Harlan Coben - Deal Breaker

Myron nodded. It didn’t feel right to him either.

“And so now we’ve reached the final unknown. The most significant unknown of all: Miss Kathy Culver herself. Is she alive? Is she behind all this? Is she involved in any way at all?”

Win picked the snifter off the harpsichord. He took a sip of cognac, let it roll around his tongue, swallowed. “The end.”

They both sat in silence. Myron churned the facts though his head yet again. None of them changed. Win studied his face.

“This was all a mental exercise,” Win said. “A test drive, as it were.”

Myron said nothing.

“You know what happened. You knew before I said a word.”

Myron handed Win the telephone. “Cancel your date. We have a lot of work to do.”

The memorial service.

Myron slipped in late and ducked behind a pillar. He was in desperate need of a shower, a shave, a nap. And he looked it.

He spotted Jessica in the front pew. She sat on one side of her mother, Edward on the other. All three were crying.

The priest delivered the standard death spiel like an actor who knew his lines too well. Nothing new or original was said. There was no coffin, no well-dressed corpse in peaceful repose. The priest seemed bothered by this, by the absence of his customary prop. He kept motioning down on cue, only to draw back when he realized that there was nothing in front of him.

Myron stayed out of sight. The church was crowded. Paul Duncan sat in the second row, directly behind Carol. Every once in a while Paul would put his hand on her shoulder, but he’d never leave it there long. Appearances. Christian was next to him, head lowered in prayer. Otto Burke and Larry Hanson were a few rows back. Good PR move. The press would undoubtedly be made aware of Otto Burke’s heartfelt concern for his players’ personal plights. Again, appearances.

Win was near the back. To his right sat Sally Li. Her face looked drawn, as if she could use a cigarette. Myron had spoken to her late last night. She had done the test. It had come out as he’d suspected.

Dean Gordon and his wife Madelaine were off to the left. Dean Gordon looked grim. Madelaine Gordon looked good in black. Myron recognized a few other faces in the crowd, but he couldn’t put a name or place to any of them. It didn’t matter.

The priest made a few last comments about the hereafter, God’s will, and reuniting with the beloved in Heaven. Jessica’s sob racked her whole body. No one put an arm around her. No one comforted her. She looked small and frail. Myron felt a lump rise in this throat.

Here we go.

When the ceremony ended, Myron did not hesitate. He walked purposively down the aisle. Jessica ran toward him without hesitation. They hugged, both closing their eyes. The mourners turned away and began to head for the exit. Win kept close to Otto Burke, Larry Hanson, and Dean Gordon.

Jessica finally released her grip. “Where were you?” she asked.

Myron swallowed. He nodded to Paul Duncan, shook hands with Edward and Christian, lightly kissed Carol on the cheek.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Myron said.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I found Kathy. She’s alive.”

The group went silent.

Jessica opened her mouth, closed it.

“I’m meeting her tonight,” Myron said.

Jessica finally found her voice. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long story. But she’s alive. I’ll bring her home to you tonight.”

Jessica looked at Carol. Carol looked back. Everyone looked at everyone else.

“I’ll go with you,” Jessica said.

“You can’t.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

“I promised her,” Myron said. “Just me. Alone. She’s scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of the person who tried to kill her.”

“Who?”

Myron shook his head. “She wouldn’t tell me. Not on the phone.” He took hold of Jessica’s hand. It was cold and stiff. Like marble. “I’ll bring her right to the house. I promise. We’ll all talk then. But we can’t risk scaring her off.”

Jessica shook her head. She looked lost. “Where are you meeting her?”

“It’s in the woods.”

“What woods?” Jessica pulled back a little. “You’re not making any sense.”

“I can’t tell you, Jess. I promised her. Kathy said it’s the spot where she was left for dead. She wants to show me where it happened.”

More silence.

Paul Duncan said, “Dear God.”

Carol practically fainted into his arms.

“Where has she been?” Jessica asked.

“I only know bits and pieces from my investigation. She spent most of the time recovering from her injuries. She also spent some time in the Caribbean. An island called Curaçao. I picked up her trail from an entry that night in St. Mary Hospital’s registry. On the night she vanished, a patient was found unconscious in the middle of a road. She gave her name as Katherine Pierce.”

Carol gasped. “Pierce? That’s my maiden name.”

Myron nodded. “I don’t know all the details yet. She was hit over the head. The blow cracked her skull. The assailant thought she was dead. But she wasn’t. He buried her in the woods. She woke up and managed to dig herself out. It’s a miracle she survived.”

Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Jessica hugged her mother then. Edward joined in. Christian and Paul watched dumbfounded. Myron turned toward the door. Win was standing there. His nod was almost imperceptible.

Myron parked his car on the dirt road. He was alone. The car’s clock read 8:30 P.M. He grabbed his flashlight and headed toward the meeting spot.

The brush was thick. Several branches whipped across his face. He listened for other sounds. Crickets hummed away. Nothing else. The flashlight sliced through the heavy darkness, carving a path for him to follow. Myron heard his feet crunch on twigs and leaves. His mouth felt bone-dry. It always felt that way at moments like this.

He was getting close now, no more than twenty or thirty yards away.

“Kathy?” he called out.

No answer.

“It’s Myron, Kathy. I’m alone.”

No reply. But then Myron heard a shuffling from in front of him. Something came into view. A head. A head of long blond hair.

“It’s okay,” Myron said gently. “I’m here alone.”

She stepped toward him tentatively. Her right hand shaded her eyes from the flashlight’s harsh glare. Myron pointed the beam away. “It’s all right,” he said.

She continued to move toward him, a dim silhouette. Her steps were slow, plodding, like a B-movie monster come to life.

“It’s okay,” Myron said again. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“I wish that were true.”

The voice had not come from her. It had come from behind him. Myron closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “Hello, Christian.”

“Don’t move, Mr. Bolitar. Put your hands up.”

“Why bother?”

“What?”

“You’re going to kill us. Just like you tried to kill Kathy. Just like you killed her father and Nancy.”

“I never meant to hurt anybody,” he said.

“But you did.”

Christian cocked the gun. “Hands up. Now.”

Myron raised his hands slowly. “Kathy opened up to you that night. She told you everything-every sordid detail of her past. She wanted to clean the slate.”

“She lied to me!” Christian shouted. “All the time we were together-it was all a lie.”

“So you tried to kill her.”

“Kathy wanted me to still love her, Mr. Bolitar. But don’t you see? I never loved her. I loved a lie. She wanted me to stand beside that lie while she told her story to the world. She wanted me to sell out my teammates, toss away a chance at a national championship and Heisman trophy-all for the sake of a lying whore.”