James Patterson - Honeymoon

“Do you like tomato juice?”

Only with a lot of vodka and a celery stalk sticking out of it. “Anything else?”

“I’ve got one Sprite.”

“Not anymore, you don’t.”

It took her a second to realize that was my way of saying “yes, please.”

She poured about half of the Sprite and handed it over with a small bag of pretzels. As she wheeled the cart off I held up my plastic cup. If I squinted enough at the bubbles, it almost looked like the champagne Nora was probably drinking up in first class.

I popped a minipretzel into my mouth and tried to move my legs. Wishful thinking. With my tray table down, they were wedged in from every angle. Complete loss of circulation to all lower extremities was only a matter of time.

Yes, indeed. It was right about then that I realized what the common thread of this assignment was so far. In a word, cramped.

Cramped office, cramped apartment, cramped seat in the last row of coach that had me breathing in the odors of the cramped bathroom directly over my shoulder.

Not that all was lost.

The one good thing about tailing people on an airplane is that you never have to worry about losing them during the flight. At 35,000 feet, no one is about to slip out the side door.

I glanced up at the royal blue curtain way, way, way down the aisle. While the odds fell somewhere between slim and none that Nora would have any reason to venture back and mingle with us poor slobs in coach, I still had to stay on my toes.

Not that I could feel them anymore.

Earlier at the Westchester airport, I was sure Nora hadn’t spotted me before the flight. Well, she might have seen me, but for sure, she didn’t recognize me. Besides my Red Sox baseball cap, dark glasses, jogging suit, and gold chain, I’d broken out the fake mustache. Throw in a Daily News that was never farther away than twelve inches from my face and I’d pretty much cornered the market on incognito.

No, Nora had no idea she had company on the flight. That much I knew. Of course, what I didn’t know was the question of the day.

What’s in Boston?

Chapter 40

I FOLLOWED NORA and her smart little suitcase on wheels down an escalator and past the baggage claim area. As always, she looked good, front and rear view. She had this way of walking—and a great smile when she needed it. She never once looked up at a sign for directions. Safe to say, this wasn’t her first trip to Logan Airport.

She walked outside and came to an abrupt stop—looking around. What for became clear after a few minutes.

It wasn’t a cab and it wasn’t a friend’s car. It was the shuttle bus for Hertz.

As soon as she hopped on, I made a dash for the cab line.

Taxi!

“Take me to the Hertz lot!” I barked at the back of the driver’s head.

He turned around, an old-salt type, his face a road map of wrinkles and creases. “What?”

“Take me—”

“No, I heard you just fine there, pal. What I’m saying is, they have shuttle buses for that.”

“I don’t like waiting.”

“Neither do I.” Jabbing his finger, he pointed out the back window. “You see that line of cabs behind me? I didn’t wait in it for no three-dollar fare.”

I looked up ahead at Nora’s shuttle bus getting farther and farther away. “Okay, give me a number,” I said.

“Thirty bucks. That’s my final offer.”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Deal. Drive.”

Chapter 41

THE GUY SPED OFF and I immediately began to work my phone. I had the number for every airline, hotel chain, and rental car company already programmed in. It was a job prerequisite.

I called Hertz. After suffering through a minute of automated prompts, I got ahold of an available agent.

“And when will you be needing the car, sir?” she asked.

“In five minutes. Maybe less.”

“Oh.”

She promised to do the best she could. In case it wasn’t good enough, I told the driver he might be spending some more quality time with me.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

Nora’s shuttle driver had a helium foot. With him puttering along, we actually passed the bus before we got to the lot. By the time Nora climbed into a silver Sebring convertible, I was behind the wheel of my minivan. That’s right, a minivan. I mean, who’d ever expect to be followed by someone driving one of those?

Just the same, I was sure to keep a little distance between us. That was until Nora made it clear she was no shuttle bus driver. Formula One racer was more like it.

The more I gunned it, the faster she seemed to go. Instead of blending in with the other cars, I was forced to blow by them. So much for my inconspicuous minivan.

Shit.

A red light. I’d already sailed through an earlier one, but this one was at an intersection. Nora made it through and I didn’t.

As she became a speck in the distance, I could do nothing except curse and wait. The thought of having flown all that way only to lose her was turning my stomach.

Green light!

I hit the gas and my horn at the same time, tires screeching. The game had changed to catch-up and I was in serious jeopardy of losing. I glanced down at my speedometer. Sixty, seventy, eighty miles an hour.

There! I spotted her car up ahead. I drew a sigh of relief, slowed down, and tried to pull closer. I had two lanes to work with and the traffic was cooperating. I could move back and forth without being too obvious. Things were looking up.

If only I’d been doing the same.

Chapter 42

I SHOULD’VE SEEN the split coming, where the road divided. I was too busy staring at the big Sealy mattress delivery truck ahead of me, preparing to overtake it.

Bad decision.

With my right foot pressed to the floor, I pulled up alongside the truck. It blocked my view of Nora. Edging forward, I strained my neck to see where she was.

But it was something else I saw. Big, bright yellow drums! The kind they fill with water and stack before concrete dividers so instead of going splat, you go splash.

I looked over at the delivery truck. We were neck and neck, the driver peering down at me.

I glanced at those big yellow drums. They were getting very close, very fast.

The lanes were about to split. I was in the left one, Nora in the right. I needed to get over.

The goddamn truck!

As soon as I nosed out in front, the driver sped up. I jammed on my horn while flooring the accelerator.

Up ahead, Nora passed the yellow drums and shot off to the right.

I was still stuck in the left lane and running out of real estate. Fast.

Fuck it.

I slammed on the brakes. If I couldn’t cut in front, I’d duck in from behind. All two tons of the minivan began to swerve wildly as I watched the Sealy mattress truck—an easy ten tons—start to veer. That’s when I realized he wanted into my lane.

I couldn’t hear the horns behind me. Or the screeching of tires. The only sound was my heart pounding as the nose of my minivan kissed the truck’s back, metal against metal.

Sparks flew. I lost control of the wheel. I spun out wildly, nearly flipping over. I would have were it not for one small detail.

Splash!

My face hit the air bag, and the yellow drums did the rest. It hurt like hell, but I knew right away. I was one lucky son of a bitch.

Traffic started to move again as I stepped out of the minivan. Like me, everyone else had survived with barely a scratch. There was water everywhere, pools of it, but that was it.

Idiot. I was furious with myself. Finally, I collected myself and made the call.