“And if I wanted to sneak off to the meeting, how were you going to stop me?”
“I’d probably beg.”
She laughed.
“What do you know about Joseph?” Sam asked.
The smile vanished like water in parched dirt. “He’s a monster, a sadist.” She cast a glance at the CVS drugstore bag, inside which they could see a bloodstain, paled by the white plastic.
Sam noted it too. “Daniel told me about that. Unbelievable. Who’d do something like that?”
She closed her eyes momentarily, brow wrinkling. “Joseph’s big and intimidating. A bully, a thug. But you know what’s worse? He’s got this weird side to him. Like his haircut. He has real thick, blond curly hair, and he greases it or something. It’s eerie. He grins a lot. And he’s got this, I don’t know, this tone when he talks. You heard him on speakerphone. Taunting. Giddy.”
“You know who he sounded like? That character from one of the Batman movies. Heath Ledger played him. Remember?”
“Yes, you’re right. Exactly. The Joker.”
Suddenly Gabriela’s fists closed around the knitting, as if she was going to rip the piece apart. A moment passed and she seemed to deflate, head forward, shoulders sagging. “God, what a nightmare — this weekend.” A pathetic smile bent her lips. “Two days ago I was a mother with a job I loved. I’d just met Daniel and, you know, things really clicked between us. And now? My daughter’s been kidnapped. Daniel and your boss might be on their way to get shot. The police are after me and I’ve done some... I’ve done some terrible things today. Oh, Christ...”
She nodded toward the window. “And apparently Joseph isn’t the only one to worry about. The goddamn October List? Why did it end up in my lap?”
“It’ll work out,” he said, though they both knew the reassurance was merely verbal filler.
After a moment she asked Sam, “Why would Daniel do all of this for me? Anybody else would’ve been long gone.”
“Why? He’s got an interest in what happens.”
“What?”
“You.”
“Me?”
Sam smiled. “He likes you. That’s what he told me... And told me not to tell you.”
She pictured Daniel’s close-cropped black hair, his square jaw, his dancing blue eyes.
The actor...
She felt the rippling sensation, low in her belly. Had a memory of his lips on hers, his body close. His smells, his tastes. The moisture on his brow and on hers. “I like him too.”
“Here’s the thing,” Sam said, sitting forward on the leather hassock. “No surprise: Daniel’s good looking and he’s rich and he’s a nice guy. A lot of women see that and they think, Jackpot. But they don’t care who he is, not inside. They don’t connect. Daniel said you and he hit it off before you knew he had the boat and the fancy cars and the money.”
“Yeah, our meeting was not the most romantic experience in the history of relationships.” She gave Sam a careful gaze. “Okay, he likes me. But he’s also doing this because of what happened in New Hampshire. Right?”
“He told you?” Sam seemed surprised.
“He did, yes. Sounded pretty bad.”
A nod. “Oh, yeah. Changed his whole outlook on life. And, true, probably that is one of the reasons he’s helping you. Kind of giving back for what happened. That was tough. You know, with his kids involved and all.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel doesn’t tell everybody about New Hampshire. In fact, hardly anyone.”
She stared at her knitting, the tangles of color. “God, it’s so risky, what he and Andrew’re doing. They downplayed it, but...” She pulled her phone from the sweatshirt pouch, glanced at the screen, slipped it back.
“Anything?”
“Nothing.” A sigh. She rose, walked to the bar and poured some red wine. Lifted her eyebrow. Sam nodded. She filled a glass for him and returned to the couch, handed it off. They sipped. No tap of glasses or toast, of course. Not now.
Gabriela sat and started to sip, but eased the wine away from her lips. She exhaled audibly.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked.
Frowning broadly, she was staring at a newspaper on the Alien coffee table. Scooting forward.
“My God,” she said.
“What?”
She looked up, eyes wide as coins. “I know what it is.”
He regarded her quizzically.
“The October List, Sam.” She slid the New York Times his way. He walked forward and picked it up. She continued, “I know what it means! The clues were there all along. I just didn’t put them together.” In a low voice, “It’s bad, Sam. What’s going to happen is really bad.”
But before she could say anything more there came a noise from the front hallway: a click, followed by the distinctive musical notes of the front door hinge, O — oh, high — low. Stale air moved.
Gabriela rose fast. Sam Easton, holding his wine in one hand and the newspaper in the other, turned to the hallway.
“Is my daughter all right?” she cried. “Please tell me! Is my daughter all right?”
A man entered the room quickly. But it wasn’t Daniel Reardon or Andrew Faraday, returning from their mission to save her daughter.
Joseph wore a black jacket and gloves and yellow-tinted aviator glasses. His glistening golden curly hair dangled to mid-ear.
In his gloved hand he held a pistol whose muzzle ended in a squat, brushed-metal silencer.
“No!” Gabriela gasped, looking toward Sam.
After scanning the room quickly, Joseph turned toward them, lifting the gun in a way that seemed almost playful.
Acknowledgments
With special thanks for taking a chance on this one (and helping me get as backward as was humanly possible) to Mitch Hoffman and Carolyn Mays. Thanks too to Jamie Hodder-Williams, Michael Pietsch, Jamie Raab, Lindsey Rose, Katy Rouse and David Young. And I really appreciate all the juggling my regular crew did to keep this book on track and me more or less sane: Madelyn Warcholik, Julie Deaver, Deborah Schneider, Cathy Gleason, Vivienne Schuster, Betsy Robbins, Sophie Baker, Jane Davis, Will and Tina Anderson and Hazel Orme.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Text and photographs copyright © 2013 by Gunner Publications LLC
Cover design by Flag.
Cover photo by Michael Skoglund/Workbook Stock/Getty Images
Cover copyright © 2013 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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ISBN 978-1-4555-7666-1