.” Lou’s frown deepened. “What about Tara’s people—aren’t you afraid they’ll come after Kathleen?”

“Why should they? We’re not together anymore.”

“What if Kathleen finds out Donovan Creed is still walking around?”

“There’s no reason for that to happen. If it does, I’m just another guy with the same name. Other than size, as long as I wear phony contacts, there’s no way to recognize me.”

“I have to confess, I hated the name Conner Payne.”

“Keep the ID’s, though, in case I want to use the name on a job.”

“What about Joe Leslie?”

“We’ll keep that one alive as well.”

“I’ll tell Darwin,” he said. He started to leave.

“Lou—wait up a minute.”

He stopped and turned.

I said, “There’s something I want from Darwin. It’s important.”

He cocked his head in an I-can’t-wait-to-hear-this kind of way.

I said, “This face job I got, it’s amazing, yes?”

“It’s a work of art,” he said.

“I want Addie to get one. And I want all the charred skin removed from her body as well.”

Lou said, “No way. Darwin would never authorize that.”

“Tell him I’ll pay every dime.”

“Donovan, look at me. To do what they did for you? That would cost millions.”

“I’ll pay every dime.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s a deal breaker,” I said.

He paused a bit, thinking it through. “You’ll pay up front?”

“Whatever it costs.”

“I’ll set it up.”

“What about Darwin?”

“Better he finds out after we start, than before.”

I grinned at my friend. “Thanks, Lou.”

Chapter 50

I caught him at 38th and Walnut.

Augustus Quinn—pro that he is—picked up the tail immediately, slammed on the brakes, and threw his car into reverse, trying to hit me. I slipped lanes and passed him, then jerked my car into reverse and pulled alongside him. We continued flying backwards down Walnut several blocks, side by side, staring at each other, until it hit him. He mouthed the word “Creed.” I gave him a thumbs up. Then we both had to swerve in opposite directions to let the angry black pickup pass safely between us. I motioned Quinn to follow me, and we continued driving in reverse down Walnut until we hit Rittenhouse Square. We screeched to a stop in front of the hotel and tossed the bewildered valet our keys.

“You ever try their crackling pork shank?” I said, pointing to the sign.

“With firecracker applesauce? They don’t serve that here.”

“Pity. In that case, I’ll have a strip steak.”

“I look like a waiter to you?”

“Not so much,” I said. “Want to join me for a steak?”

“I’d join you for rooster knees!”

“Well, who the hell wouldn’t?”

Smith and Wollensky was still the premier steakhouse in Philly. Like its cousins in South Beach and New York, the restaurant has a bank of windows that offers great people watching. We sipped some bourbon in the main bar and rated the women. It was mostly sevens and eights until we saw a Megan Fox lookalike who had it all going for her: high cheekbones, sultry smile, the impossibly toned abdomen she bared for those of us who appreciate such things. She wore designer jeans with rhinestone-studded back pockets. Every now and then we caught a fleeting glimpse of thong when she set her purse down or picked it up, which by my count happened twice. At one point, while I was distracted by the soulless bartender, Quinn caught a down-blouse.

“Real or fake?” he said.

“I missed the defining moment,” I said, “but you date enough strippers you get a feel for these things, pun intended.”

“So your answer is?”

“Definitely real. Without question, you are looking at a gift from God.”

“I agree. What do you give her?”

“For me it’s an eleven.”

“There are no elevens,” he said.

“Look again.”

He did.

“You’re right. We need to create a new category.”

I said, “Must have been a perfect day in Heaven, what, twenty years ago? This girl comes down the assembly line, God’s in the best possible mood, and, there you go.”

“So for you it’s a religious experience.”

“Some people see God in a potato chip.”

“How do you rank her against Callie?”

“Callie’s a twelve.”

Quinn was about to argue for a higher score, but two Asian girls walked past us wearing cut off jeans that showed half their backsides.

“Look at that ass,” Augustus said.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“Okay,” I said, “but just long enough to make sure I can identify them in case someone called the cops.”

“You’re a good citizen, Donovan.”

The hostess brought out waiter to us, and we followed him to our seats. Of course, everyone in the bar and restaurant gave Quinn a wide berth. As we walked past him, a drunk guy said to a friend, “Gimme your cell phone, I think I just sighted Bigfoot,” but instead of laughing, his drinking buddy moved away. Quinn seemed not to notice. He was actually chuckling.

“What are you laughing at?” I said.

“I just remembered the name of the movie star you look like.”

“Stop!” I said, “don’t tell me.”

“Fine. But you know who I’m talking about.”

“I feel like an idiot, taking this face out in public.”

“Th e chicks seem to like it,” he said. “You’re getting more fingers pointed at you than William Shatner at a Star Trek convention.”

Although I felt it was more likely the fingers were being pointed at Quinn, I said, “This is my test drive. So far so good, meaning, you’re the only one who’s laughed.”

“I’m not used to you with—what is it, sandy blond hair?”

“Light brown.”

“How often you have to dye that?”

“Regularly.”

“And the eyebrows?”

“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “How’s Alison these days?”

“Ouch. How would I know? I haven’t seen her in years. How’s Kathleen?”

“The same. What happened with Afaya?”

“He never showed up. One morning his “cousin” was at work in Denver, took his usual lunch break, never came back.”

“Someone tip him off ?”

“That’s what Darwin thinks, but it doesn’t matter. The threat went away.”

“How’d you and Alison start dating?”

“Who said we did?”

“Lou Kelly.”

Quinn stared at me a moment. “I guess you could call it dating. It lasted a couple of weeks, is all.”

I nodded, took a sip of my drink. He knew I was waiting for him to tell me how he and Alison got together sexually, when he was supposed to be training her to kill people. He finally did.

“She thought with you dead, maybe I’d give her the high-paying job you promised. I didn’t discourage her from thinking that.”

“You dog.”

“Woof. So anyway, when she realized that wasn’t gonna happen, she bolted.”

“You never heard from her again?”

Quinn laughed. “I know. You’d think, sensitive guy like me, she’d call whenever it rains or when she’s feeling blue, right?”

I smiled at the thought. “What about the guy from the Texas Syndicate?” I said.

“He didn’t follow up on her, far as I know. I think he had enough problems of his own, trying to stay in power.”

We were quiet a minute, and then I chuckled.

“What,” he said.

“She ever do that love song for you while in the throes of passion?”

“Which one—the asthmatic alley cat, or the singing horse?”

“The horse is the one I remember.”

Quinn gave a sudden imitation of her that made all the surrounding tables take notice. I laughed like I hadn’t laughed since the days of Kathleen.

Quinn said, “Alison was really something, she was.”

“So was Kathleen,” I said.

Quinn nodded. “So when do you want me to kill her fiancé?”

Chapter 51

Of course I didn’t want Quinn to kill Kathleen’s fiancé, but I appreciated the gesture. Hell, I’d thought of killing him myself and starting over with Kathleen, but like Callie said about quitting the business, each time I thought about it, I came to my senses.

Quinn and I had our steaks and split an order of truffled mac and cheese. During dinner we drank an outstanding cabernet, the 2004 Oracle, from Miner Family Vineyards.

“I only eat like this when I’m alone or with somebody,” I said.

“You were due,” he said. “Keep working out and eating like this and you’ll be back to normal strength before you know it.”

I almost told Augustus how much I’d missed him, but changed my mind at the last second. It wouldn’t have been worth all the shit he’d give me for saying it.

“What brings you to Philly?” he said.

“I came to see you.”

He twisted his face in the manner I’ve come to recognize as his signature smile. “That’s nice,” he said.

“People like us,” I said, “can’t afford to have many friends. I like to think of you and Callie as people I can count on.”

Quinn said, “I feel the same way. They’d have to pay me a lot to kill you or Callie.”

Coming from Quinn, that was quite a compliment. On the other hand, it was scary to think that this monstrous man who would kill me for the right price was the closest I had to a guy friend.

I looked at him as he stared at the women coming and going on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and wondered if our team of surgeons could do anything about his extreme deformities. I decided they could not.

Quinn wasn’t as ugly as Joseph Merrick, the Elephant man, but at least Merrick enjoyed two years on earth as a normal human being before the growths began forming on his face and head. Quinn was born this way, and his world view was formed in response to the reactions he got from others.

Doctors couldn’t agree on the source of Quinn’s particular malady, but the consensus pointed to a form of Proteus Syndrome, a condition so rare that less than a hundred cases have been documented world wide.

Proteus would explain the deformed facial features on one side of Quinn’s head and face, but none of the reported cases shared the strange, multi-colored striations that covered the left side of his face and neck. It wasn’t a skin disease, and there was no odor to his skin, so one theory was that the splotches were a giant, multi-colored birthmark.

Bottom line, Quinn’s poster boy looks were closer to Joseph Merrick than Brad Pitt. As you might imagine, there were gaping vacancies on Quinn’s social calendar, a situation that afforded him plenty of time to ogle the women that entered his field of vision.

A model-thin stunner entered the main dining room at Smith & Wollensky’s and took a seat at a table where three suits had been waiting. Her glimmering platinum hair was chopped shoulder length, and she had on some sort of purple makeup that looked like war paint.

“Oh Mama,” Quinn said. “What would you do to that one?”

“How long do I get?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I’d turn her more ways than a monkey can turn a coconut.”

He looked at me. “Can I make an observation?”

“Please do.”

“You’re saying all the right things about these chicks, but your heart’s not in it.”

“Like I said, tonight’s more of a test drive.”

“You know what you need? You need to get your pipes cleaned. You’re in my town, let me make a call. Right now you’re sitting in a steakhouse, but you’re only thirty minutes away from the best night of your life.”

“What’s her name?”

“Her name? Jesus, you really are a mess,” he said.

I shrugged. “I’m a detail guy.”

“You are that,” he said. “Her name is Heavenly.”

“What makes this hooker better than all the rest?”

He did that smile thing with his face, and when he did it, I smiled too.

“She got a friend for you?” I said.

“Her roommate’s Delight.”

“Heavenly Delight, huh? What are they, a tag team?

He cuffed me on the arm. “I won’t pretend I don’t know,” he said.

We sat in silence awhile, me thinking again about how we’re all just a phone call away from a life-changing event. Quinn’s eyes fairly danced with anticipation, like a kid hoping I’d take him to get ice cream.

“What the hell,” I said. “Make the call.”

“Really? That’s great! You won’t be sorry!”

He stepped away from the table. A moment later he returned, still on the phone, but didn’t sit down. I heard a click.

“Tell me you didn’t just take my picture,” I said. He pointed behind me. “Chick with the boobs.” He pressed a few buttons, ended his call.

We finished our fine dinner with a sauterne as rich and thick on the tongue as syrup.

“That some kind of wine?” Quinn said. “Are you kidding me?”

“It is and I’m not.”

“Tastes more like desert. What is it?”

“Lafaurie Peyraguey,” I said, showing off my French accent.

“Those words could never come out of this fucked-up mouth of mine,” he said, “but I can see why it’s your favorite.”

“Actually, purists prefer Chateau d’Yquem.”

“What do they know,” he said.

His phone buzzed and he checked the text. He winked at me.

“We’re on! The girls are excited.”

“Excited hookers?”

“I told them I was bringing a movie star.”

“You didn’t!”

“I had to, they were already booked.”

“Let me guess: they didn’t believe you, so you took my picture and forwarded it to them.”

“Well, what was I gonna do,” he said, “send her a picture of the chick with the boobs?”

“You took a picture of her too?”

He did that grinning thing again. “You want to ride with me or follow me there?”

I thought a moment. “I’d better follow you. We’ll probably be there awhile; the restaurant might be closed by the time we’re done with the girls.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!” Quinn said, cuffing my arm again.

The valet guys retrieved our cars. Quinn rolled out and I followed from a short distance. I reached under my seat and found the small box Callie had put there while Augustus and I were in the restaurant. I placed it on the seat beside me.

Car bombs are as diverse as they people they kill. They can be wired to ignition systems, set to timing devices, attached to tilt fuses that detonate when the car hits a bump in the road, or detonated wirelessly from a distance. The payload can be placed under the driver’s seat, dash, or attached magnetically to the underside of the car, or, as in this case, inside the wheel well. The detonator on the seat beside me was good for a distance of at least a hundred yards line-of-sight, or fifty if obstructed.

Quinn was my best guy friend, and one of the last people I’d ever want to kill. But he was also the guy who’d kidnapped Alison Cilice and held her captive in his warehouse for the past three years. I knew this as well as I knew my name. Well, scratch that. I knew it as well as I knew anything. It began as a hunch, and became a near certainty after having Lou Kelly’s geeks run a full-out search on Alison. When they found that her trail dried up less than a month after I went into my coma, I measured her disappearance against my in-depth knowledge of Quinn. I’d been ninety-nine percent sure before talking to Quinn at the restaurant. By the time we’d gotten our cars, I had no doubts at all.

If Quinn had told me Alison was dead and buried in a specific place, or that she’d taken up with someone or changed her name, or given me any plausible explanation for her current whereabouts, I could have Lou follow up on it. But Quinn said all the wrong things.

He admitted to dating Alison. He also said she bolted after a few weeks, and I believed him. But I had entrusted Quinn with Alison’s care and well-being, and whether she wanted anything to do with him or not, he’d have kept tabs on her these three years.

Because he’d still be guarding her, would in fact have guarded her for the rest of her life, since that had been my last request, just as I would, had our positions been reversed. It’s how we’re wired. We keep track of the people we guard, period. So his claim that he hadn’t heard from her in three years was preposterous.

My guess is that after being spurned, Quinn tracked her down and tried to get her back. She would have refused, and he would have kidnapped her. Like Beauty and the Beast, he probably hoped in time she’d grow to love him. But of course, Beauty and the Beast were from a time and place where women had fewer options.

And it was a fairy tale.

And Augustus Quinn was a real life monster.

Quinn turned left on Clancy, and as I followed him I glanced at the compact rectangular box with the toggle that meant life and death for Augustus Quinn.

Did I have to kill him?

I could pretend I didn’t know about Alison, and hope Augustus would release her someday. Except that I knew Quinn well enough to know that the only way he’d let her go is if he killed her. Which he wasn’t likely to do, because as his captive, she’d represent everything he wants in a woman: she’d be subservient, faithful, always available, and grateful to see him return. By that I mean he held the key to her survival. If he failed to return, she’d starve to death, so of course she’d be relieved and grateful when he returned to the warehouse.

I didn’t want to kill Augustus. We’d worked together so long I could hardly imagine going after the bad guys without him. Of all my assassins, Quinn and Callie were the only ones I trusted with my life. To a point. But I needed to save Alison, and there’s no way I could save her if Quinn was alive. I’ve seen his warehouse, and I knew the room he’d be using to hold her, and it was virtually impenetrable. I’d need a great deal of time to bust her out, whether it was through the steel door or one of the reinforced walls that held her.

If I did manage to distract Quinn long enough to break Alison out of the warehouse, Quinn would make it his mission in life to kill both of us. On my own, I could probably handle Augustus, or at least stay ahead of him. But I’d have to protect Alison, and she’d slow me down in short order. We’d be sitting ducks for a guy with Quinn’s killing ability. It made no sense to rescue Alison if Quinn was going to hunt us down and kill us anyway.

Quinn stopped at a red light at Clancy and Olmstead. I could see his monstrous form silhouetted by the headlights of the cars facing us. I wondered if he suspected I knew about Alison. If so, was he already plotting my death?

I sighed. In the end it came down to this: Alison was innocent. She was being held captive because of the decision I’d made to place her in his care. That made me responsible for her, and I take my responsibilities seriously. Always have. Besides, I don’t like the idea of her being at Quinn’s grisly mercy these many years. It’s the fatal flaw part of the heroic code Nadine had spoken about, my inability to remain detached. I simply could not ignore Alison’s situation, much as I’d love to. And Quinn would never allow her to leave.

The light turned green and Quinn released his foot from the brake. When he did so, the brake light went dark and the car moved forward. I placed my thumb on the toggle switch and followed him.

Maybe I could hold off . We could bang the hookers, make a great night of it, and maybe afterward he and I could talk about Alison.

But what would we say? If he agreed to release her, and I agreed to forgive and forget, we’d still have the problem of her going to the police. Quinn would never allow himself to be a fugitive. He’d either commit suicide or die in a firefight after killing a dozen members of a swat team.

There was no getting around it, Augustus had to die.

But did he have to die right now?

He’s already had his last meal, why not let him have one last fling with these first rate whores? It could be sort of a gift from me to him, for old times’ sake. I could always kill him afterward, maybe come up with a more peaceful way to take my friend out of this world.

The more I thought about it, the more I decided this was the way to go. Let him enjoy Delight’s full menu of services first. Then I’d give him a lethal dose from my syringe before the smile has time to fade from his face. While waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, I could even spend a little time getting to know Heavenly.

The night was clear and clean and we headed east under a thick canopy of stars that seemed bright enough to drive by if we wanted to turn off our headlights. I thought about Kathleen and Addie a mere ninety-five miles away and felt connected, wondering if they were looking into the same sky.

I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t ready to jump into the sack with anyone, let alone a hooker named Heavenly. And anyway, the moment you know a damsel is in distress, you save her. It’s rule number one in the Hero Handbook, no exceptions. I backed off the gas and let Augustus get fifty yards ahead of me. Then I made a sudden left turn. As I did, I flipped the switch on the detonator box and blew my best friend, Augustus Quinn, to hell.

Chapter 52

I circled the block from the other direction and did a drive by, inspecting my work. My friend was in a more peaceful place now, and yes, I’m referring to hell. Because hell would be a picnic compared to the torments of Quinn’s life.

I drove two more blocks and picked up Callie. She gave me a huge hug and said, “It’s so great to see you!”

“You too, I only wish the circumstances were better.”

“I wish we could have met before all this happened,” she said. “But you’re right, it would have been too risky.”

She settled into her seat and I put the car in gear.

“I heard the explosion,” she said. “I assume everything went according to plan.”

“It did.”

“Okay, then.”

She grew quiet as I picked my way through the downtown streets. Knowing where the explosion occurred helped me avoid the police cars and ambulances converging on the scene. Once we were past that, I stole a glance at Callie and saw her staring straight ahead with vacant eyes.

“You okay?” I said.

Her lip trembled. When she spoke her voice sounded spent, like it had traveled a long way to get here.

“I feel dirty,” she said. She turned and watched my face as I drove. “I can’t even imagine how you must feel.”

“No,” I said, “you probably can’t.”

Most people would consider Callie and me to be stone-cold killers. But we’re not killers, we’re assassins. Maybe I’m splitting hairs here, but to me the distinction is we don’t get a high from killing. To us it’s a job, like working in an ice cream store or delivering the mail. You don’t get emotionally attached to the ice cream or the mail. You just scoop or deliver it. But Quinn had been a friend to both of us, and while I’d known him many years longer than Callie, she had considered him to be trustworthy in all the ways that count.

Until the thing with Alison.

I wondered about the repercussions I might experience from killing Augustus, and subconsciously touched my chest. No pain is good. I hadn’t expected the symptoms to return, due to my counseling sessions with Nadine, but after going through what I did, I suppose there will always be a small wedge of doubt in the back of my mind when I take lives in the future.

For now it was working. Nadine helped me understand it was a question of degree. Everyone is guilty of something, but not everyone can agree on the severity of a crime. And everyone has a different yardstick for what warrants the death penalty.

For me, according to Nadine, the killing has to either benefit the victim or society. For example, I had no problem putting Robbie out of his misery after Callie dealt him a mortal wound. That benefited the victim. When I kill terrorists for Homeland, I’m benefitting society.

In preparation for killing Quinn, I’d asked Nadine if I would have been able to kill Tara Siegel. She said, “You could have killed Tara without batting an eye as long as it benefitted her or society. If Tara had turned against Homeland Security, or if she had violated your moral code by threatening to kill Kathleen or Addie, it wouldn’t have the slightest psychosomatic effect. That’s why Callie had no problem pulling the trigger. Callie perceived Tara as a serious threat to her life with Eva. But you weren’t convinced of that at the time. When Callie shot her, you were still trying to work out an agreement with Tara. When Callie took matters into her own hands, your brain perceived a senseless killing.”

I’d asked Nadine if that wasn’t just so much psycho babble.

She said, “Your body reacts to things that appear to be real, whether real or not. For example, if I were to punch Nurse Carol in the stomach, totally unprovoked, she’d double over in pain. If tomorrow I started to punch her in the stomach, but stopped my fist just short of the target, she’d probably still double over to protect herself from the perceived blow.”

“So it’s not the actual violence, but my perception of it that counts.”

“As long as you’re in charge of the killing, and you know the killing has nothing to do with someone’s idea of entertainment, you’ll be fine.”

I’d said, “Nadine, what happens to you when I leave here?”

“I’ll go home and learn how to have some fun in my life. I plan to dote on my nephews and make friends in my neighborhood.”

“You’ve earned enough to retire?”

“Yes, with the money I’ve saved and the fortune Darwin has paid me to nursemaid you, I’m set for life.”

“So you and I are done?”

“For you I’ll come out of retirement any time.”

“You’ll talk to me as a friend? Help me through the hard times?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Once you leave, if you want to talk to me, you’ll have to reach into your pocket.”

“Your words sound harsh,” I said, “but I see a smile on your face.”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Nadine said.

That was a week ago. Now, with Callie beside me, mourning Quinn’s death in her own, quiet way, I thought of the effect Quinn had on the other people in my life. Kathleen and Addie had taken to Augustus, had accepted him with open arms. He’d protected Addie day and night at the burn center when Joe DeMeo’s goons wanted to kill her. He’d said nice things about me to Kathleen the first time I thought I’d lost her. By her own account, it was the comments Quinn made that helped her see me in a different light.

I continued putting miles between us and the body of our good friend.

“So what happens now?” Callie said.

“Now we rescue Alison.”

Chapter 53

Quinn’s torture chamber was the basement of an abandoned building in an isolated part of the city. He actually owned the building, so there was no danger of losing the sweat equity he’d put into renovating it. I’d been inside before, and remembered he’d put drains in the floor, reinforced the walls, and soundproofed them with the same material used in upscale movie theaters.

As I pulled into the parking area, a random thought crossed my mind, something I remembered from a previous visit: in addition to being an excellent saxophone player, Quinn had been an accomplished chef. He used to blister the skin of his torture victims with the same small handheld butane torch he used to caramelize the surface sugar on his crème brulees.

There were no parking lot lights, so I left the car headlights on to get a good look at the exterior of the building. I removed a bag of tools from the trunk and slung them over my shoulder. Callie got out and we stood next to the car and looked at the gray, rundown building. To be precise, the overall color was gray, but there were faded and peeled areas that revealed former colors. I’d say the bricks had been painted at least three times over the decades. Two feet from the top of the building, a series of rusted pipes ran horizontally across the back and disappeared around the side.

“I don’t see any wires,” Callie said. “You think he’s got an alarm?”

“No way.” Last thing in the world he’d want would be to lead people to his workplace.”

“His workplace,” she said.

Standing there quietly for a moment felt right, somehow. Callie finally spoke. “I felt a bit sick tonight, setting the charge.”

“Augustus always lived on the edge,” I said, “but this time he crossed the line.”

Callie studied the building some more. “It would have been tough saving Alison if he were alive.”

“He’d be a tough adversary.”

Callie said, “You really think she’ll be sane enough to work for Sensory after this?”

I said, “Are any of us sane? Hell, this experience might make her a better agent.”

Callie nodded. “You ready?”

I put my hand in my pocket and felt the silver dollar, felt the satisfying heft of it, like I’d done ten thousand times before.

“Let’s get her out of here,” I said. “Assuming she’s alive.”

“Let’s get her out either way,” Callie said.

Chapter 54

If you broke in through the front door like we did, you’d find yourself standing in a small entry office, with reinforced glass walls that offered a view of the huge room beyond. We clicked on our pen lights, opened the door and walked into the dank old warehouse, where I was immediately struck by the immaculately clean concrete floor. I wondered how many times a month Quinn had to scrub it to keep it completely free from dust and dirt and blood.

We moved slowly and steadily through the open space until we came to the little concrete room where I believed Alison was being held captive. I called out her name, but heard no response.

“Help me find an electrical outlet,” I said.

“The power’s not on,” she said, and I doubt you want to flip the main circuit breaker and light the whole place up.”

“He keeps the lights off , but the outlets work.”

We found one close enough to reach with an extension cord. Callie held the flashlight beam on my bag while I opened it and selected the proper tools for the job.

“You’re never going to get through that door,” she said.

She was right. The door and frame were made of thirty-gauge, cold rolled steel. Quinn had told me that every twelve inches of it was reinforced with a checker board of steel columns, and that the gaps between the columns were filled with hardened concrete. The door was secured by three kick-proof, pick-proof locks, and a hardened steel security bar.

“I’m going through the concrete wall,” I said.

Callie swept this part of the warehouse with her flashlight.

“What’s that room over there?” she said.

“That’s the torture room. If you want, you can drag a chair out of there and bring it over to sit on. You may as well, this is going to take awhile.”

“Will the car be safe where it is?”

“Probably. People around here have seen Quinn. I doubt they’d want to make him an enemy.”

While Callie left to get a chair, I positioned a drill against the center of the wall about three feet above the floor, and started the process.

When Callie returned she sat in her chair and said, “Did Augustus really think you wanted to tag team the hookers?”

“I believe he did.”

“You boys ever do that before?”

“Nope.”

“Never got drunk, decided what the hell?”

“Never did,” I said.

“You remember your first time?”

“With a hooker?”

“Uh huh.”

“You never forget your first,” I said.

“I suppose.”

I reversed the drill bit out of the hole to inspect my progress.

Callie said, “Tell me about it.”

I turned to look at her. “What, the first time I slept with a hooker?”

She nodded.

“On purpose?”

She laughed, and I resumed working on the wall while I thought about it.

“I can’t guarantee she was a hooker,” I said. “But she was certainly a stripper.”

It was summer and I was just out of high school. In a few months I’d be a sniper for the army, but that night I was in Bossier City, Louisiana, where I’d planned to go gutter-sniping with a buddy at a club on the Bossier strip. He never showed, so I picked up a skinny, thatch-haired stripper an hour before closing time and took her to the little fleabag motel across the four-lane highway where we did a couple of lines off a stained, wood veneer table. She peeled down to her panties and we sat on the edge of the bed and started making out.

Someone kicked the door open, startling us. Her husband, one of the bouncers from the lounge, the one she hadn’t mentioned—aimed a .38 snub at my face, cocked the trigger and told me to start praying.

In real life you’re not going to have the stones to walk up to a total stranger and blow his brains out, even if you’re a badass, and yes, even if the stranger happens to be in a hotel room groping your semi-naked wife. I didn’t have any real-world experience at the time to help me know this, but it was something I understood on a gut level.

I said, “I don’t know any prayers, but you know what kind of woman you married. Killing me won’t change her behavior.”

The big man stood just inside the room with the door propped open behind his back. The door was splintered around the lock but it was still on its hinges and the frame was intact. We looked at each other in that way men do when they’re sizing each other up, just before a fight. In the background I could hear his wife selling me out enthusiastically. She used a lot of words to say she’d been high as a kite and I’d taken advantage of her. Not wanting to give him too much time to focus on that viewpoint, I headed for the door. I knew he’d try to sucker punch me as I walked by, so I ducked when I felt it coming. I did a good job of it, but he had the angle on me and the butt of his gun grazed the side of my head and spun me around. I lurched out the door and slid a bit on the gravel in the parking lot before gaining enough traction to start sprinting. I heard him coming after me but he didn’t have the legs. Twenty yards into it he gave up and shouted, “Get the fuck outta here! You ever come back, you’re a dead man! You hear me?”

Yeah, I heard him.

I was half a block away, crossing the highway, backtracking toward my car and I could still hear him. Only what I heard now was the sound of him beating her. I heard her screaming above the traffic noise, begging him to stop. I was closer to the bar than I was to them but I still heard his yelling and her screaming over the muted roar of the band inside. I doubled back to check on her, but the noise had stopped. I crept up to the room, peeked through the broken door.

“What did you see?”

“Two stoners having makeup sex.”

“Women,” Callie said. “Can’t live with ‘em—”

“What about you?” I said, “Your first time with a john.”

“I might be splitting hairs here, but I wasn’t an authentic hooker.”

The drill bit finally burst through the wall. I reversed the direction and retracted the drill, leaving a quarter-inch hole. I cupped my hands around the opening and shouted, “Alison!” Then I put my ear up to it and heard a muted response that sounded like someone saying the letter “M” over and over.

“Yeah,” I said to Callie.

“Yeah, what?”

“You might be splitting hairs when you say you weren’t an authentic hooker.”

“Kiss my ass,” she said.

“I’d be delighted to. And while we’re on the subject…”

“Of my ass?”

“Of johns. You ever have any issues with violence?”

“One time a sweet old gentleman enjoyed my company for about four minutes before smacking me in the back of the head with brass knuckles, knocking me out, and robbing me.”

“See, that’s the problem with civilians. They’re emotional, unpredictable, and they come at you from all the wrong angles. By the way, Alison’s alive. She’s got her mouth taped up.”

“Well that’s good news. How long till we’re in?”

“Let’s put it this way. Have you had dinner yet?”

“I don’t eat much.”

“Good thing.”

I started drilling the second hole.

Chapter 55

When the drill started smoking, I stopped a few minutes to let it cool. Callie took the opportunity to say, “The first time you put your life in danger.”

“What about it?”

“How old were you?”

I thought a minute.

“Ten.”

“Early bloomer,” she said.

I’d just finished fourth grade. Summer break, my grandfather took me on a camping trip in the Colorado foothills. We spent the second night in a little cabin in a roadside campground, and the next morning I got up early and went for a hike. I’d probably gone two miles when I realized all the pines started looking alike. I stopped and made a slow, complete turn, searching for a trail. But there was none. I wasn’t exactly afraid, but I wasn’t exactly fearless either. I closed my eyes and took a step in the direction I assumed would take me back to the campground. No, that step was slightly higher. I took a step in the opposite direction. Slightly lower. Funny how sometimes you can figure things out with your eyes closed that you’d never know by looking.

The drill had cooled off enough to continue my assault on the wall. I went at it with gusto. While I worked, I thought about that morning, thirty years ago, when I was lost in the Colorado foothills.

It took twice as long to get back that morning, and my route wasn’t a direct one, so I wound up approaching the campsite from the opposite way I’d started. There was a fenced-in corral I hadn’t seen the night before, and a couple of flea-bitten horses picking at the sparse grass. A good sized kid, maybe thirteen, with strawberry hair and freckles—saw me coming out of the woods. He pointed to the fence and giggled the laugh all childhood bullies have in common. He was older and bigger than me and I wanted to avoid confrontation. I was also dying of thirst and wanted to let my grandfather know I was safe. Nevertheless, I allowed my eyes to follow the direction the big kid was pointing.

There was something moving on top of a fence post. I walked over for a closer look and saw that the little bastard had stuck a box turtle on top of the fence post. He’d centered it in such a way that the bottom of the turtle’s shell was perched on the post but its head, feet and tail dangled in the air on all sides. The turtle’s feet moved furiously in a futile effort to make contact with something solid. It was apparent the kid intended the turtle to die this way, either from thirst, exhaustion, or maybe he expected it to boil to death as the day wore on. The kid didn’t care, he thought it was hilarious. He kept grinning and pointed to the line of fence posts behind me, where I saw a dozen more turtles lined up as motionless as any group of sports trophies.

Callie said, “What did you do?”

That morning in Colorado after the big, strawberry blondhaired kid showed me his turtle graveyard, I took the silver dollar out of my pocket, the one I’d carried all these years, and flipped it in the air. It flew maybe twenty feet high before starting its descent. When the turtle killer looked up to catch my coin I punched him on the side of the head, exploding my fist into his jaw the way my grandfather had taught me, turning into the punch, putting everything I had into it. The bully and the silver dollar hit the ground at the same time. I rescued the live turtle, picked the dead ones off their perches, and left the big, strawberry-haired kid laying there, his legs twitching like a turtle on a fence post.

“Did he die?” Callie asked.

“From a skinny ten-year-old’s punch? No way. I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard the rocks whizzing past my ears. The son-of-a-bitch tried to kill me!”

“What did you do?”

“Ran like hell!”

Callie laughed.

“You put your life on the line for a turtle.”

I laughed. “I guess.”

“I think it’s noble.”

“Uh huh.”

“Donovan Creed, Ninja Turtle.”

The drill burst through the wall, leaving a second hole, about an inch from the first one. From the bag I got a hammer and chisel and started banging away. The chisel made short work of the area between the holes, and left an opening I could have gotten two fingers through.

I put my mouth to the new opening and said, “Alison, this is Donovan Creed. I know they told you I was dead, but I’m very much alive and I’m going to get you out of there. I’ve got a friend with me. Her name is Callie Carpenter, and she’s going to rescue you.”

“MMM…MMMM” Alison said.

“Save your strength,” I said through the opening.

Callie said, “How much longer?”

“Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“How’s that possible?”

“The wall is weakening,” I said.

I got the concrete saw and started cutting a vertical line from the center of the hole. When I’d made a two-foot cut I turned to Callie and said, “See? We’re practically in.”

“That was more than a half hour,” Callie said.

I gave her a look that said I was doing all the work, and followed it up by asking, “That chair comfy enough for you?”

“Depends how long I’ve got to sit here.”

“Five minutes, tops.”

Then I got out the sledge hammer.

Chapter 56

Forty minutes later I gave Callie the concrete saw and directed her to start a horizontal cut from both sides of the twelve-inch opening I’d managed to create. Between the drinks, the big dinner and the physical labor, I was beat. Though it was cool in the building, I was drenched with sweat. My back, neck and shoulders ached. I took her place in the chair and hoped my strength would return.

I sat there holding the flashlight on the wall as she’d been doing for me. The penlight threw off enough light to perfectly silhouette her body. Because the line she was cutting was about two feet above the floor, she had to squat and perch herself on one knee while she worked. Did I mention I’d had a few drinks and been looking at women earlier that night? Somehow the flashlight’s beam moved away from the hole in the wall and found a home on Callie’s perfect backside.

“Do you mind?” she said.

“Not at all.”

“Dude!” she said. “We’re trying to save a life here.”

“Spoilsport.”

I reluctantly moved the beam back to the wall where it belonged. Twenty minutes later I began the final assault with the sledge hammer. Twenty minutes after that, I’d created an opening large enough for Callie to slip through, and she did. She took a flashlight with her and I placed mine on the floor of the room to add some light.

I was only able to fit my head and neck into the opening, but that was enough to see that Alison’s room was small, with a bed, a TV, a toilet, sink, and a mini fridge that probably held water and food. But Alison was enjoying none of these comforts. She was completely naked, chained to the wall. Her mouth was covered in tape that encircled her head. Above and below the tape I could see the top and bottom of a red bondage ball Quinn had forced into her mouth.

I had no idea how long she’d been chained to the wall like that, but she was at least thirty pounds thinner than the last time I’d seen her. She was also clearly in agony, and there was a large puddle of urine beneath her. Callie turned to me and said, “What now?”