James Patterson: Private

“I just need a minute, bro,” Tommy said. “And then I’ll get out of your way.”

I asked Jeanette Colton to take a seat next to Cody’s desk and said I’d be right back. Thirty seconds. I closed the door behind me.

“Start talking,” I said.

“It’s more like show-and-tell,” Tommy said, handing me a document from inside a blue folder.

“Get away from my desk,” I said.

Tommy snickered, got up, and took a seat in the side chair as I sat down at my desk and unfolded the legal document. I saw Tommy’s name and my dad’s.

I looked at my brother and said, “Cut to the chase, will you, Junior? My client is in trouble.”

“She’ll be just fine. I can tell. Anyway, happy to boil it down, twinster. I finished rehab with flying colors and mentioned it to Dad’s lawyer. I got big news. And I mean big.”

“Dad wasn’t our real father? That’s a relief.”

Tommy laughed. “Oh, he was our real father, all right. And since I successfully completed treatment, I inherit a bunch of money. Fifteen million, Jack. Same as you, I think.”

I controlled my expression, but I was shocked. Knowing my father like I did, I figured he was running a Jack-versus-Tommy competition from the grave. The old man was sneaky even in death. Why else hadn’t he told me that he’d put money away for Tommy too?

“You know what I’m going to do with my inheritance, Jack? I’m going to expand Private Security. We’re going to go global. I have Dad’s name, and I think he would want me to whip you. Private Security is going to be bigger and better than Private Investigations. You can count on it.”

“Good for you, Tommy. I wish you and your business much success.”

I stood up, showing him the door without taking a step. “Thanks for stopping by. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

But Tommy wasn’t done. His smirk broadened.

“I have something else for you,” he said. He took a slip of paper out of his breast pocket and handed it over.

It was a check for $600,000, made out to me.

“We’re even now, Jack,” he said.

And then he stood and made a gun with his forefinger and thumb, pointed at me.

“You’re dead, Jack.”

He said it with an eerie bleat, and I understood that he was imitating the sound his voice had made all those times it came through the electronic gizmo used to disguise it. Seeing his face as he said “You’re dead” had an even more chilling effect than hearing a mechanical voice over the phone. It was that much more real.

This was my brother; this was my twin.

He hated me so much that he’d been secretly tormenting me for years.

I didn’t flinch even though he’d hurt me. I said, “So it has been you, Junior, calling me all this time. I asked you if you were calling, and you lied. And like all the other times I gave you the benefit of the doubt, you turned it back on me.

“I won’t trust you again, not ever. And by the way, bro. I’m not dead. No way. No how. Not yet.”

Tommy said nothing. His grin was wooden as he left my office. My womb mate, my sworn enemy, my daily death threat caller headed down the winding nautilus shell staircase and out of sight. I hoped I’d never see him or hear his voice again.

Fat chance of that.

I went out and got Jeanette Colton. “My evil twin,” I explained.

I woke up the next morning in accord with my own circadian rhythms.

For a change, I wasn’t torn out of a nightmare. The phone hadn’t rung. The surf was up behind my house, and the sound of crashing waves was coming through the open windows. Nice.

Even nicer, Justine was lying next to me.

I turned to look at her gorgeous face and saw that she was watching me and smiling. I was filled with complete love for this woman.

She put her arms around my neck and pulled me close to her.

“The music of the surf,” she said. “I’ve always loved this house.”

“This house has always loved you.”

We were on our sides, facing each other. I pulled her thigh over my hip and suddenly we were immersed in a deep kiss, the sound of our breathing overwhelming the rush of the waves.

I didn’t think I could wait another moment-when the goddamned phone rang on the table.

Tommy. I reached for the phone, planning to blast him to hell. Then I read the caller ID. It wasn’t Tommy-and still I had to take the call.

“Jack Morgan,” I said, panting a little.

Carmine Noccia’s tone was casual, but his message was deadly serious.

“Sorry, Jack, but I’ve got bad news for you. Andy Cushman was involved in a one-car accident up the coast. He met a turn in the road head-on and went over a cliff near Marin. The car burned right the hell up. There were no skid marks. I think maybe his brakes failed.”

“You’re sure it was Andy?” I asked. I was having a little trouble talking, and breathing.

“Oh, yeah. It was him. One of my guys saw it happen. We were keeping an eye on him, you know. Hey. You have a good weekend.”

I closed the phone but hung on to it for a moment. I thought about my new silent partner, Carmine Noccia. Never a better friend. Never a worse enemy.

And I thought about how my feelings for Andy had changed once I knew he’d had Shelby murdered.

Andy had been my closest friend. I’d stood up for him at his wedding. I had expected to be godfather to Andy’s kids, or at least hang out with him when we were old, jetting around to golf courses, swapping memories, laughing our faces off.

And now Andy was dead. I knew I would feel something later, but for now I felt nothing for him.

Nothing at all.

I got out of bed and opened the sliders. Then I hauled back and hurled the phone as far as I could. Far. When the phone hit the waves, I closed the doors and locked them. I went back to Justine.

Could she read my face? Sure.

Could she read my mind? Probably.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She ran her hands down my sides and up my back. “You okay, Jack?”

“I’m fine,” I said, moving her long dark hair away from her face. “It’s time for a new phone, a new phone number.”

“Surprise me sometime, okay? Can you do that? Tell me what you’re actually thinking.”

“I’m thinking we were in the middle of something really good,” I said.

“I remember.”

I pulled Justine close, snugged her thigh over my hip. I kissed her again and got lost in the wonder of her. It was good, exactly where I wanted to be. I could tell her anything, and I did.

“Andy’s dead,” I whispered against Justine’s cheek.