Джеймс Паттерсон - NYPD Red 4

All he needed was a little patience. And a second bullet.

He killed the engine midlake and the boat drifted to a stop. The NorCross HawkEye depth finder on the dash told him it was fifty-nine feet to the bottom. Deep enough. Teddy and Annie Ryder would be at the house at two p.m. By nightfall, they’d be at the bottom of Mohegan Lake, their feet weighted and their stomachs slit to keep the gases from letting them float to the surface.

A few days after that, the cops would release Leo’s body, and Max would pose solemn-faced and grief-stricken for the press at his funeral. After that he’d sign the contract with Precio Mundo, and his first design would be a tribute to his dear departed brother.

He lit one of the cigars Tom had left, sat back, and soaked up the April sunshine. The hunt was almost over.

In an alternate universe, Annie Ryder decided, she and Max Bassett would have made a great team. He was a master at forging high-end jewelry, and she... hell, she was a legend.

They could have made millions, but she’d have dropped him like a bad check the minute the shooting started. She could deal with the big-game-hunter shit. It was a dick thing. But killing Elena Travers — that was a deal breaker. Bassett didn’t pull the trigger, but he’d hired Raymond to do his dirty work, and that left Teddy facing an accessory-to-murder rap.

The Partner That Might Have Been was now her sworn enemy, and Annie Ryder was on her way to settle the score.

“This guy’s driveway is like a hockey rink,” Teddy said as he navigated the beat-up Chevy van down a stretch of icy road leading to Bassett’s house.

“Just drive slow,” Annie said as she caught sight of a security camera on a tree. “And smile: we’re on TV.”

Teddy, simple boy that he was, slowed down and smiled.

“Remember: no talking,” Annie reminded Teddy after he’d parked the van and they were walking toward the house.

Teddy drew an imaginary zipper across his lips, and Annie rang the bell. Max Bassett opened the door and patted Teddy down.

“He’s clean,” Max said, turning to Annie. “How about you?”

“I don’t believe in guns,” she said, “and unless you have a female security officer, you’re not laying a finger on me.”

Max didn’t care if she had an arsenal under her red and black Rutgers sweatshirt. She’d be dead before she could get off a shot.

“We can talk in my den,” Max said, leading them down a hallway to a thick slab of Makassar ebony that he’d cut himself in an Indonesian jungle. He tapped a code into a keypad and the ebony door swung open.

They entered, and Annie heard the electronic click as the door shut. Architecturally, she thought, the room was magnificent. A stone fireplace soared to the roof, intersecting a hand-hewn wooden balcony that was bathed in soft light. But the entire space was awash in death. A snarling white tiger frozen midleap took center stage, surrounded by dozens of other stuffed carcasses, horns, skins, and mounted heads — a lifetime of trophies collected by a man whose passion was to kill other living creatures.

She and Teddy settled onto a zebra-skin sofa while Max took a seat behind an ivory-trimmed leather desk. “How much do you want?” he said.

“The necklace was insured for eight million,” Annie said.

“That one was recovered. By now you must have realized that the one you have is a relatively worthless fake.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Annie said, smiling. “It’s an original Max Bassett, so it’s far from worthless.”

“You flatter me, madam, which I’m sure is your intent. However, even with my name attached, it would only be worth a hundred thousand, tops.”

“And why would I take a hundred grand when the insurance company is offering a reward of a quarter of a million?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I hate to break it to you, but the reward has been off the table ever since the necklace was recovered.”

“And I hate to break it to you , but the necklace they recovered was the one you planted on Jeremy after you killed him. The reward is for the one that was ripped off Elena’s neck. The stones may be fake, but put it under a microscope, and you’ll find some very real traces of Elena Travers’s blood, skin, and DNA. Surely that’s worth more than a hundred thousand dollars to you — especially now that you’re about to enter into holy matrimony with the big boys at Precio Mundo.”

Max forced a smile. “You do your homework.”

“That’s what career criminals do, Mr. Bassett. You know what your problem is? You have an evil soul and a black heart. What you lack is a criminal mind. You paid Raymond to kill Elena, and because of your stupid thinking, my son is wanted as an accessory to murder. So don’t expect to get off cheap.”

Max bolted from his chair. “I have three million dollars in my safe. You produce the necklace, and I’ll give you the cash, but let’s get one thing clear. I did not pay Davis to kill Elena. What happened was an accident. Leo and I were working an insurance scam, and it went bad.”

“And that, sir, is why I never play with guns,” Annie said. “When my scams go sour, nobody dies.”

“Ma.” It was Teddy. “Let’s go. We got enough.”

Annie smacked the back of his head. “What did I tell you about talking?”

“Don’t do it. But I didn’t say anything bad. I just said let’s go.”

No , Max thought. You said, “Let’s go. We got enough,” and Mama Bear got upset.

“Three million — cash,” Annie said. “Pack it up. Teddy and I will get the necklace.”

You do that , Max thought. You bring me the necklace, and we’ll see who looks stupid when I put a bullet through your—

And in that instant, Max Bassett realized he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He’d been a hunter since he was old enough to hold a bow and arrow. But long before he learned to shoot, his father had taught him how a hunter thinks.

It’s not about who’s faster or stronger. It’s about who’s smarter. Hunting is a test of wits, Max. They’re not dumb animals. They’re cunning. So never, ever underestimate the intelligence of your prey.

Annie Ryder was extremely cunning. She was far too smart to give him the necklace and expect to walk away with the money. She hadn’t come for the money. She had come for the confession that she had just goaded out of him.

And her son, as dumb as he was, knew they had gotten what they had come for. Only instead of putting on a high-stakes poker face the way his mother could, Teddy had blurted out, “Let’s go. We got enough.”

The old woman and her son weren’t the prey. They were the bait. And Max wasn’t the hunter. He was the hunted.

“We got him,” Kylie said as soon as Max Bassett admitted that Elena’s murder was an insurance scam gone bad.

“We’ve only got him on tape,” I said. “I’ll feel better when we have him in cuffs.”

Kylie and I were in the back of Teddy Ryder’s van, listening to the dialogue inside Bassett’s lake house. A few hours earlier, we had made a deal with the devil. In this case, Satan looked like a sweet old lady who had just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting, but she had the negotiating skills of a Mafia underboss.

Annie knew we didn’t have enough hard evidence to prosecute Bassett, so she had offered to help us take him down. All she wanted was immunity for her son. She may as well have asked that the city throw him a ticker-tape parade. Senior ADA Mick Wilson was not in the habit of dropping accessory-to-murder charges, but in this case, he didn’t blink.