James Patterson - The 9th Judgment

“Would I make this up? Heidi, believe me, I’m the cat burglar. Let me get this all out, and then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Okay. But-okay.”

“I told you, my granddad was a jeweler,” Sarah said. “But I didn’t tell you he had a friend who was a fence. I heard a lot of stories when I was Sherry’s age, just playing with stuff in my granddad’s shop.

“So when I was thinking how to get us all out of here, I realized I could actually get rich quick. I started climbing the wall at the gym, getting strong, and I started researching potential targets, picking only people who could recover from the loss of their stuff. At first I wasn’t sure I could do it.

“And then Trevor raped me.”

Sarah swallowed hard, forcing her mind to skip past the memory.

“My first few burglaries were-easy,” Sarah said. “I had a knack for it, and I could count on Terror to pass out in front of the TV long enough for me to do the job, come home, and get into bed before he woke up.

“Then there was the Dowling job.”

Heidi looked stricken, as though she were trying to say something but couldn’t find the right words. Instead she just stared. Sarah kept going. She told Heidi about Marcus Dowling’s outrageous lies and about the next job-the one where Jim Morley came into the room when her hands were wrist-deep in his wife’s jewelry. And then she went on to the robbery of Diana King, the last job she was ever going to do.

“It had to happen,” Sarah said. “I thought I was home free. And then a cop car came out of the dark, shining lights on me, following me. So I ditched everything: the jewelry, most of my clothes, and-in a perfectly brilliant move-my tool bag with my car keys inside. When you couldn’t come get me, I had to call Terror.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah shook her head. “Not your fault. Anyway, Terror didn’t like my answer to why I was locked out of my car and barefoot in Pac Heights,” Sarah went on. “I couldn’t think of a lie that wasn’t frickin’ totally laughable, and obviously I couldn’t tell him the truth. So I said that I didn’t answer to him. That I was entitled to have a life.”

Heidi was murmuring, “Oh no, oh no.”

“He accused me of sneaking out to be with a guy. And then he ‘taught me a lesson.’”

Sarah pulled at the neck of her shirt and turned her head so that Heidi could see the fingerprints around her throat.

Heidi clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Oh my God, Sarah,” she said. She put her arm around the woman she loved and drew her close. “Sometimes I wonder if I even know you.”

THE WARMING HUT is a bright-white snack and gift shack at the intersection of the Crissy Field and the Presidio, where the outstretched arm of the Golden Gate Bridge spans the bay.

Sarah and Heidi lunched on soup and sandwiches while the kids sat near the window, picking at their food and blowing bubbles into their drinks.

“There’s something else,” Sarah said. “That stone I gave you.”

“Let me guess. It’s hot.”

“Very, very hot. It’s a diamond. With a name and a freaky history.”

Heidi pulled at her necklace so she could look at it. “You said it was something else. A citrine.”

“Its name is the Sun of Ceylon, and it comes with a curse.”

“A curse? That’s insane.”

“I know, I know, but the stories go back three centuries. Hey, it belonged to Casey Dowling when her son-of-a-bitch husband killed her. What more do I need to say?”

Sherry came over and leaned against Heidi. “What’s a curse, Mommy?”

“It’s a wish for something-bad.”

“Like if I wished something bad would happen to Daddy?”

“Sherry, Stevie is about to cry. Be a good girl and give him a hug.”

“I don’t want you to wear it anymore,” Sarah said when Sherry had gone. “It’s tempting fate, you know?”

“Really?” Heidi laughed. “This is tempting fate? My God, that’s a riot.” She unclasped the chain and handed the necklace to Sarah. “The Sun of Ceylon, huh? Well, it’s a little flashy for me anyway.”

Sarah said, “Thanks,” took the pendant, jammed it into her hip pocket, and forged ahead to the last of her story-her plan to meet with Lynnette Green and turn the jewels into cash for their plunge into a new life as a family of four.

“I have something to say, Sarah.”

“Okay, but take it easy on me. I’m a wreck.”

“I can hardly believe you did this.”

“You’re appalled. Go ahead and say it.”

“I’m completely blown away. But I’m so grateful that you’d do this for us. You risked your life, Sarah. If the kids weren’t here, I’d kiss you. I’ve never loved anyone so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“What now? You think the police are on to you?”

“It’s possible,” Sarah said, rubbing her temples. “That kid at the supermarket. He could tell the cops. A fingerprint could turn up on something I ditched. Time is running out on all fronts, Heidi. If we’re going to jump outta here, we have to do it soon.”

“I know. We’re a team. Everything you do involves all of us now.”

Sarah nodded and was quiet for a while as she sorted through a number of options, every single one of them scarier than the last-but just as compelling.

“Sarah?”

“I know what to do.”

PETE GORDON HAD parked at the outer edge of the shopping center, beyond the lights and the security cameras, and was waiting now for Heidi and the kiddos to catch up with him.

Keyed up but in control, Pete was aware of everything around him: the smell of newly painted lines in the parking lot, the shoppers walking out to their cars, the lights at Mervyns and Toys “R” Us, and the deepening dusk of the sky.

The adrenaline charging through his veins sharpened his mind as he waited out the last minutes before he would execute the most critical phase of his plan. Once he’d eliminated the Three Stooges, he’d walk to his house and stretch out in front of the TV. He’d be home before the cops were even called.

He ran the three little sentences of his letter to the Chronicle through his mind: “Believe me now? The price has gone up to five million. Don’t screw up again.”

He couldn’t be any clearer than that.

The letter would run as the cops and the media were consoling him for his terrible loss, blaming yet three more “senseless murders” on the Lipstick Killer.

It was a brilliant plan, and he had to give himself credit, because he’d never get it from anyone else.

And with that, Pete heard Heidi yakking away and saw her in the rearview mirror bouncing the stink bomb on her hip as she pushed the shopping cart. He also heard another voice-damn it. It was that dog-faced Angie Weider, one of their neighbors, and here she was, pushing her brat in a stroller.

Heidi called out, “Bye,” to Angie, then pulled up on the shopping cart, leaving it at the back of the car.

“Pete?”

Heidi opened the rear doors, strapped the kids in, and called over the seat back to him, “Petey, would you get the groceries?”

“No problem, princess. All you have to do is ask.”

Pete pulled on his gloves, leaped out of the car, and opened the trunk lock, waiting as a vehicle sped out of the lot. When it was all clear, he stowed the groceries neatly beside the emergency road kit and the shoe box that held his loaded gun.

“Hey, Pete,” Angie Weider called out to him, “you guys should come to dinner with us. We’re going to the BlueJay Café.”

“Another time, okay?” Pete said, dropping the gun back into the box, fury flooding through him, a tidal wave of hatred directed at that bitch who had destroyed both his opportunity and his alibi in one blow. He thought for a moment of killing her and her tot, but he could hear Heidi screaming and see Sherry running and he’d never be able to murder them all without being seen.