James Patterson - Second Honeymoon

Turned out the O’Haras didn’t even own a DVD player.

The receipt was a clue, all right. Of that much Sarah was certain. As to what it actually meant, she had no idea.

Keep thinking, Brubaker. Keep your focus. The answer’s out there somewhere … this bastard just likes his mind games.

In the meantime, she had a date with Brewer’s supermarket in the morning to see if there was a security camera aimed at the so-called Movie Hut. Maybe the killer was caught on tape. Of course, she was hardly holding her breath. That seemed too sloppy for this guy, whoever he was.

Sarah fell back into her thoughts, replaying the afternoon’s events in her head. Had she missed something, overlooked anything?

Nothing sprang to mind. Instead, she kept coming back to that moment when Insley told Marsha O’Hara that her husband was never coming home. The poor woman collapsed to the floor in her living room, crushed by the weight of her sudden loss. Death trumps us all, as the saying goes.

Sarah also couldn’t shake what Insley had told her on the drive back from the O’Haras’, that the couple had been married for forty-two years. Sitting in the front seat of Insley’s cruiser, she felt guilty to be thinking about herself at that moment. But the thought was inescapable. It was the first thing that came to her.

Forty-two years? I can barely stay in a relationship for forty-two days.

Suddenly Sarah heard a voice to her left, someone talking to her. It was a man’s voice. A really attractive man, actually. Sometimes you can just tell those things before you even look.

“Wow, I really just did that, didn’t I?” he asked.

Chapter 55

SARAH TURNED TO face him. He sort of reminded her of Matthew McConaughey—a little younger, without the Texas accent, and maybe without the need to always be taking off his shirt. At least so far.

He was holding a beer. Her beer. Had he grabbed it by mistake? His own bottle of Bud was close by.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sarah. “I was practically done with it.”

On a dime, he broke into a smile—a great smile, she noticed—and started to laugh. “I’m just kidding. I knew it was your beer.”

Sarah joined in. “You had me there for a second,” she said.

“I’m sorry. I have an offbeat sense of humor. Please, let me buy you another one.”

“Really, that’s okay,” Sarah said. “It’s totally not necessary.”

“But I’m afraid it is, if only so I don’t disappoint my mother,” he said.

Sarah looked around. “Is your mother here?” she asked, half joking.

“No. But she’d be mortified if she knew her son wasn’t able to make amends. She was a stickler for manners.”

He flashed that amazing smile of his again.

“Well, I suppose we don’t want to disappoint your mother,” said Sarah.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. He turned and got the attention of the bartender, ordering another Budweiser. Then he put out his hand. “My name’s Jared, by the way. Jared Sullivan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah.”

Sarah then did something she’d never done in all her years with the FBI.

She shook hands with a serial killer.

Chapter 56

“LET ME TAKE a guess,” said Jared, his index finger tapping the air. “New York, right?”

“Wrong,” said Sarah. “Not a New Yorker. Not even close.”

“But you’re definitely not from around here. I mean, I’m almost positive of that.”

“I was going to say the same about you,” she said. “You did get the East Coast part right. Fairfax, Virginia.”

Jared nodded. “I’m Chicago, born and raised.”

“Cubs or Sox?” asked Sarah.

“I’m a North Side boy,” he said. “Wrigley all the way.”

“So when you’re not cursing the plight of the Cubbies, what do you do there in Chicago?”

“Fill out expense reports, for the most part. I’m a sales rep for Wilson Sporting Goods. That’s where they’re based. The Southwest is my region, though, so I’m rarely home.”

“I know the feeling,” she said. “I own one houseplant and it’s suing me for negligence.”

Jared laughed. “You’re very funny. Cool.”

The bartender returned with Sarah’s beer, sliding a cocktail napkin underneath it with a well-practiced flick of his wrist.

Sarah was about to take a sip when Jared raised his bottle. “Here’s to life on the road,” he said.

“To life on the road,” she echoed. “And maybe one day, the possibility of parole.”

Jared laughed again as they clinked bottles. “She’s pretty and she has a sense of humor. Talk about a double threat.”

“Uh-oh,” said Sarah, shooting him a sideways stare.

“What? What is it?”

“While your mother was a stickler for manners, my mother was always warning me about strangers bearing compliments.”

“That’s why I introduced myself. We’re not strangers anymore,” he said. “As for the compliment, you don’t strike me as the blushing type.”

“What type do I strike you as?” she asked.

He thought a lot before answering. “Independent. Self-reliant. And yet not without a vulnerable side.”

“Gee, are you sure about that?”

“Think so. I like to go with my gut.”

“Me, too.”

“What does yours tell you?” he asked.

“That if I play my cards right, there might be a free tennis racket in my future,” she said.

“That’s a possibility.”

“Too bad I don’t play tennis.”

“What a shame,” he said. “Lucky for you, Wilson makes other very fine equipment.”

Sarah tapped her head. “That’s right, how could I forget? That movie, what was it called again? The one with the volleyball named Wilson?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. Nothing more, though.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” she continued. “Jeez, what was the name of that movie?”

“I know; I hate it when I get a mental block like that,” said Jared. “Drives me crazy.”

Sarah took a long sip, digesting more than the beer. Finally she shrugged. “Oh, well. I’m sure it will come to me later.”

“I hope I’m there when it does.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said, easing off the bar stool. “In the meantime, why don’t you order us a couple of shots while I go to the ladies’ room? Bourbon okay by you?”

Jared hit her with his biggest smile yet. “You certainly are a live one,” he said.

She smiled back, tucking her hair behind her ears. That’s right, handsome. Keep thinking I’m the fish.

Chapter 57

SARAH WALKED THE long, narrow hallway in the back of Canteena’s and turned the corner, heading toward the ladies’ room. Two steps from the door she stopped and pulled out her cell.

Eric Ladum picked up on the second ring. As usual, he was still in his office at Quantico. The late night cleaning staff called him El Noctámbulo. The night owl.

“Are you in front of your keyboard?” she asked.

“Aren’t I always?”

“I need the current employee list for Wilson Sporting Goods in Chicago cross-checked with the DMV.”

“Chicago DMV or the entire state?”

“All of Illinois,” she said.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Jared Sullivan.”

“Jared Sullivan with Wilson Sporting Goods,” Eric repeated over the sound of his fingers typing away. “Can he get me a free tennis racket?”

Sarah laughed to herself. “That’s even funnier than you know,” she said. “How much time do you need?”

“How much you got?” he asked.

“Two minutes, tops. I told him I was going to the bathroom.”

“So that’s why women take so long.”

“Yeah, now you guys know what we’re really doing. Running background checks on you,” she said. “Call me back, okay?”