James Patterson - Honeymoon

Christ, O’Hara!

That’s when I put it together. The creaking was actually crackling. What gave it away was an awful smell. Something was burning.

I edged to the corner of the kitchen doorway. Chanced a quick peek. I saw the pot on the stove, and smoke. The leftover rice had been simmering on the burner. Now it was burning up.

I exhaled. Then I jumped!

It was the sound of a door slamming. Outside. Nora getting away?

I hobbled out the cabin as the engine of the Benz roared. My first step down the old wooden stairs missed. I went flying forward. Landed on my side. Knocked the wind out of me; pain like I couldn’t believe.

Nora shifted into gear as I scrambled to my feet. For a second she glanced over her shoulder—our eyes met.

“Nora. Stop!”

“Yeah, sure, O’Hara. Stop in the name of love?”

I lifted my arm, but it was shaking. I took aim at the rear of the convertible, what I could see in the moonlight.

“Nora!” I yelled again.

She was on the edge of the clearing, about to disappear down the dirt road. I finally squeezed the trigger, squeezed it again once more for good luck.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 100

THAT BURNED WILD RICE on the stove was like potpourri compared with the smelling salts.

When I jerked my head and opened my eyes, I was staring up from the ground at two local cops. The older one was applying a makeshift pressure bandage to my shoulder while the younger one—twenty-two, if a day—gazed down at me in disbelief. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking.

What the hell happened to you, buddy?

But I had my own question first. “Did you get her?” I asked with a woozy drawl.

“No,” said the older cop. “Though we’re not exactly sure who we’re looking for. The only thing we have is a name. As far as what she looks like and what she’s driving, we don’t know a thing.”

Slowly I told them. A full description of Nora, the red Benz convertible, her address in Briarcliff Manor. Or at least Connor Brown’s. Regardless, it was highly unlikely she was headed back there. She wouldn’t dare, would she?

The younger cop got on his radio and relayed the information. He also checked on the ambulance, my ambulance.

“They should’ve been here by now,” he said.

“I’ve never been a high priority,” I quipped.

Meanwhile, his partner finished applying the bandage. “There, that should hold until the paramedics.”

I thanked him. I thanked them both. Suddenly it dawned on me that they looked like father and son. I asked, and sure enough, they were. Officers Will and Mitch Cravens, respectively. If there was a better example of the halcyon days of life in a small town, I’d yet to see it.

I started to get up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I heard in unison. All I had to do was lie there and relax, they said.

“I need my phone.”

“Where is it?” asked Mitch Cravens. “I’ll get it.”

“It’s somewhere in the bathroom. You need to turn off the stove as well,” I said.

Mitch nodded at his father. “I’ll be right back.”

As he headed inside I remembered Nora telling me she owned the cabin, that it was left to her by a former client. “Hey, Will, there’s a chance you even know Nora,” I said. “This is her cabin. It was given to her by a former client who passed away.”

“Is that what she told you?”

The way he asked, I knew what was coming next.

“Did she mention the name of her supposed client?” he asked.

“No. She did have the keys, though.”

Will shook his head. “This place belongs to a guy named Dave Hale. While he may or may not have been a client of hers, I assure you he’s very much alive.”

“Is he rich by any chance?”

He shrugged. “I assume so. I’ve only met him a couple of times. He lives in Manhattan. Why? Do you think he’s in danger?”

“Prior to tonight, probably,” I said. “I think he’s safe now.”

Mitch returned from inside the cabin, my phone in hand. “Found it.”

I took it and flipped it open. I was about to dial Susan when it rang. She beat me to it.

“Hello?”

“You fucked with the wrong girl,” came her voice. “You messed up so badly, O’Hara.”

I figured wrong.

She didn’t sound hysterical. Instead, she was completely calm. Too calm. And for the first time, I was afraid of Nora Sinclair.

“Now I’m going to hurt you where you live, O’Hara… for real,” she said. “Can you say Riverside? ”

Click.

The phone dropped from my hand. I pulled myself up on wobbly legs. The two cops went to grab me.

“What is it?” asked the son, Mitch.

“My family,” I said. “She’s going after my family.”

Chapter 101

THEY UNDERSTOOD IMMEDIATELY. Any cops might have, but Officers Will and Mitch Cravens—father and son—understood a little more. There was no waiting around for the ambulance. I’d sooner bleed to death than waste another minute out in the middle of the woods.

I crumpled into the backseat of their patrol car. Mitch and his young reflexes drove with the sirens blaring as Will radioed ahead to have the police in Riverside rush to the house. Meanwhile, I called there on my phone.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I muttered while the line rang.

And rang and rang.

“Shit! Nobody’s answering!”

The answering machine finally picked up, and I left a frantic message about going over to the neighbors’ and waiting for the police to arrive.

My mind raced with horrible, dreadful thoughts. Was Nora already there? And how did she know where there was?

Will was off the radio. He turned to me. “The Riverside police will be at your house in minutes.” He nodded at my phone. “No luck getting through?”

“No,” I said.

“Is there a cell phone?”

“I’m about to try.”

I hit my speed dial, only to hear the call go right into voice mail. I left the same message with the same ominous intro. It was like in the movies. It’s John. If you and the boys are in the house, get out right now! If you’re on your way home—don’t go there.

I leaned back my head and let out a frustrated yell. I suddenly felt dizzy again. I tried to get myself to calm down and not think the worst. It wasn’t possible.

“Faster, guys!”

We were already doing over eighty. We’d cut across the border to Connecticut and were making a beeline south for Riverside. I was feeling completely helpless when I had an idea. Call Nora.

Maybe that’s what she wanted. Maybe—hopefully—her threat was nothing more than that, the only intention being to scare the hell out of me and keep the game going. I’d call her and she’d laugh wickedly. Riverside was just a decoy. She was miles in the opposite direction.

If only.

I dialed her number.

Ten rings in a row.

No voice mail.

No Nora.

The police radio kicked in with a burst of static. We were being patched through to a patrolman in Riverside. He was outside the house. The doors were locked, some lights were on; as far as he could tell, no one was around.

I looked at my watch. 9:10. They should’ve been there. The boys’ bedtime was nine.

Will flipped the transmitter onto speaker. “No sign of forced entry?”

“Negative,” we heard.

“Have you checked with the neighbors?” asked Mitch as he slowed to take a sharp turn. The front and rear left tires screeched in stereo.

“She probably would’ve gone to the Picottes directly across the street,” I added. “Mike and Margi Picotte. Friends of ours.”