James Patterson - I, Michael Bennett

“Why is Daddy’s face all black?” Bridget said.

“Good question, Bridget,” Trent piped in over his slice. “What I want to know is, why is he acting nuts?”

“You mean more nuts than usual?” Eddie said.

I smiled at my motley crew as I let out a breath. What Perrine said was a bluff. Of course it was. Thank you, God.

“Oh, we’re all here, Detective Bennett,” Seamus said from the foot of the table. “Everyone is present and accounted for. And I do mean everyone.”

That’s when the kitchen door opened.

And Mary Catherine came in with a bunch of napkins in her hand.

WHEN SHE SPOTTED me standing there, she stopped in her tracks, the napkins in her hands fluttering to the floor. My jaw was already there waiting for them.

It was one of those movie moments. I waited for a sappy eighties love ballad to start playing so I could lift her up where we belonged or something. All the kids started giggling. Actually, that was the girls. The boys were too busy rolling their eyes.

“Okay, Bennetts. This is where I take my leave,” Ed Boyanoski said.

“Hi, Mike,” Mary said.

She bent down and started picking up napkins.

“Here, let me help,” I said, just about hurdling over the table and grabbing some napkins off the floor. Then I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen.

I kicked the door shut behind me, and before I really knew what I was doing, I lifted her up off her feet as I bear-hugged her. My arms tingled where I held her to me.

The door started opening behind us. I blocked it with my foot.

“Hey, what gives?” Seamus said. “What’s going on in there? And what’s wrong with the door?”

“It’s, eh… the napkins,” I cried as I held the door fast with my foot. “They’re jammed in the hinge. You should call a cop or something.”

“But you are a cop, Daddy,” Chrissy squealed.

“Um… it’s nice to see you, too, Mike,” Mary Catherine said, suddenly pushing me away.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “I guess I’m a little overwhelmed. I truly never thought I’d see you again. It’s just… it’s just really good to see you, Mary Catherine, and… ”

“Just wait, Mike. This is hard, so just let me say it,” Mary Catherine said, staring at me levelly. “It’s not what you think. I’m not back back. I’m just willing to come back to handle all the back-to-school stuff for the kids. Then you have to find a replacement for me.”

I stood there trying to keep my heart from jumping through my chest. As if replacing her were possible, I thought as I stared at her. Why had I destroyed everything? I wondered. A replacement for her? God, that hurt.

“Of course,” I finally said.

But Mary Catherine was already on the move toward the dining room.

Cancel the eighties love ballad, I thought as I watched her walk away.

That night, we went back to New York in the most brutal end-of-summer traffic imaginable. To add some fun to the mix, Trent, after having probably one too many Cokes, barfed sausage pizza chunks all over the back of the Bennett bus.

Pulling the bus off the West Side Highway, we were greeted with more grief. Cops had West End Avenue completely cordoned off. In the distance, beyond the blue sawhorses, I could see a bunch of blindingly bright portable light carts positioned in front of my building.

Was it a movie? I thought, pulling up to the NYPD blockade.

“Hey, moron. Read my barricade. Move this hunk now,” a tall, helpful, uniformed New York City peace officer screamed at me.

“That’s Detective Moron to you, Sarge,” I said, showing my gold shield as I got out of the bus. “That’s my building there. Didn’t they cancel Law and Order? What’s up?”

“Supposed to keep it under wraps, but looks like the T word, Detective,” the white-haired cop said, nodding. “They found a truck bomb. Can you believe it?”

“What?” I said.

“You heard me. Some mother parked a Penske truck filled with ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel in the middle of the block. Bomb guy just told me it was bigger than the one that took out the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. They got the detonator or whatever licked, but they still gotta tow it out of here. Watch the potholes, right? If a sharp-eyed doorman hadn’t seen something and said something, the freakin’ West Side would be a crater.”

I stared at him, my mouth open. Then I stared down the block.

Perrine, I thought, shaking my head. Had to be. He wasn’t going to kill just me and my family. No, that would be far too common. In order to get to me, he was actually going to kill everyone on my entire block.

“Hey, Detective? You okay?” the cop said, but I was already on the move, scanning the street in front of me and the street behind as I jogged back to my bus.

“What is it, Mike?” Mary Catherine said.

“Um… gas leak. We can’t get back into the building. We need to hit a hotel tonight,” I said, popping it into gear.

I turned around and drove out of the city and checked into a hotel over the New York State line just outside of Danbury, Connecticut. On the way up, I had Mary Catherine confiscate everyone’s cell phones. Remembering what Ginther had said about cell phones being potential microphones, I even had her remove all the batteries.

For the next hour, as the kids watched TV in the other room, I exchanged calls with Tara McLellan and my boss, Miriam. About an hour or so after that, a team of FBI agents and U.S. marshals arrived at the hotel in unmarked cars.

“These gentlemen are from the gas company, I take it?” Mary Catherine said skeptically.

I nodded and left with them for a meeting in the lobby.

An hour later, I came back to the room, my head spinning. What I’d just been told made a lot of sense, but I still had trouble swallowing it. Talk about a shock to the system.

“Mary Catherine,” I said grimly. “I have news. Could you gather everybody together for a family meeting? Actually, have the twins take Trent and Chrissy and Shawna into the other room. I need to talk to all the bigger guys.”

“What is it, Mike?” Mary said.

“I’ll tell you in a second,” I said. “But you really might want to reconsider your position when you find out what it is.”

“What is it, Dad?” Brian said as they squeezed into the room.

I looked at their faces one by one where they sat on the chairs and the desk and the double bed.

“Well, what’s going on is, well… we’re moving,” I said. “We have to move.”

The kids stared at each other, giant-eyed.

“What? Why? Huh? Why?” everyone wanted to know at the same time.

“Quiet down, children,” Seamus cried.

“Our block was cordoned off because a criminal, a drug lord, a man named Manuel Perrine, whom I caught and who then escaped, planted a bomb in front of our building. He wants to kill me and hurt you guys because of how much I love you. That’s why we need to go somewhere where he can’t find us. Now. Someplace safe.”

“But what about school?” Juliana said.

“And Mass?” Seamus said. “Father Charles is out sick. I have to say Mass tomorrow morning.”

“We’re going to have to figure all that out, guys,” I said. “The U.S. marshals are sending over a team right now to take us to our new location.”

“What about our stuff?”

“They’re going to go by the apartment and pack it up for us. We can’t go home. It’s too dangerous.”

“We’re leaving New York?” Seamus said. He seemed flabbergasted.

“At least for now,” I said.

“But all our friends. Our lives,” Brian said. “How can this be happening?”