James Patterson - Second Honeymoon

The only other place I stopped along the way was a Radio Shack, where I bought a cell phone charger that plugged into the cigarette lighter. The long-haired clerk roaming the aisle tried to sell me on a backup battery that provided an additional six hours of talk time.

“Good to know,” I told him. In other words, thanks but no thanks.

Truth was, I didn’t even need the talk time I already had. I couldn’t risk being found via GPS, so I was only turning on the phone once every few hours, and only to check messages.

The ones from Driesen tapered off after the first twenty-four hours. As for those from Sarah, I didn’t expect any, nor did they come. Some small part of her was surely miffed that I was keeping her in the dark, but the rest of her knew I had my reasons. Soon enough, she’d know them. The only question was whether I’d be right.

After scanning the field of headstones for the gazillionth time, I picked up the card Ned had sent with the flowers. There was no need to read it again; I had it down cold. In fact, I’d known the entire poem by heart since Mrs. Lindstrom’s eleventh-grade English class back at Keith Academy.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

Ned, of course, didn’t sign the card. He didn’t have to. He expected us to know the flowers were from him.

But why the poem? And of all poems, why Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”?

What promises do you have to keep, Ned?

That answer, I was convinced, was in my other hand.

It was the letter I’d found stashed behind Nora’s photograph, in the frame buried at the bottom of the toy chest under Ned’s bed. I still didn’t know why he had all those DeLorean cars. But I knew why he kept the letter. It was from Nora.

My darling brother, it began.

The tone was big-sister and loving, the entire first page dedicated to questions about Ned’s work and life in California. There was little doubt that she truly cared for him. I’m so proud of you, she wrote many times over.

Then came page 2.

The focus shifted to her life, the tone immediately dire. You’re the only one I can tell this to, Ned.

She’d fallen in love with “the wrong man,” someone who wasn’t what he claimed to be. Everything was a lie. His job, his intentions, even his name.

I’m in danger; I can feel it. Agent John O’Hara is going to be the death of me, Ned.

She didn’t elaborate; there were no further details. Only a request in the event her premonition would prove to be true.

Promise that you’ll come visit me. And when you do, bring me yellow lilies, like you did after that horrible night when we were children, when we were just little kids. Just kids.

That request was the reason I was still sitting in the car in the pouring rain. I was waiting and waiting for Ned to finally show his face. To keep that promise to Nora.

Chapter 116

THERE WAS A splash of yellow in the distance, moving slowly through the downpour. I leaned forward, my eyelashes practically scraping against the windshield as I blinked and squinted to see who was there. It could be anyone—but it wasn’t just anyone.

Ned’s head was down, his face obscured by the brim of a Mets baseball cap. Still, there was no mistaking where he and those yellow lilies were heading. Straight to his sister’s grave.

I gripped the door handle, giving it a soft and silent pull. It was time to get wet.

Be quick, O’Hara. And stay low. Don’t get yourself killed tonight.

The path from the car to the first headstone was a straight dash. Then I zigzagged my way forward, the route having already been plotted and practiced. The rain was my ally now, the sound masking my footsteps. Better still, it was keeping Ned looking down, his head hunched beneath his shoulders.

With one more zag after a zig, I was crouched behind a headstone, my back pressed so hard against the granite I could feel the quartz pieces through my soaked shirt.

Nora’s grave was about twenty feet away. Strangely, I could see her face now. I remembered so much about her. About the two of us. With a quick peek I saw Ned and the lilies maybe another thirty feet beyond it. Out came my gun. A count to five or so and he’d be in my range. I counted, then—

“Freeze!” I yelled, springing up.

The lilies slipped through his hands as he looked up at me from under his cap. His eyes were wide with surprise and then even wider with fear. He had no idea what was happening.

And shit! I had no idea who he was.

“Put your hands up!” I barked, edging closer to the man, whoever he was.

You can tell whether a person is a true threat by how he responds to someone else holding a gun. If he’s looking at the gun, he’s not a threat.

This guy was no threat to me.

“Who are you?” I asked. He was so busy staring at my gun that I had to ask him twice.

“I work here,” he said finally.

I looked him over. Sure enough, he was wearing Timberland boots and a jumpsuit, complete with KENSICO spelled out above his heart. A grave digger, probably.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ken. I’m just Ken.”

“Who are the flowers for?”

“Someone named Nora Sinclair. Her headstone’s right there,” he said, pointing. “Who are you?”

I lowered my gun, walked over to the guy, and showed him my badge.

“Oh,” he said, making the connection. “You’re the one in the car, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m the one in the car.”

“My boss told me I wasn’t allowed to ask who you were,” he said. “Figures.”

His knees no longer shaking, Ken bent down to pick up the lilies. Meanwhile, my mind was already plotting how I’d draw a bead on Ned again through the florist he used to order the flowers. Where did he call from? Did he use a stolen credit card? Would he use it again?

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

Ken had said something but I hadn’t heard him. He was scooping up the last lily.

“The guy told me he got really emotional standing next to the grave,” he said.

“Wait; what?” What guy?

“He just handed me fifty bucks to deliver these,” he said, standing up. “Easiest money I ever—”

“Get down!” I yelled.

Chapter 117

AT THE SOUND of the shot, Ken’s cap went flying. Then he got the message and went down on the ground. Then he was crawling away, then running.

As I dove behind the nearest headstone, I felt a hot sting through my calf. Ned had no intention of missing me twice.

“Drop it!” I suddenly heard.

I’d barely scrambled to my knees, ready for a good old-fashioned standoff, when I turned to see Ned and his Browning Hi-Power Mark III pistol. He must have sprinted from his hiding place in order to reach me so fast.

Slowly, I dropped my Glock to the ground. After he gave it a swift kick across the wet grass, Ned turned and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t John O’Hara,” he said.

I faked a smile in response, spreading my palms. “The one and only.”

That made him chuckle. “Good one,” he said. “Clever.”

“Unfortunately, not as clever as you.”

“Very true,” he said. “Although I give you credit for getting this far.”

The odd thing was, he actually seemed sincere about that. As motivated as he was by revenge, it was as if he still wanted a fair fight. Hence his clues; the way he’d been almost testing Sarah and me.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked.

“I’d be lying if I said I knew for sure. But I guess I knew the same way you did. Math.”

I didn’t follow.

“It’s called a Fibonacci sequence,” he continued. “When the next number in a series is always the sum of the two numbers that precede it. Five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four. In a way, it’s the premise for all deductive reasoning.”