“You can call me Holly if you want.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“The doctors, they didn’t want me to see my face yet. But last night I got up and went to the bathroom and took off my bandages in the mirror. I look like someone stapled some raw pork chops to my face.”
If she wanted sympathy, she was preaching to the wrong choir.
“I’ll be scarred for life, Jack.”
“You already were,” I said.
Holly didn’t seem to have anything else to say, so I got up to leave.
“Jack.”
I stopped. Waited.
“You beat me this time. But it isn’t over.”
I gave her a final glance.
“It’s over,” I said, and left the hospital.
That night, in Latham’s bed, I had a strange dream. I was at the shooting range, and no matter how carefully I aimed, I couldn’t hit the silhouette.
But rather than frustrate me, I found it funny as hell. Every time I missed, I laughed like crazy. It was one of the most wonderful dreams I’d ever had.
My cell phone woke me up.
“Ms. Daniels? This is Julie, over at Henderson House.”
Henderson House. The long-term care facility where my mother lived. I checked the clock, saw it was three in the morning.
The fear washed over me like a wave. I’d been expecting the worst for so long, but found myself unable to handle it.
“Is it Mom?” My voice quavered, my eyes filling with tears.
“Yes, it’s your mother. It happened just a few minutes ago. She’s come out of her coma.”
Had I heard correctly?
“Mom’s out of her coma?”
My talking woke Latham up. He hugged me in the darkness.
“Not only is she awake, but she’s completely lucid. Can you come over here, Ms. Daniels? She’s asking for you.”
EPILOGUE
Several Months Later
THE ALLEY WAS dark, and I shouldn’t have gone in there. It was just plain stupid.
But into the alley I went, following McGlade, gun drawn and moving in a crouch.
“I see something.” Harry had his gun out as well, a much larger gun than mine. “Cover me.”
“No.” I tugged his arm back. “It’s my turn to go first. You cover me.”
“Jack, this is dangerous. Don’t fight me on this.”
Without listening I pushed past McGlade and broke into a run. I stopped in a Weaver stance, legs two feet apart, both arms stretched out in front of me, steadying the gun-
– silhouetted by the street light behind me.
A perfect, easy target.
“Freeze! Police!”
The first shot caught me in the stomach, blood gushing out before me like a fountain.
I fell in slow motion, three more shots ripping into my chest and shoulders, spinning me around, painting the brick walls with blood before I hit the pavement.
I heard Harry yell, and watched him run out to me, firing into the alley as he ran, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out onto the sidewalk, leaving a smeared trail of red.
“Harry…”
“Shh. Jack, don’t talk.”
I looked down at the ruin that was my chest, blood pumping out in a ridiculous amount. McGlade tried to press down on some of the wounds. I cried out in pain.
“I’ve got to get help, Jack.”
He tried to stand up, but I stopped him, grabbing his hand.
“It’s… it’s too late, Harry… too late.”
“Hold on, Jack.”
A single tear rolled down my face. I put on a brave smile.
“You’ll get the guys. Right?”
“Of course I will, baby. Count on it.”
I blinked a few times.
“Everything’s getting dark, Harry.”
McGlade knelt down, propped my upper body onto his lap, and put his arms around me.
“I’m here, Jack.”
“Harry… I… I need to tell you something.” I was whispering. “Come close.”
“I’m all ears, Jackie.”
“All… all of these years…”
McGlade now had tears in his eyes too.
“I’m listening.”
“I… love… you… Harry… McGlade…”
Harry bent down, and his lips touched mine. When he pulled his head back, my eyes were wide and staring into space.
I was dead.
Harry cried out, lifted his head back, and screamed and screamed and screamed.
TO BE CONTINUED… appeared at the bottom of the screen. Then the image froze and faded to black.
My mother clicked off the TV with the remote control, frowning at me.
“That was crap. Pure crap. You never would have gone into the alley like that.”
I shrugged. “At least I won’t be back next season. You want a beer?”
“A beer sounds wonderful. Let’s get good and plowed and order a pizza with extra everything.” She made a kissy sound, and Mr. Friskers bounded into her lap.
“You sure you want everything, Mom?”
Mom smiled, and it was beatific. “Absolutely. I’ve got a lot of eating to catch up on, Jacqueline. I’ve got a lot of life to catch up on.”
She reached for my hand and held it tight. I held it just as tight, never ever wanting to let go.
“You know what, Mom? That makes two of us.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every book, the list of people I need to thank gets longer…
To fellow scribes: Barbara D’Amato, James O. Born, Lee Child, Blake Crouch, Bill Fitzhugh, Jack Kerley, William Kent Krueger, David Morrell, PJ Parrish, and M.J. Rose, for their words, encouragement, and inspiration.
To those in the book biz: Robin Agnew, Augie Alesky, Lorri Amsden, Elizabeth Baldwin, Jim Berlage, Terri Bischoff, Jane Biro, Chris Bowman, Linda Brown, Bonnie Claeson, Diana Cohen, J.B. Dickey, Moni Draper, Tammy Domike, Judy Duhl, Luane Evans, Dorothy Evans, Bill Farley, Beth Fedyn, Dick File, Marilyn Fisher, Holly Frakes, Steven French, Fran Fuller, Sandy Goodrick, Diane Gressman, Maggie Griffin, Joe Guglielmelli, Maryelizabeth Hart, Patrick Heffernan, Jim Huang, Rick Jensen, Steve Jensen, Jen Johnson, Jon Jordan, Ruth Jordan, Steve Jurczyk, Bob Kadlec, Richard Katz, Edmund and Jeannie Kaufman, Carolyn Lane, Steve Lukac, Sheldon MacArthur, Bobby McCue, Dana Mee, Laurie Mountjoy, Jim Munchel, Karen Novak, Cynthia Nye, Otto Penzler, Henry “Hank” Perez, Barbara Peters, Sue Petersen, Sarah Pingry, Taryn Schau, Terri Schlichenmeyer, Matt Schwartz, Cindy Smith, Terri Smith, Kathy Sparks, Laura Stanz, Dave Strang, Jim & Gloria Tillez, Barbara Tom, Maria Tovar, Susan Tunis, Chris Van Such, Lauri Ver Schure, Linda Vetter, Janine Wilson, Chris Wolak, and the many others who have helped spread the word – if your name isn’t here, blame the typesetter!
To the publishing folks: Lauren Abramo, Ellen Archer, Alan Ayres, Michael Bourrett, Susie Breck, Anna Campbell, Regina Castillo, Jane Comins, Natalie Fedewa, Nicola Ferguson, Brad Foltz, Miriam Goderich, Jessica Goldman, Laura Grafton, Dick Hill, Amy Hosford, Eileen Hutton, Navorn Johnson, David Lott, Bob Miller, Phil Rose, Will Schwalbe, Michael Snodgrass, Abby Vinyard, Katie Wainwright, Miriam Wenger, Kimberly West, Westchester Book Composition, and Raynel White.
The amazing Leslie Wells.
Jane Dystel, who kicks major booty.
Barry Eisler and Jim Coursey, for their first draft insights.
Family and friends: Laura Konrath, Mike Konrath, Chris Konrath, John Konrath, Talon Konrath, Latham Conger III, George Dailey, Mariel Evans, and Jeff Evans.
And of course, Maria Konrath. I couldn’t write a word without her.
RUSTY NAIL
1 oz. Scotch
1 oz. Drambuie
Pour ingredients over ice in an old-fashioned glass.
Stir.
J. A. Konrath
A native of Chicago, J. A. Konrath has also written for cable TV, performed improvisational comedy, and designed award-winning websites.
