Maybe she could get a better signal outside. Kendra went back to the front door and keyed in the code. Two digits in, however, her finger stopped and hung in midair before the 6 key.
The digital readout, which usually delivered straightforward messages such as SYSTEM ENGAGED or PLEASE ENTER ACCESS CODE, now told her something else:
STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE.
“The fuck?” Kendra muttered, then lowered her finger for a second before blinking hard and stabbing the 6 button anyway, followed by the 2. Which should have disengaged the system. This time, however, there was no reassuring beep. There was nothing at all, except:
KENDRA, THAT WON’T HELP.
Then:
DON’T MAKE A SOUND.
DON’T MOVE.
NOT UNTIL WE CALL YOU.
And Kendra, much to her own disgust, did exactly as she was told, staying perfectly still and silent…
…for about two seconds before realizing Fuck this and grabbing the handle of her front door. She twisted the knob, pulled. The door didn’t move, as if it had been cemented in place. What? She hadn’t engaged the deadbolts when she’d come in just a minute ago…
The phone in her hand buzzed to life. There was SERVICE, suddenly. The name on the display: INCOMING CALL / CJ.
Oh, thank God. She thumbed the accept button, expecting to hear her son’s voice, maybe even hoping he’d call her Mom again.
But instead, it had been someone else.
Now, four agonizing hours later, during which Kendra had heard the sounds of her own house being turned against her…she was listening to the voice of her ex-husband—an accused murderer long thought to be dead. And he had the audacity to be grilling her!
“Who told you that? Who told you you were dead?”
“They called me and said if I left the house I was dead.”
“Fuck. Did you call the police? Anyone at all?”
“They told me not to call anyone or do anything else except wait.”
“Wait for what?”
There was a burst of static on the line, and then another voice came on. The one who’d called four hours earlier, from CJ’s phone.
The evil icy-voiced bitch queen who had her son, and who claimed to have the house surrounded.
“Hey, Charlie! It’s your old pal Mann here. So good to hear your voice after all this time. Well, that magical day has finally arrived. In about thirty seconds we’re going to kill the phones, and the power, and everything else in your wife’s house. We’ve got her surrounded; I know every square inch of every house in a five-block radius. You of all people know how thorough we are.”
Charlie ignored the other voice.
“Kendra, where’s the boy?”
“Shhhh now, Charlie. It’s rude to interrupt. You’re wasting precious seconds. I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me that if I touch one hair on your family’s head, you’ll rip me apart one limb at a time…or maybe some other colorful metaphor? Well, you know, that’s just not gonna happen. Because you lost this one, Chuck. There’s not going to be any cavalry rushing in, no last-minute saves, no magic escapes. And you know what’s going to happen next?”
What should have been going through Kendra’s mind at this moment was something along the lines of:
Charlie, where the hell have you been and why have you surfaced now? The last time we spoke it was a stupid and petty conversation about a late credit card bill, and I think the last word I spoke to you before disconnecting was whatever.
Or maybe:
Charlie, why didn’t you call me before tonight? Do you how many late nights I stared at the ceiling, trying to actually physically will you to call me? Not to change anything or explain anything, but to just to tell me what happened? Do you know how hard the not knowing was? How much it consumed me over the years, digging in deep, way past the regret and guilt and into the very core of me?
But instead Kendra thought:
Goddamn you, Charlie.
Goddamn you for doing this to us.
“What’s going to happen next is,” the ice bitch queen continued, “your family’s going to die. And there’s not a fucking thing you can do to stop me.”
If Kendra had any doubts about the voice on the other end of the line belonging to her husband, they vanished when he spoke again. Because his words were infused with a rock-hard defiance that had once been familiar to her, over a decade ago.
Charlie Hardie told the ice bitch queen,
“I can stop you.”
Spectacular Praise for Duane Swierczynski
and the Charlie Hardie Series
“More exciting than whatever you’re reading right now.”
—Ed Brubaker, Harvey and Eisner Award–winning author of Criminal and Incognito
“Duane Swierczynski puts the rest of the crime-writing world on notice. So learn to spell the last name. He’s going to be around for a while.”
—Laura Lippman
“Oh, what style!”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Duane Swierczynski has ideas so brilliant and brutal that one day the rest of us will have to tool up and kill him.”
—Warren Ellis
“So bloody satisfying.”
—Booklist
“Swierczynski has an uncommon gift for the banal lunacy of criminal dialogue, and a delightfully devious eye for character.”
—Dick Adler, Chicago Tribune
“Duane Swierczynski is one of the best thriller writers in America, and probably my favorite.”
—James Frey
“A major new talent.”
—Richard Aleas
“Duane Swierczynski is one of the best new things to happen to crime fiction in a long time. A kick-ass writer with wicked cool skills and the instincts of a seasoned veteran. Keep your eyes on him. He’s going places.”
—Victor Gischler
“Swierczynski seems to get such a kick out of writing about eccentric crooks, it’s almost criminal.”
—J. Kingston Pierce, January Magazine
“Duane Swierczynski is the bomb…the hottest new thing in crime fiction.”
—Joe R. Lansdale
“Swierczynski steps on the gas early in this pulse-pounding contemporary thriller and doesn’t let up…an unforgettable climax.…The sequel’s appearance won’t be too soon for many readers.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Cool, suspenseful, tragic, and funny as hell, Fun and Games is Duane Swierczynski’s best yet. I haven’t had this much fun reading in a long time.”
—Sara Gran, author of Dope and Come Closer
“An audacious, propulsive thrill ride that kidnapped me on page one and didn’t look back.”
—Brian Azzarello, Harvey and Eisner Award–winning author of 100 Bullets and Loveless
“This book could not be more perfect.”
—Simon Le Bon, lead singer of Duran Duran
“This book has it all.…I declare this book fastest read of the year. I want part two, Hell and Gone, now.”
—Ruth Jordan, Central Crime Zone
“Duane Swierczynski leads an insurgency of new crime writers specializing in fast-paced crime rife with sharp dialogue, caustic humor, and over-the-top violence.”
—Garrett Kenyon, Spinetingler Magazine