Wish List: a Donovan Creed Crime Novel - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора John Locke (ч. 2)

Then I got out and walked to the back of the car and opened the cabin door and pulled Jinny Kidwell’s lifeless body off the back seat.

Chapter 6

Jinny was unconscious, not dead, but by the time I got her wrist chained to a tree in the deep woods, she had begun to stir. I chained Harrison Ford to another tree, twenty feet away. I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, and didn’t want my prisoners to get dehydrated, so I took six bottles of water from the limo bar and divided them up, along with the blankets I’d brought from Jinny’s trailer.

Then I forced Jinny and Harrison to scream at the top of their lungs, until their voices were raw, and waited to see if anyone showed up to help them. No one did. I drove away, waited twenty minutes, then returned, and found them sitting by their respective trees, crying. I think they’d probably gotten their hopes up when hearing the car approach, but were saddened to learn it was me.

I hung around a few minutes and listened patiently as they gave me all their reasons why I shouldn’t leave them there, and then I left them there.

Chapter 7

Buddy’s house was a baby shit yellow split-level ranch, with green shutters and clogged gutters. It was the second house on a wide, tree-lined street that featured a dozen similar homes. Buddy and Lissie’s subdivision consisted of six through streets and four dead-end cul de sacs, eighty-three homes in all. A nice middle-class subdivision, from what I could tell by jogging it twice and studying everything within my field of vision. Specifically, I was looking for anything out of place: a limo other than mine, a van that might contain people with surveillance equipment, gangsters guarding the house, a mariachi band, a conga line filled with cartoon characters…

But nothing caught my eye except for the sad-faced octogenarian two blocks over, who walked to the center of his yard to retrieve his newspaper. He stood out because he was dressed in nothing more than an open bathrobe and a giant adult diaper.

“You think it’s easy?” he yelled. “Huh? You think it’s easy?”

I had no idea. But it looked pretty easy. As I passed him he yelled, “I get no visitors! You think it would kill them to show up once in a while? All I ask is one time, to have some visitors.”

I made a mental note of his address.

Other than him, I saw nothing. Buddy was right. These Wish List people were good.

What I did expect to see was Buddy. On his porch, out by his mailbox, looking out his window, or just standing in his driveway. After all, we had an appointment. Having offered me a million dollars to protect his wife, he’d have been here, if he had a choice.

I needed to establish contact. Unless I broke into his home, I wouldn’t know if anyone was holding a gun on him and Lissie. And if someone did happen to be inside, guarding them, I could get killed trying to break in. Therefore, a phone call seemed in order.

Buddy had told me his phone was bugged, but I didn’t intend to say anything that should raise any eyebrows. But when I called, Lissie answered frantically.

“Buddy?”

I disguised my voice. “Actually, I’m calling for Buddy. Is he there?”

She paused a few seconds, trying to place my voice. It probably seemed familiar to her. My friend and former associate, Callie Carpenter, claims my fake voice is terrible. She swears I sound like Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Lissie said, “Mr. Jefferson?”

I said, “No…”

“Perkins?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. Is Buddy there?”

“Who is this?”

I hung up. Although nothing concrete had been said between us, I’d learned a few things: Buddy wasn’t home. Lissie had been expecting his call. And she thought he was with a Mr. Jefferson, or Perkins, the limo driver Buddy had referred to as being dangerous.

I believed there were no gangsters in the house with Lissie because I, myself, have held people hostage in their homes, and when the phone rang, I always reminded them what to say and how to say it before answering. Since Lissie had answered my call on the first ring, I doubted there was any dangerous physical presence in her home at that time.

But I knew that would change quickly, because Rudy’s people were not only monitoring the interior of the house with cameras, they were also monitoring Buddy’s phone. They would immediately send a car to make a surveillance sweep of the neighborhood after hearing my call. I mean, who phones someone at the crack of dawn using a disguised voice, unless they’re up to something? I didn’t want to be out on the street when they arrived, but if I loitered too long near the house waiting to ambush them, some early rising neighbor might see me and call the cops.

I quickly broke into the side door of Buddy’s garage, entered it, and looked around for hidden cameras. Within a minute I found three, along with two bundles of cash. Did I mention Buddy was a complete sap? I left the money where I found it, and kept searching the garage until I saw a can of black spray paint, which I squirted onto the pinhole cameras that had filmed my every move.

If I knew where the money was, the Wish List people certainly knew. So why would they let Buddy keep it? Was it possible they intended to abide by their agreement? If so, Buddy might be wrong about Lissie’s life being in danger.

Unless he refused to repay one of his wishes.

I had originally intended to break into Buddy’s house, render Lissie unconscious, and get her to safety. I mean, it would have been nice if I could have knocked on her door and said, “Lissie, I’m a former CIA assassin. Buddy hired me to protect you. Let’s go!” Or maybe call her and tell her to run out the door and go somewhere safe. That would be simple, and she could probably get away before the Wish List people could get a car here. But I had no reason to think she’d listen to a total stranger. For one thing, she’d been hovering over the phone, waiting for Buddy to call. She wouldn’t just run away without hearing from him. For another, they probably had a tracking device on her car, so she wouldn’t get far. Nor was she likely to willingly climb into a car with me.

Since the cameras had caught me in the garage, I’d have to scrap my original plan. There simply wasn’t enough time to get Lissie to my car before they arrived.

And there was something else.

While searching the garage I found something that changed the playing field and made me want to leave immediately: I’d seen wires running through one of the vents. The kind of wires demolition experts attach to plastic explosives.

Chapter 8

I burst out the garage door, jumped the back fence, and ran to the far side of the subdivision, where I’d parked the limo. As I threw the car in gear, I wondered why they hadn’t detonated the garage the moment I sprayed the camera lenses. But they hadn’t, and that probably meant…well, I didn’t know what that meant. But I booked it out of there and hoped Lissie would be safe until I came up with another plan. It would be difficult, since all the action would be taking place in a self-contained neighborhood, where at least one garage was wired with explosives. Also, I knew next to nothing about who I was dealing with, how many were involved, or what their motives were.

I thought again about calling Lissie, but decided against it. I knew Rudy’s people were listening, and what if they decided it would be easier to just blow her up? If her garage was wired with explosives, who’s to say her entire house wasn’t set to blow?

And what about Buddy?

Hours ago, his last words to me were, “They’re coming. I’ve got to go.” So whoever “they” were, and I’m guessing Rudy and Perkins, maybe some others—they obviously took Buddy somewhere against his will. Since Lissie was still home, waiting for Buddy, she probably didn’t know about Wish List, or where Buddy was.

They had to be using Lissie to force Buddy’s cooperation. As in, “Do what we want, or something bad happens to Lissie.”

I called my tech expert, Lou Kelly. When he answered, I said, “Is there any way to remotely remove a listening device from someone’s land line?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said.

“Then I’ve got a problem,” I said. “A woman’s life is in danger, her house is being watched, and her phones are tapped. I need to save her. Any suggestions?”

“Have you called the phone company to report a possible bug?”

“What good would that do?”

“If they came to the house, maybe you could borrow one of their uniforms and join them.”

“Great idea!”

“Really?”

“No, it’s a lousy idea. But it helped me think of a great idea.”

“Tell me. No, wait. Why is it a lousy idea?”

“You know how long it takes the phone company to respond to problems? I’d be waiting all day.”

“So what’s the good idea?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I pulled into a convenience store a couple of miles from Lissie’s neighborhood, and parked by one of the gas pumps. After making sure no one was nearby, I retrieved one of the disposable cell phones from my kit and called 911. When the operator answered I disguised my voice with a Middle Eastern accent and told her I was calling in a bomb threat. I didn’t want to give them Lissie’s address because the Wish List guys might decide to blow her up if the cops showed up at her place. But I wanted to get as many police in the neighborhood as fast as possible, in order to discourage Rudy from paying a visit. So I gave them the address of Lissie’s neighbor, the guy in the diaper who gets no visitors.

“Sir, we take bomb threat calls very seriously.”

“That is precisely why I called you.”

“You sound like a cartoon character.”

“This may be, and yet I can assure you the bomb threat is real.”

She sighed. “Your name, please?”

I could tell the call was going south, so I screamed, “Dogs! You will never stop us! Death to the infidels! Allah Akbar!”

Then I hung up.

I took my time filling the tank, and fussed with the window cleaning equipment I found next to the gas pumps. Ten minutes later, the sound of sirens filled the air as all sorts of vehicles went screaming past me. I don’t care how many people Wish List has. Louisville Swat, LPD, the local media and bomb squad would be more than Rudy and his gang could handle all at once.

Knowing the scene was going to be pure bedlam for the next twenty-four hours, I figured I should get back to my woodland prisoners. But first I wanted to visit my former girlfriend, Rachel Case.

Chapter 9

Rachel’s live-in house guest is my former psychiatrist, Dr. Nadine Crouch. Nadine is a retired psychotherapist who was originally hired by my government handlers to help me cope with losing three years of my life to a coma (don’t ask, it’s a long story). Nadine is a gifted, no-nonsense therapist, whose abrasive disposition is counterbalanced by the ever-present twinkle in her eye. She’s mid to late sixties, slightly plump, and generally appealing in a gruff, spinster aunt sort of way. She’s strong, capable, and the most mercenary human being you’re likely to find on the planet. Sitting across the table, she was frowning, regarding me as she often did: with a sneer. But deep down, I know she’s actually quite fond of me.

“Come to survey your work, Donovan?”

“My work?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t repeat my words,” she snapped. “I’m the shrink, not you.”

I nodded. “You think I had something to do with Rachel’s condition?”

“You think you didn’t?”

“No. But I’m open to hearing your theory.”

“Theory? That’s rich. Fact: when you met her, Rachel had a husband, a house and a responsible job. Now she’s a widow, homeless, and thinks she’s Desmond Tutu.”

“Desmond Tutu.”

“That’s what I said.”

I shook my head. “First of all, Rachel’s husband, Sam, was cheating on her. Second, she’s not homeless. She owns this entire building, and could buy three more just like it. And third, she wouldn’t know Desmond Tutu if he walked in wearing one. You’re exaggerating again, Nadine.”

“Maybe so. But you can’t deny your part in all this.”

“My part is I saved Rachel.”

“From?”

I started to speak, but caught myself. This wasn’t just me and Nadine sitting around, having a discussion about Rachel. She was probing me, pushing for a reaction. She was on the clock and I was being psychoanalyzed.

“Why don’t you tell me how you see it?” I said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to say anything that might cost me my job.”

“I’ve never known you to hold back an opinion.”

She sighed. “I’m getting older, Donovan.”

“You’ll outlive us all.”

“You, certainly. But I need to think of my future. Like my age, the cost of living continues to advance. I hate to think what might happen if I’m forced out onto the street at my age.”

I laughed. “Nadine, you’re a scary old miser. You’re hoarding more than ten million dollars I personally know about, though I’m certain it’s at least twice that, since I’ve never known you to pull so much as a penny from your purse. But please, speak freely. Your job is safe as long as Rachel wants you here.”

“Well, that’s comforting. Rachel’s a dear girl, and despite my meager wages, it’s clear she needs me. Though I do worry about the two of you running off to start another crime spree.”

“Oh, come on, Nadine. Rachel and I are great together.”

“Oh, posh.”

“Posh? Care to elaborate?”

“I dare not. Your fragmented identity poses an ever-present threat to my safety. I enjoy living these days, and I’d like to keep doing it awhile longer.”

“You think I have it in me to kill you for expressing an opinion?”

“I do.”

“Nadine, I’m shocked.”

“You probably killed someone on the drive over here.”

“Let’s get back on subject,” I said.

Nadine stood and walked to the small refrigerator on the other side of her office.

“Care for a bottled water?” she said.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

She pulled out a single plastic bottle of water and handed it to me. It took me a moment to realize why.

“Arthritis acting up?”

Nadine shrugged. “We all have our weakness.”

I twisted the cap open and handed the bottle back to her. “What’s my weakness?”

“Simple. Rachel.”

I thought about that a moment before saying, “How do you drink when I’m not here? Does Rachel open your bottles?”

She returned to her seat and took a sip. “I’ve got a special gripping thing I use.”

We were quiet a moment.

“You really think Rachel’s condition is my fault?”

Nadine said nothing.

“You can’t deny she makes me a better person when we’re together,” I said.

She sipped her water. “You’re old enough to be her father.”

I waited.

“Fine,” she said. “I won’t deny it.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“She brings out the best in you, even as you bring out the worst in her. But make no mistake, Donovan, you’re a bad influence. The two of you were together for what, eight weeks this last time? And she killed a man?”

“She thought she was protecting me.”

“Oh, please.”

We were quiet again while Nadine sipped her water.

“How’s Rachel now?” I asked.

Nadine shook her head while extending her palms in a gesture of frustration.

“She’s like Starbucks,” she said.

“Starbucks coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s all over the place.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“She’s nuts!”

I frowned. “I thought you guys were opposed to that type of reference. You can’t come up with any four-dollar words?”

“I keep my audience in mind before using technical terms.”

“Funny.”

“Look, Donovan, I know this is hard for you to believe, so let’s take a stroll down memory lane. You didn’t meet Rachel in a conventional way, did you?”

“Not really.”

“In fact, you broke into her house and began living in her attic.”

“To keep an eye on her husband.”

“You remained there for two years.”

“I’m thorough.”

“You were fixated on Rachel.”

“I wouldn’t say fixated.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. But come on, Donovan. You built an elite video command center in her attic. You placed more than forty pinhole cameras throughout her house. From the garage to the bedroom to the toilet, you studied her every move, day and night. You invaded her privacy in the most personal and banal ways imaginable. It’s perverted.”

“You’re making assumptions about my character and choice of viewing habits based on nothing more than the location of forty pinhole cameras.”

Nadine studied me a moment, as if trying to decide whether I’d been angry, indignant, or simply making a point.

“Perhaps I am,” she said.

“At any rate, watching Rachel didn’t make her crazy. She didn’t even know I was there.”

“No she didn’t. Until you told her.”

“By then we were dating. I was being honest with her. You got a problem with honesty?”

“You gathered all this information about her—everything from her medications to her monthly cycle, to her arguments with Sam—and used it to seduce her.”

“We were in love.”

“You might have been in love, but for her it was complete and utter manipulation. To this day she waves to you in the ceiling of every room she enters. How would that make you feel to think someone was watching your every move?”

“Protected?”

Nadine sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

“Watching her didn’t make her crazy.”

She took another long drink of water. “It contributed. Of course, locking her away in a Lucite container, allowing her to think she could be killed at any moment, didn’t help things.”

“It was only two days. Anyway, I took her on vacation afterward.”

“Mighty big of you, taking her to the beach after robbing and killing her husband.”

“I didn’t kill Sam.”

“Really? So we can expect him to come waltzing in here someday? That’s something I’d like to see.”

“You like a good waltz, do you?”

She finished her water, then capped the empty bottle and placed it sideways on the table between us and flicked one end. It spun a few circles and came to a stop. She spun the bottle a few more times until it pointed at me. “I suppose you’ll want to see her now?”

“Being such a bad influence, I’m surprised you’d permit it.”

“What can I say? You sign my checks.”

Chapter 10

“Kevin! Oh, my God!”

Rachel had been lying on her bed when I came in. Now she jumped up and ran across the room and started hugging me so hard I nearly dropped her present.

“Hi honey,” I said.

“You came to get me?”

“I came to visit.”

She lifted her T-shirt all the way up to her neck. “Wanna feel my boobies?”

I did. But I doubted Nadine would approve.

“Later, maybe.”

Rachel released her grip and her shirt fell back in place, ending the show like a Broadway curtain ends Act Three.

“You brought me an orchid plant!”

“White orchids still your favorite?”

“You know they are!”

“Then yes, I brought you an orchid plant.”

“I love it! How long are you staying?”

“Not long enough.”

“When you leave, can I go with you?”

“Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“What I want is a big kiss!”

I placed the orchid on the coffee table in her sitting area and we kissed like newlyweds. After awhile she took my hand and led me to the edge of her bed, where we sat.

“I love you,” she said.

“That makes me a lucky man.”

“Say it.”

“I love you, too.”

“I thought I loved Sam, but then I met you.”

“And this is better?”

She nodded.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Did you kill Sam?”

“No.”

“Promise? It’s okay if you did, I just want to know.”

“I promise.”

A cloud passed over her face.

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“Did I kill him?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then Sam’s alive?”

I didn’t think so. After stealing all the money from Sam’s clients, I left him with my associate, Callie Carpenter, who had expressed a strong desire to kill him. Callie was very good at killing, so I didn’t hold out much hope for Sam’s continued existence.

“Kevin?”

“Huh?”

“Is Sam alive?”

“I can’t say for sure. Why all the questions about Sam?”

“You’re the only one I know to ask. And Nadine says I need closure.”

“If it turns out he’s dead, would that help?”

She thought a moment. “Yup.”

I took out my cell phone, called Callie, and asked if she’d heard from Sam recently. I listened a moment, then hung up and said, “Callie didn’t kill him.”

“So he’s alive?”

“Far as I know.”

Rachel nodded slowly. “Okay, then.”

“You want me to find him?”

“Nope.”

“Wouldn’t be too hard to track him down.”

“He can rot for all I care.”

“Technically, he’s still your husband.”

“He’s a lying, cheating prick.”

He was indeed. However...

“Uh, you lied and cheated on Sam too,” I said.

She looked at me through wide, sincere eyes and said, “That’s different.”

We looked at each other a moment, and she said, “You understand, don’t you?”

I did. Most women believe their cheating is on a higher level than their husbands’ because of the emotional connection they form with their lovers before having sex. Of course, I could argue that an emotional, physical affair is much worse than casual sex. But what do you expect me to say? I’m a guy.

“I do understand why it’s different,” I said.

She smiled brightly. “Thank you, Kevin.”

Rachel knows my name is Donovan Creed, but she’d met me as Kevin Vaughn, and she’s comfortable calling me that. I don’t care what she calls me. Donovan Creed isn’t my real name, either.

“Would you really take me with you?” she said.

“I’ll take you right now if you want.”

She paused. “Where are you going?”

“You mean from here? The first place?”

She nodded.

I took a deep breath. “Well, you might not believe this, but I’ve got a guy and a woman chained to trees in the woods in Southern Indiana. I have to set them free before we can actually do something fun. Oh, and I have to make sure another guy’s wife doesn’t get killed.”

“Is she insane?”

“What?”

“Is she insane like me?”

I cupped her chin in my hand and looked into her tupelo honey-colored eyes. “You’re not insane, Rachel. You’re just wise in ways other people don’t get.”

“But you do.”

“I do.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“It is.”

“So this guy’s wife. Why can’t he keep her safe?”

“He’s been kidnapped. But before that happened, he called me and said someone might try to kill his wife.”

Rachel said, “Maybe you should take care of all that first, and then we can go somewhere together.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

I knew Rachel wouldn’t leave her apartment. She was months away from being travel ready. But it’s important for her to know that I’ll always take care of her, whether she’s with me on the road, or with Nadine in her million dollar penthouse.

We chatted a while longer, and then I left. After crossing the street I turned and looked for her in the window. She waved to me and I blew her a kiss. I continued standing where I was on the sidewalk, watching her in the window, and would have remained there an hour, had she continued to look at me.

The building that housed Rachel’s penthouse apartment was actually a private hospital, though Rachel wasn’t a patient. In fact, the nurses and psychiatrists who worked in the lower building were unaware she was receiving treatment. For all they knew, Rachel was Nadine’s granddaughter, and they were living together, sharing the penthouse. So Rachel’s “treatment” was unofficial, and I’m the one who set it up. I did so after learning Rachel killed a guy in Florida during our vacation. I thought it wise to get her out of the state as soon as possible and get Nadine involved, instead of the cops. So I used a portion of the funds I’d given Rachel to purchase an income-producing private hospital, where she could be quietly cared for by my former psychiatrist.

From her window, Rachel smiled and waved at me again. I gave her a full bow, and performed a little dance step. I’m a dreadful dancer, and my effort made her laugh.

Rachel had been here nearly four months, and shamefully, this was only my third visit. Each time I came she expressed an interest in leaving with me, and I always offered to take her. In the end, she always backed down.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I retrieved it and smiled. With nothing more to go on than the caller ID, I knew who was behind Wish List:

My former associate, Victor.

This was going to be very interesting.

Rachel was still watching me from the window, so I waved again.

One day I’ll show up and she’ll be ready to run off on another wild adventure with me. Traveling with the moody, homicidal Rachel has its ups and downs. On the upside, she’s incredibly sensual and tons of fun. On the down side, her violent mood swings are explosive, and could lead to murder. Still, no one’s perfect, and I enjoy her company more than any other woman I’ve known, which probably tells you something about me.

Up in the window, Rachel blew me a final kiss and closed the curtains. I stood there a moment longer, thinking about all the ways Rachel understands me that other women don’t.

Take sex, for instance.

Rachel instinctively knows what type of sex I like: Frequent sex.

Chapter 11

“Have you…killed her?”

The voice on the other end of the line was tinny and labored, and came from a computer-generated voice program that belonged to Victor, the quadriplegic billionaire midget I’d worked with and killed for, several times.

“Killed who?” I said.

“Who…do you…think? Jinny…Kidwell.”

“Is Hugo with you?” I asked. Of course he was. Hugo was always with Victor.

“I’ll…put him on…speaker…phone.” Victor said.

“Good. We can cover more ground that way.”

Hugo said, “What’s your interest in Buddy Pancake?”

Victor and Hugo are megalomaniacal midgets bent on world conquest. Victor is the brains and financier, Hugo is the general of their international army of little people. If Victor was involved, Wish List was another of his “Social Experiments.” It was vintage Victor, granting desperate people four wishes, and then pulling the rug out from under them. A few years ago I’d been involved with another of Victor’s social experiments. He’d been offering financially-strapped people a hundred thousand dollars if they agreed to let him kill a criminal who had never paid for his crime. Of course, in Victor’s mind, by taking the money they’d become accessories. It was my job to assassinate them. I didn’t get very far before my conscience got the better of me. Considering the magnitude of evil they’ve unleashed upon the world, Victor and Hugo have somehow managed to keep—pardon the pun—a low profile in the criminal world.

“Must I repeat the question?” Hugo said.

“My interest in Buddy Pancake? I want to save his life.”

“Why?”

“I owe his sister.”

“Who’s his sister?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is Jinny Kidwell alive?”

“How would I know?”

“What are your plans for her?

“What makes you think I even know her?”

Hugo sighed. “Our cameras picked you up in Buddy’s garage. If you know about Buddy you know about Wish List. If you know about Wish List you know about his connection to Jinny Kidwell. Early this morning we learned that Jinny Kidwell was missing from her trailer. That means someone snuck past ten highly-trained perimeter guards and removed her from the premises without making a sound, something no one on earth could have managed. Except you.”

“You consider those guys highly-trained?”

“It’s what I was led to believe. In any event, what are your plans with regard to Ms. Kidwell?”

“I’m going to exchange her for Buddy.”

“Easily done. Is she alive?”

“Is he?”

“At the moment, I believe he is.”

“When last I saw her, Jinny was alive as well.”

“Where is she?”

“Where’s Buddy?”

“Look, Mr. Creed. Jinny is one of the highest profile people in the world. If she remains missing, or dies, there will be endless media coverage. Victor’s plans could be compromised.”

“If you can’t handle the pressure, you shouldn’t have accepted Jinny’s wishes.”

“You don’t understand. We’re trying to save her life.”

“I fail to see how paying Buddy Pancake a million dollars for a roll in the hay could possibly save her life.”

“That’s the payment she had to make to stay alive. And a damn small one, I think you’ll agree.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s kept it quiet for months, but she’s got an incurable disease.”

“And you’ve got an antidote?”

“We do.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s one dose.”

“What, you can’t make more?”

“The chemist died in an accident. His formula died with him. Our people have spent the past ten months trying to analyze it a drop at a time. We’ve made progress, but we’re years away. Unfortunately, the serum breaks down over time, and when that happens the components can’t be analyzed. The shelf life is short, less than a year, and we’re closing in on that deadline. We’ve done all we can, but it’s over. We can’t duplicate or replace it. But we can save Jinny’s life. She’s had three injections, but needs one more, and she needs it today, if possible. Bottom line, there’s only enough serum left for one dose.”

“And you promised it to Jinny?”

“That’s right.”

“What’s the disease?”

He paused. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not? My line’s secure.”

“So is ours. But Victor hasn’t authorized me to tell you.”

“Victor?” I said. “Hello?”

“He’s not here.”

“He left the room? I didn’t hear his wheelchair.”

“It’s a brand new one. Completely silent.”

“Does he ever creep up on you?”

“All the time. Scares the shit out of me.”

“What’s he doing right now?”

“Meeting with our computer programmer.”

“Can you interrupt him?”

“Not a good idea.”

“Fair enough. I’ll ask him when I see him. In the meantime, tell me about Buddy, starting with where he is right now.”

“Arizona.”

“Jinny’s in Indiana,” I said, letting him know I’ll be more specific when he is.

“He’s in a ranch house that borders twenty thousand acres of private land,” Hugo said.

“Why?”

“He’s a participant in a hunting game.”

“Against his will?”

“I’d say so.”

“What’s the game?”

“They call it ��Run, Son!’”

“Never heard of it.”

“There are a dozen hunters with rifles, and Buddy and forty-nine other Wish List alumni are prey. They’ll have a two-hour head start, but they won’t escape.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ve had monitoring devices planted in their backs, next to their spines, where they can’t reach them.”

“What if Buddy gets one of the other participants to dig it out?”

“It’ll explode, rendering him paralyzed.”

“Like Victor.”

“Except that Victor won’t be lying on the desert floor, helpless, when the hunters come.”

“Tell me the rest of it.”

“There’s a point system. As prey, Buddy’s worth seventy points to the hunter that bags him. The younger, stronger, faster targets are worth up to 250 points. When the last kill is made, the points are totaled and the winners receive valuable prizes.”

“How do you verify the points?”

“The hunters dig the devices out of their backs.”

“Each device is labeled with the points?”

“Correct.”

“You think Buddy’s head will wind up mounted on someone’s wall?”

“I think we’ll bury him with the others deep in the desert after the point count, unless you return Jinny to us. Where is she?”

“I left her chained to a tree in the woods.”

“Her health won’t permit it. You’ve got to get her to us immediately.”

“I can do that. Provided you spare Buddy’s life.”

“Buddy’s worth squat. There’s got to be a catch.”

“I also want you to leave his wife alone. Forever.”

“Will that do it?”

“Nearly.”

“What else?”

“They get to keep the million dollars.”

“Done.”

Chapter 12

When Jinny Kidwell and Harrison Ford heard me coming they broke into excited stage whispers. Poor things, that’s all the vocal power they had left. Had I been searching a hundred yards away instead of knowing their exact location, I would have missed them.

As I made my way through the underbrush, their pleas became more urgent. But upon seeing me, they grew silent.

Jinny didn’t look as frail as I expected, but she was pissed. She unleashed a torrent of curses at me like none I’d ever heard from a woman. And I’ve known some tough women! But curses are more effective with volume, and Jinny’s invectives, though scathing, came across as comical.

I tried not to smile. She caught me and began another round.

“Relax, Jinny,” I said. “You’re about to be saved.”

Calling over my shoulder, I said, “You too, Harrison. Hang on. I’ll be there in a minute. You’ll be back with your wife before you know it.”

Jinny's steel wrist band was secured to a length of chain that wound around the tree. When I circled the tree to remove the chain I noticed something on the ground.

“Is that yours?”

She turned to look at me and followed my stare. Then she stopped cursing and lowered her head, embarrassed.

“I’ll be damned,” I said, grinning.

“A gentleman would pretend not to notice my droppings,” she whispered. Then she grew angry again and whisper-shouted, “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“I was just trying to calculate what that might be worth on eBay, if I could get it documented.”

It took her a moment to process my words. Then she whispered, “What?”

“Scarlett Johansson blew her nose into a handkerchief and sold it for fifty-three hundred dollars. The same buyer paid twenty-eight thousand for a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich.”

“That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting!”

“I suppose I could get one of those DNA testing labs to authenticate it. They might certify it came from you.”

“You’re joking!”

I was joking. But not about the value of Jinny Kidwell’s scat in today’s celebrity-crazed society. I had no doubt that her droppings would fetch a hundred grand, if marketed properly.

Really, I’m kidding. I mean, about actually doing it.

Later, in the car heading south, after two hours of angry silence and a couple of hot teas with honey and lemon, Jinny’s voice was on the mend. She was hoarse, but I could understand her.

“Did you even stop to think about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“If something had happened to you, we would have died out there.”

“I told someone where you were.”

“You did?”

“Not the exact location, but yes, in general.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really. I told my girlfriend.”

She appeared, not surprised, but stunned. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

“I do.”

“For real?”

“Of course.”

“What’s her name?”

“Rachel.”

Jinny shook her head, sadly.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“She’d have to be insane.”

Chapter 13

I continued driving south, through Nashville, and eventually dropped Jinny and me off at a private airstrip near Franklin, Tennessee. Before boarding our charter jet, I untied Harrison, returned his car keys, and gave him a generous tip, along with a warning that I was counting on his complete discretion. Jinny showed her sweet side by giving him a long hug and thanking him for helping her get through their ordeal. Then Jinny and I climbed in the Hawker 400 XP and flew to the remote landing strip near Great Bend, Kansas, where the exchange would be made. Hugo and I were in constant contact during the flight, and he caught me up to speed on everything that had happened in Buddy’s miserable life since filling out the form on WishList.bz.

Upon landing, I told Jinny and the pilots to remain onboard and visible. Then I walked, as instructed, to the fourth hangar, and knocked on the door.

“Face the wall while I pat you down,” said one of Victor’s huge, well-muscled goons.

I looked at Hugo and said, “Is this really necessary?”

He shrugged. “Sorry. Try to take it as a compliment.”

I endured it.

“He’s clean,” the goon said.

“I can guarantee you, he’s armed.” Hugo said.

The goon looked down at Hugo with scorn. “You tellin’ me my job, little man?”

“Maybe you two should get a room,” I said.

“Maybe I should stuff my foot up your ass!”

“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Hugo said.

I pointed to the watch on my left wrist.

Hugo nodded.

“The fuck is that?” said the goon.

“Wireless detonator.”

“Bullshit,” he said. “You haven’t had time to wire this place.”

Hugo shook his head. “The plane, stupid.”

“Why would he blow up the—oh. Shit!”

I sighed. “Hugo. Can we get this thing done?”

We walked into the hanger and up to a Lear 45 where I saw Buddy Pancake’s face in one of the windows.

“Why’s he making that stupid face?” said Hugo.

“I think he’s trying to signal me that someone’s holding a gun on him.”

“Like you wouldn’t have figured that out.”

The goon stopped near the exit door of the jet, and Hugo and I kept walking toward the office in the back of the hangar. As I passed, I nodded at Buddy to let him know I got his message. Buddy kept mouthing the words, “They’ve got guns! Guns!”

Hugo said, “What a moron.”

I said, “Jinny Kidwell for this guy? Gotta be the worst hostage trade in history.”

Hugo laughed.

A voice behind me said, “Hello, Donovan.”

I knew the voice. I turned.

“I’ll be damned,” I said.

“Yes you will.”

It was Rachel’s husband.

“What have you been up to, Sam?”

Sam said, “You know. Just livin’ the dream.” Then he said, “You still banging my wife?”

“Not so much.”

“Can’t say I blame her.”

There were dark circles under Sam’s eyes. His face had a pasty pallor, and his hair was unkempt. He sounded bitter, and looked five years older than he should. I’m sure it’s hard being Sam, a lonely computer genius with no family, friends, or peers in his profession.

“Rachel was asking about you,” I said.

“When?”

“Earlier today.”

“And what did you say?”

I shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

He nodded. “Do I have any chance with her at all? Your honest opinion.”

I said, “The Wish List computer program. Is that your work?”

“You like it?”

“I admire the effort.”

“Do you have any inkling how impressive an achievement that is? I mean, can you even comprehend the magnitude of what I put together?”

I couldn't. But based on his question I figured it must be pretty damn special. I said, “It’s sheer genius.”

“It’s child’s play,” he said.

I shrugged. “Victor hired you to create it?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I would. You’re the best computer person I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head. “You have no idea.” Then he muttered something about how the rest of us are mere insects trying to fathom quantum physics.

Then he walked away.

Chapter 14

Victor was sitting in the front office in his space age wheelchair, flanked by two little people half my size who I regarded as more dangerous than the goon outside.

“Hugo…tells me…that…Jinny’s alive.”

“She is.”

“Then…let’s…make the…trade.”

Victor’s metallic voice is creepy enough on the phone. In person it’s unearthly.

I said, “What’s wrong with Jinny?”

“She’s got…AIDS.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve got a cure?”

“One…dose.”

“Damn.”

“Exactly.”

“Look, Victor, you can’t just tell me some guy, working alone, discovered a cure for AIDS. He’s got no notes? Give me a break. That’s not how these things work in real life.”

“Why…do you…care?”

“I might want to write a book someday. You think my readers are going to accept that type of bullshit explanation?”

“You…haven’t…even…written a…book but…you’re worried…about…what your… readers are…going…to think?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Well if…you…write…a book…”

“Yeah?”

“Keep me…out of it.”

“You’ll change your mind when we shoot the movie version.”

“Who…do you…think they’ll…get to…play me…in…the movie?”

I thought about it a minute, then gave up. “Victor, you’re an original. They’ll have to pay through the nose to get you to play yourself. You’ll have them over a barrel.”

He seemed pleased about the movie role, so I got back to it. “So what happened? Tell me about the doctor.”

Victor motioned to Hugo to speak, which is what he did whenever too many words needed to be said. Using the respirator to generate his computer voice for more than a few sentences was not only time consuming, but exhausting for Victor.

Hugo said, “His name was Gero Mielke.”

“German?”

“Correct.”

“What was his specialty?”

Hugo shrugged. “Microbiology, virology, blood cancer specialist….” His voice trailed off.

“Working alone?”

“When we met him he was director of the Berlin Mutational Virology Laboratory. He led his team to the edge of what he realized was a breakthrough, then moved them in a different direction and continued the work alone.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to cash in.”

“How much did you offer?”

“He was going to sell us the formula for a billion dollars.”

“Beats a salary bump at the lab, I’ll bet.”

“Exactly.”

We were all quiet for a moment. I spoke first. “You’re positive Jinny’s got AIDS?”

“Yes,” said Hugo. “One hundred percent. But it’s nearly cured.”

“And her husband?”

“HIV positive.”

“But not AIDS?”

“Not yet.”

“And Buddy?”

“I’m afraid Buddy will be dead by December.”

“But how is that possible? AIDS doesn’t kill that quickly.”

“Apparently the serum that is saving Jinny accelerates the disease in her sexual partners. Dr. Mielke learned that during the testing phase.”

“So Jinny knew she was killing Buddy by sleeping with him?”

“Of course.”

I shook my head. “And she called me disgusting!”

“Women, right?” Hugo said.

“But why isn’t Jinny’s husband dead by now?”

“She and Pete haven’t had sex since learning about her condition.”

An interesting thought came into my mind. “If Jinny gets cured, will she kill all her future sexual partners?”

“No one knows.”

“What about Buddy’s wife, Lissie?”

“What about her?”

“Has he infected her?”

“No. There’s been no sexual contact between them since he’s been with Jinny.”

“Good thing,” I said.

Then I thought of something else. “Who infected Jinny Kidwell?”

“Her husband.”

“What?”

“He was cheating on Jinny and wound up with HIV. He didn’t contract the disease, but he became a carrier, and passed it on to Jinny.”

“I was wondering why he allowed her to fuck Buddy Pancake.”

“Now you know. So, are you ready to make the trade?”

“There are what, twenty, thirty million people living with AIDS?”

“More like forty-five million. And five million new cases a year.”

“A billion dollars seems cheap. What happened, you got greedy?”

“No. We made several payments, but Dr. Mielke began making impossible demands. In the end, he was a raging paranoid who thought we were going to steal his formula. He tore up his notes and worked alone at night, after his team left the lab. He began missing our deadlines and refused to continue working without being paid. The situation got out of hand.”

“What happened to him?”

Hugo and Victor exchanged a look. Hugo said, “Unfortunately, Dr. Mielke died before we could resolve our issues.”

“Cause of death?”

“Heart attack.”

“Uh huh. Was there torture involved?”

Victor said, “A little.”

“You thought you might be able to force his cooperation.”

Hugo said, “The idea made sense at the time.”

“But you tortured him to death.”

“Not me, but yes, that was the unhappy result.”

“The man was living a double life.”

“Yes.”

“Working day and night, the guilt, the stress…your people should have known.”

“True.”

“Torture is an exact science, better left to professionals.”

“So we’ve learned.”

“You should have called me.”

Victor smiled. “Next time.”

Chapter 15

After making the trade, Buddy and I climbed in the Hawker and strapped on the seat belts.

“What about the device in my back?” he said.

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“What do you think? They dug a hole in my back and stuck a piece of metal in there.”

“What are you taking for it?”

“They gave me Dilaudid tablets. Said they have two to eight times the painkilling effects of morphine.” He looked at me. “Is that true?”

“How would I know? I don’t use pain pills.”

“Why not?”

“They keep you from feeling pain, right?”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he said, “Can you believe those bastards did this to me? Now I’m going to need surgery to dig that thing out.”

“You’d better use one of my contacts. Otherwise it’ll be reported.”

“I want it to be reported. They were going to hunt me down, shoot me like a fuckin’ animal. I’m going straight to the cops. I’ll bring those assholes to their knees!”

The copilot turned around in his chair and looked at me. “Everything all right?”

I nodded. Then said, “Buddy, look at me.”

When he did, I said, “You’re not going to tell anyone about this.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“Because for once in your life you’re going to do the right thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I promised the Wish List people you’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?”

“So they wouldn’t kill your wife.”

He went quiet awhile, but not long enough to suit me. “You really think they’d kill Lissie?” he said.

“I guarantee it.”

“But you could stop them.”

“I just did.”

“But only if I say nothing.”

“You got it. Finally.”

We landed in Richmond, and I said goodbye to the pilots and got a rental car. Buddy’s back was getting worse, so I took a look at it.

“It’s infected,” I said.

“I’m not surprised. Hurts like a sonovabitch.”

“Don’t worry about the seatbelt.” I buckled it to keep it from dinging, and he sat on it. I fired up the car and pulled onto I-64 heading west. “The news gets worse, Buddy.”

“What could be worse than the past few days?”

“You’re dying.”

“What? No! It’s just an infection. Look, take me to Jewish Hospital, and drop me off. I’ve got great insurance.”

“Buddy, we’re in Richmond, Virginia, not Louisville. I’m driving you to a private facility that houses the finest surgeons in the world.”

“Mr. Creed, really, you’ve done more than I could have hoped for. I mean, Jesus, you saved my life. So please. Don’t worry about me. Or Lissie. We’ll be fine, I promise. I’m no Donovan Creed, but I can take it from here.”

“You’re not listening to me. You’re dying.”

“Look. I’m not a tough guy, we both know that. But this is just a simple surgical procedure.”

“If it’s not removed properly, the device in your back will detonate and blow out your spine.”

“Excuse me?”

I pulled off at the next exit, found an abandoned Popeye’s Fried Chicken restaurant, and parked behind it.

“I’m taking you to Sensory Resources, a branch of Homeland Security. There are surgeons there who can take that thing out of your back tonight. But you need to understand, after this, things will never be the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dying. And not because of the device.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got full-blown AIDS, Buddy.”

He laughed. “Right.”

“I’m serious. Ever ask yourself why Jinny Kidwell paid you a million dollars and let you have sex with her?”

“Of course. So I asked her.”

“And she gave you that bullshit story about paying back into the system?”

He nodded.

“Jinny Kidwell has AIDS. She heard about Wish List, filled out the form, and asked for a cure for AIDS.”

“They’ve got a cure for AIDS? Who are these guys?”

“The kind of guys who began giving her the treatments, and told her if she wanted to complete them she’d have to perform some tasks.”

“Like fucking me.”

“And paying a million dollars.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that I have AIDS?”

“I am.”

“Mr. Creed, AIDS doesn’t work like that. You get HIV first. Then, years later, if you’re unlucky, you might get AIDS.”

“I’m not familiar with the normal progression of the disease. But it doesn’t matter in your case because the injections they gave Jinny caused you to acquire the disease, and accelerate its progression at an abnormal pace. I’ve been told by a very reliable source that you’ll be dead by December.”

“You swear to God?”

“It’s true.”

“Swear it. Swear to God.”

“What are we, eight years old?”

“What about the antidote? If they gave it to Jinny, they can give it to me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Call them. I’ve still got the million. I’ll pay it. Tell them. Tell them I’ll have sex with anyone they say.”

“You really think someone’s going to put having sex with you on their wish list?”

“That was just a for instance. I’ll do whatever. Please, just call them. Tell them I’ll do whatever they want. I’ll kill someone. Hell, I’ll kill ten people. Babies, if they want. I’ll—”

“Shut up, Buddy. Babies? Jesus. Anyway, there’s no more serum. There was only one batch ever made, and the guy who invented it died, leaving no records behind. Only one patient will ever receive the treatment, and that’s Jinny Kidwell. And you, Mr. I’ll Do Anything, Even Kill Ten Babies—are shit out of luck.”

Buddy began sobbing. The harder he sobbed, the worse his back hurt. Which made him yell. Then he sobbed some more, which made him yell again, and this went on for more than a minute until I finally said, “Wind it up, will you?”

“What’s to become of me?”

“You’re going to die. Get over it, you miserable fuck.”

“What about Lissie?”

“If it’s true you haven’t had sex with her, she’ll be all right physically.”

“I need to tell her. I need to explain things.”

“If you do, they’ll kill her.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Jinny Kidwell, the world’s most famous actress, is about to be cured of AIDS. If word gets out, the entire world will change. Desperate people do desperate things, and people will demand answers. The easiest way to prevent that is to kill everyone who can’t keep a secret. Starting with you, and then Lissie. Then both sets of relatives, and all your friends.”

“That’s crazy. They’ll never get away with it.”

“They won’t have to, because it’s not going to come to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re never going to see Lissie again. You’re not going to see anyone again. You’re going to be isolated from all human contact, save for the doctors and nurses who’ll be taking care of you in a secluded treatment facility.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but that’s the plan.”

“What about the money?”

“Lissie will get half.”

“You’re still planning to take half my money? It’s all I have left!”

“I’m donating your half to the doctors and nurses at Sensory who will be keeping you comfortable as the disease progresses. By the time you die, I’ll have put together an elaborate explanation for why you went missing, and how you died a hero. Better to have Lissie remember you as a hero than to learn you got AIDS cheating on her. Don’t you agree?”

“No. I want to talk to her. Lissie’s a good person. If I explain everything, she’ll forgive me.”

“You think she’ll be okay with getting raped by your best friend?”

He paused. “I’ll skip over that part. She’ll forgive the rest.”

“You’re going to be an invalid. You think that’s fair?”

“She loves me.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Of course I have. But the bottom line is I only care about Lissie. I don’t give a damn what happens to anyone else.”

I sighed. “Maybe I should just kill you now.”

“Maybe you should,” Buddy said, “but you won’t. My sister loved you. She said you were a violent man, but a good one. You know that what happened to me wasn’t fair. You might not protect me from here on out, but you’ll let me end things on my own terms.”

Chapter 16

Buddy didn’t know me as well as he thought.

After snapping his neck I drove his body to my former headquarters in Carroll County, Virginia, and told the medical team that Buddy Pancake’s body was racked with a mutated AIDS virus that had been contracted through sexual intercourse with a woman who had received a treatment that was said to cure AIDS. I suggested that by performing detailed tests on his body, they might be able to backtrack their way into a cure for AIDS. It was a long shot, but what the hell. Buddy’s life might as well stand for something positive.

I spent the night in my old bunk at Sensory. The next morning I put Buddy’s wallet, clothing, lower jaw, and personal effects in plastic bags, stuffed the bags in a big laundry bag, and headed back to the Richmond airport. From there I flew by private jet to Cincinnati, where I met my old friend and sometime employer, Sal Bonadello, crime boss for the Midwestern United States. Sal charged me a hundred grand to fake Buddy’s death in a convincing way. Then I rented a car and drove to Louisville, broke into Buddy’s garage, gathered up his million dollars, and took it back to Cincinnati. Caught another private flight back to Chicago, and got a good night’s sleep.

A few weeks after Buddy’s funeral, I had Callie Carpenter pay a visit to Lissie and present her with a check for a million dollars. Sporting the credentials of a real, live insurance executive, Callie explained that this sum represented the proceeds from an accidental death policy Buddy had quietly taken out years ago.

“This check is from an attorney,” Lissie said.

“We always escrow the funds with a law firm while we investigate our claims. It shows good faith on our part, and makes a difference in the courtroom if a claim is denied.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” Lissie said, “except to thank you, and your company. As I said, I didn’t even know about the policy until you called.”

“It’s a shock to you, but we see this happen all the time,” Callie said.

The attorney didn’t exist, but the account did, and Lissie was happy enough with the unexpected windfall not to dig too deeply into the details. I mean, would you?

Buddy had always been a loose cannon and I should have known from the beginning that saving him was a lost cause. I owed his sister Lauren big time, but I think even she would agree that her brother was a toad of a man.

He did have great taste in women, though.

Jinny Kidwell?

Are you kidding me?

And Lissie?

Wow!

Epilogue

Although Victor’s people came through for Jinny Kidwell and administered the serum, it didn’t take. She’s no longer with us, as you know (unless you’re from another galaxy). Even then you’d know, since her funeral was beamed to space satellites and viewed by more than a hundred and ninety million people around the world.

She’s now known as “The Face of AIDS,” and her posters can be found at every rally.

The doctors at Sensory were unable to extract anything useful from Buddy’s body to produce a cure for AIDS, and the disease has now surpassed bubonic plague to become the fifth leading epidemic in the history of the world.

Buddy has been dead for six months, and Lissie finally decided to move on with her life after meeting a great guy at the local community college where her support group meets every Tuesday night. His name is Matt Pike, and weeks into the meetings, when they finally got together for coffee, he somehow managed to rekindle feelings inside her that had been dormant since Buddy passed. He’s not only handsome and charming, he seems to know her every thought and emotion, which he proved by allowing their relationship to progress at a comfortable pace. He’s a keeper, the most thoughtful man she’s ever met. I know all this because I listen in on her phone calls.

Last Tuesday Lissie finally agreed to meet Matt for dinner tonight at Z’s. I worry what he might try to do afterward, when he brings her back home. She’s vulnerable and he’s smooth, a bad combination. Lou Kelly performed an extensive background check on him and everything came back clean. Moreover, Matt seems to be a decent guy. Still, I wonder if I should have let things get this far.

One of the things Lissie and her friends like best about Matt is that he’s not in a rush to get her clothes off.

I like that about him too, and I hope that trend continues.

But I worry.

He’s a man, and like I say, she’s vulnerable. So I’ll be watching their every move from my command center in Lissie’s attic. This afternoon when Lissie came home, I saw that she’d bought several sets of sexy bras and panties. I watched her try them on, watched her check herself out in the mirror. She’s looking fine and knows it, and I’m happy for her.

I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This isn’t voyeurism. Sure, I’ve seen Lissie naked hundreds of times while living in her attic these many months. But that’s not why I’m here. Not entirely.

I originally moved in because I wanted to keep an eye on Lissie, to make sure none of the Wish People came back to bother her. I was particularly concerned about Rudy and Perkins, the limo driver. These two would know Lissie was alone, and I couldn’t bear to leave her unprotected. I knew going in that Victor’s people had installed a number of high-quality pinhole cameras in the ceilings, but I expanded the grid to cover every square inch of the premises.

And I’ve watched over her ever since.

To, you know, make sure she was safe.

But over the days and weeks that followed, I found myself becoming more and more attracted to this precious creature. The hardest part was watching her cry herself to sleep every night, knowing her tears were being wasted on a hapless loser like Buddy. But grief is something that has to run its course, so I spent those nights lying on the attic floor, ten feet above her bed, wishing there was something I could do to comfort her.

Then Matt came along. In many ways, he’s been her salvation.

But again, I worry what might happen.

I’m depraved. Victor and Hugo are possibly worse, Rachel’s crazy, Nadine’s a mercenary skinflint, Rudy, Perkins and Sal Bonadello are gangsters, Lou Kelly’s a killer, Pete was a philanderer, Jinny was morally bankrupt, Buddy was slime, and his old, lonely neighbor shits himself.

The point is I don’t get to meet many saints in my line of work.

But Lissie’s one.

How Buddy managed to win her is beyond my ability to comprehend, but it puts me in mind of something my grandfather once said: “A woman’s love is like the morning dew. It’s as apt to settle on a horse turd as it is a rose.”

Rudy surfaced.

He showed up at Lissie’s a couple nights ago. I saw him casing her house from across the street for over an hour. I didn’t do anything about it. “Live and let live,” I always say. In fact, I didn’t kill him until he tried to enter through the garage.

I’m here for Lissie. And for now, I’m allowing Matt to be a part of her life. I just hope he doesn’t do anything to spoil my trust.

There aren’t many sincere gifts a guy like me can give a woman like Lissie, though she deserves so much after what she’s been through. I’m giving her the gift of my protection, which of course is insignificant compared to what she gave Buddy.

She gave him her love.

What greater gift can anyone give?

Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23