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  Jack made a show of sliding the knife into his pocket and put on a baseball cap, pulling it low over his brow. He didn’t switch off the engine until the guy got back in his car.

  “What’s the maximum you can withdraw?”

  “Five-hundred.”

  “As much as that? You only have a thousand in your account.” He laughed.

  “Withdraw five- hundred and keep your face away from the camera. Look up and I’ll cut off one of your fingers.” Jack dragged her out over his seat and gave her the card. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

  Kate slid in the card and punched the four digits. Could this be her chance?

  Adrenaline surged as she pressed more keys and pulled the cash from the slot.

  She turned as though she intended to walk toward him but instead threw the bills and ran.

  She hardly seemed to have moved before he caught her hair and slapped a choke hold around her neck. Kate clawed at his arm, kicked back and heard him grunt in pain. As the pressure on her throat eased, she screamed. And kept screaming.

  “What’s going on?”

  She knew from the way Jack tensed, the voice had startled him as much as her.

  A car had pulled up behind them. The guy who’d just used the machine.

  “Call the police.” Kate struggled in Jack’s grip.

  A short, chubby man got out. “Let her go, okay?”

  “This has nothing to do with you. Get the fuck back in your car and drive away.” Jack pulled Kate by her hair toward the money.

  “Help,” she sobbed.

  The side of Jack’s hand chopped into her throat and he dropped her. Kate slumped down gulping, nothing reaching her lungs.

  “What the hell? Don’t—”

  Kate watched the guy stumble as Jack stormed up to him. “It’s late. There shouldn’t have been anyone around. You should have driven away.” She couldn’t make her throat swallow. The man fumbled with a cell phone, and Kate wished he’d thought to use it before. He needed to run but she couldn’t speak. Jack snatched the phone, slammed it down and stamped on it. Pieces of plastic slithered away. Kate dragged in a breath. She wanted to roll on her back, help her lungs pull in oxygen but instead she forced herself to her feet. The moment she did, Jack kicked her legs from under her and she went down hard, her hands jarring on the ground.

  “Hey, don’t—”

  Jack kicked him in the stomach. Kate tried to scream but no sound came out.

  As the man came upright again, Jack aimed his knife like a gun. “Bang.”

  “I’m going…okay?” He staggered back.

  Kate pushed herself up, gasping for air. No chance to run before Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the man’s car.

  “Please,” Kate begged.

  Jack leaned against the door, preventing it from closing.

  “I think your hero has the wrong end of the stick, darlin’. Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

  “Sorry. Arguing over money…always fighting…sorry you got involved.”

  “While I’m having a little chat with our friend, maybe you ought to go and pick up the money. Lucky there’s no wind.”

  Jack smiled at her with black eyes, then turned to the driver and waved his knife. “Okay, bud? No police, no trouble for any of us.” Kate wanted to run and now she couldn’t. He’d kill the man. She picked up the money as fast as she could. Jack grinned as she handed him the bills. He stuffed them in his pocket.

  “Good girl.”

  Still smiling, he took her wrist and twisted it. She squirmed into the hold, tears springing into her eyes, yelps bursting from her lips.

  “Dump him,” the driver said. “You could do much better.” Jack made a sound of mock-astonishment. “Wow. An expensive observation.

  Hand over your wallet.”

  In his desperation, the guy dropped it. His fingers shook as he held it out. Jack hooked the hand holding the knife around Kate’s throat and with the other removed all the bills before fingering through the rest.

  “Jerry Matthews. Nice neighborhood, Jerry. God Almighty, you’ve a fuck ugly wife. Pretty daughter. How’d you manage that?” Jack tossed the wallet into the car and stepped back, jerking Kate with him. “I know where you live, Jerry.

  Forget about me and I’ll forget about your very fuckable daughter. Now get out of here before I cut your fucking head off.”

  The car left the parking lot with its tires squealing. Jack pulled Kate to the Suburban, shoved her inside and slammed the door. As he stalked around the front of the vehicle, Kate reached for a rear door but that wouldn’t open either.

  Jack got in and sighed. “I told you, you can’t get out of this car.”

  “Let me go, please.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’ll forget I ever saw you. I won’t go to the police. Please let me go.”

  Jack clipped her belt in place. “Try that again and the next one won’t be lucky.

  Give me your bank card.”

  “Let me go.” She lashed out but he caught her wrist and twisted it again. The pain made the world go white.

  “Now where would be the fun in that?”

  “They’ll catch you. You’ll go to prison.” Her mouth ran away with her. Kate called him every bad word she knew.

  He twisted her wrist harder and harder until she fell silent, except for tiny hiccupping sobs.

  “Finished?” Jack asked. “Got that out of your system? Good.” He released her, fastened his safety belt and started the engine. “Your card?” Kate pulled it from her pocket, gave it him, then pressed herself against the door fighting not to cry.

  As he pulled onto the highway, she went back to wondering why he’d chosen her. She wasn’t rich, didn’t have wealthy parents. She didn’t work in a bank and know the combination to the safe. There was no political angle, no valuable secrets in her head. What use could she be? Maybe she’d hit on the truth earlier.

  He’d chosen her because she wasn’t rich or famous or important. If she disappeared, no one would know or care.

  Well, Jeannie would worry tomorrow when Kate didn’t go for a drink. She’d have registered the hint about coffee and know Kate hadn’t forgotten she didn’t like it. If Kate didn’t answer the door and the phone remained disconnected, Jeannie would speak to Fryer, the building superintendent. Only, if they looked in her apartment, what would they see? That card with the flowers implied she’d gone off with a boyfriend. The clothes strewn everywhere made it seem like she’d packed. There was no toothbrush, hairbrush. No ID. She’d written that message, but why check a toilet lid? Kate clutched her aching wrist and bit back a sob. She had to stay alert because once they left the city, the chances of attracting attention would diminish fast.

  She was nearsighted without her glasses, but didn’t miss the patrol car at the intersection a couple of blocks ahead. Kate didn’t think of the consequences, just reached for the steering wheel and wrenched it down. The Suburban swerved and horns blared.

  “Ssshit,” Jack hissed.

  He dragged Kate’s hand off the wheel and pushed her away. Once the car was steady, he thumped her so hard she crashed into the side window.

  “What the hell? Don’t fucking move.”

  Kate knew he’d just seen the patrol car. She prayed for sirens and lights, but nothing happened. When she banged on the window, Jack grabbed her by the neck and forced her down, thrusting her face into her legs, pinning her like a bug.

  Kate fought to get up and he pinched the skin at the base of her skull, twisting the roots of her hair until she screamed.

  “It fucking well serves you right.”

  Kate sobbed into her knees. She’d blown another chance to get free and made him angry. But her face was inches from her purse. She unzipped the small compartment he’d missed and pulled out her library ID and gym card. As she slipped them inside her sandal, Kate felt a flicker of hope.

  Chapter Three

  Nathan Beranson held the envelope across his desk. The woman didn’t lift her hand to take
it and he wondered if she’d changed her mind. This was merely proof of what he’d just told her. A flash of red nails and his hand was empty. Her fingers shook as she took out the photographs. Then came the tears. Nathan had her pegged as a weeper. She sobbed as if her world had been destroyed.

  Correction. Sobbed because Nathan had helped destroy her world. He put a box of tissues on the desk between them.

  “Could it be a mistake?” Her voice cracked.

  Nathan shook his head, hardly able to believe the question considering what she held. “No. Sorry.” He hated his job. How could he enjoy someone paying him to wreck their life?

  She put the prints back inside the envelope and pressed down the seal. He suspected she wished she hadn’t opened it. The images he’d captured of a young dark-haired guy giving her husband a blowjob were now imprinted in her mind.

  She put her hand in her purse and for a crazy moment, Nathan thought she’d reached for a gun. She pulled out a slip of paper and placed it on the desk. Didn’t hand it to him. That was something else he’d noticed. People didn’t want to come anywhere near him, like he had some infectious disease.

  “Payable to N. Beranson?”

  Nathan nodded.

  She rose to her feet. “Thank you.”

  Thanking him for ruining her life. He knew her husband had done that, not him, but Nathan still felt guilty. He exhaled deeply as he shut the door behind her and returned to his chair. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. He’d had enough of this, offering Pandora’s Box, knowing the idiots would open it and leave everyone unhappy, himself included. He hadn’t envisioned a life spent following cheating partners. Word-of-mouth recommendations led to more of the same work.

  Nathan was a victim of his own success and beginning to think one half of San Antonio cheated on the other half.

  He glanced at his watch, a present from his sister, Elisa. The hands went backward and the numbers were reversed. It said ‘ SEILF EMIT’ on the dial. ‘ Time flies.’ Her way of telling him he was getting older, had no girlfriend and worked a job he hated. She was a pain, but right.

  Nathan waited for several minutes before he closed his office and went downstairs. A waste of time because his last client sat behind the wheel of her car, still crying. What more could he say? He knew how she felt, what it was like to be cheated on, but exposing his own misery wouldn’t make her feel any better.

  Before guilt immobilized him, Nathan slunk to his car and drove away.

  Not even thirty years old and yet tired of everything—not only his job, but his home, his car, even his extensive collection of jazz and blues CDs. Nathan found no joy in anything. Watching sports only reminded him he couldn’t play anymore. He’d been pensioned out of the SAPD three years ago after being shot in an undercover operation. His left leg was full of metal pins and sometimes Nathan thought he could feel every damn one of them.

  Determined not to accept a desk job, going into private investigation seemed a good move, only he’d made a mistake. He’d found stakeouts dull as a cop and now he spent whole days sitting in his car, doing nothing but watching and waiting for some man or woman to fuck up. Literally. Even when he secured a more complex case, there was little sense of satisfaction at the end. Too much of what he did seemed trivial and pathetic. Nathan wanted his job to be exciting, and it was plain boring.

  For all that, his reluctance to take every job offered meant he barely made enough to cover his expenses. No matter how much Nathan spent on specialist equipment, there was always something new coming onto the market to consume his income. Those who couldn’t afford the latest gadget dropped out of the loop.

  Dispensing with the office would have made a vast improvement to his financial position, but he didn’t want his home tainted by what he did. At least there was some respite there. Well, there would have been if he hadn’t had his other little project.

  After a long and tiring day, Nathan didn’t get home until after midnight. Out of habit, he switched on his computer and while it booted up he grabbed a beer. He took a long pull at the cold liquid, then set the bottle down and clicked on the file

  “Jack Thompson.” Three months of observations. Three months of wasted time.

  It seemed longer than three months ago that Nathan had sat in his Ford Taurus, a little way down the road from Ashlands Psychiatric Hospital, waiting for Jack to emerge. The high wall enclosing the facility was so white it blinded.

  Green creepers snaked over the top at places along the wall’s length, but not one strand made it as far as the ground on the outside. There was no barbed wire, no spiked top, no electric current. The staff utilized other methods of persuading patients to stay, mainly chemical, though a sophisticated security system was in place in case Jesus Christ or Abraham Lincoln decided to make a run for it. Or some idiot tried to break in.

  Despite unfinished business with Jack, a guest of Ashlands for nine months, Nathan ruled out climbing the wall. He’d tried to talk his way in several times, and since for most of that time he had murder in mind, perhaps it was as well he’d failed. The one thing he had uncovered was Jack’s release date.

  He still wondered if he should have driven away that day three months ago, if his future had been sealed because he’d waited for Jack to emerge. If he’d driven off, would he now have a girlfriend, a job he liked? A life? Instead Nathan had waited outside Ashlands, listening to a voice on the radio repeatedly telling him San Antonio was headed for another dry but unseasonably cold day. Not a smudge of white in the sky but Nathan sat under his own personal black cloud.

  Every time the gates opened to allow a vehicle to leave or enter, his heart beat faster and the cloud darkened. Three months had passed and he sat under the same fucking cloud. He wished he hadn’t gone that day, but he wished more that he’d never met Jack Thompson.

  Nathan was three when his mother walked out of his life and into the arms of Don Thompson. After deserting her husband and son, she went on to have two replacement children, Jack and Steven. Nathan’s father married again and gave him a sister, Elisa, whom he loved dearly, but Nathan had only met his surviving half-brother, Jack, for the first time a year ago. Nathan wanted to remember he hadn’t liked him, but it wasn’t true. Jack had been funny, charming and a good listener, and Nathan had been blind.

  Less than a week before Nathan expected to marry his fiancée, Alison, he’d come back from work to find her in bed with Jack. Alison had been astride him, thrusting her body up and down, gasping noisily. Jack had seen Nathan at the door, grabbed Alison’s hips and pulled her down harder. As Nathan moved away, he heard his fiancée give an ecstatic cry. One he’d not heard before. One that still ate at his gut.

  That cry was the reason he’d stayed outside Ashlands and not driven away.

  Nathan wanted to know why. He’d not had chance to talk to Jack before he’d been admitted to the hospital in need of psychiatric help. No fucking kidding.

  Nathan had talked to Alison, but he needed to talk to Jack. All the time his half-brother was in Ashlands, Nathan thought about what Jack had done. Plenty of time for him to come up with a stupid plan. When Jack was released, Nathan would watch him and find out what it was about Jack he hadn’t seen. Then punch the shit out of him.

  And that’s just what he’d done. The watching, anyway. Three months waiting for Jack to show his real side, to fuck up. And the bastard hadn’t. Not really.

  Nathan took a swallow of beer and typed up his notes.

  17:10 Bought large bouquet of mixed flowers from Del Florios, East 71st Street

  18:19 Returned to apartment

  20:14 Left wearing baseball cap

  Bought sandwich from Stinton’s deli

  20:29 Returned to apartment

  No further activity

  Observation terminated midnight

  He read through what he’d typed and saved it with the other ninety-seven reports he’d written over the last three months. The flowers had surprised him.

  Jack hadn’t gone out
on a date. Other than the trip to the deli, he’d spent the entire evening in his apartment. The baseball cap was another first. Jack didn’t wear them. Why tonight?

  Nathan leaned forward and put his head in his hands. What the fuck am I doing? Jack was supposed to be the crazy one, but for the better part of a year Nathan had wasted his time, waiting for Jack to be released only to watch his brother lead an ordinary life. So ordinary, he was freaking out about flowers and a baseball cap. For Christ’s sake, give it up. Nathan knew he should stop. He shouldn’t have started. He’d told himself one month, then two slid into three.

  He’d achieved nothing. He hadn’t even spoken to the fucker. Why? Scared he’d kill him? For a while, Nathan wanted to.

  He took another mouthful of beer. Time to move on, draw a line, kill a cliché.

  Nathan said that to his clients, so why couldn’t he take his own advice? For the same reason most of his clients couldn’t—wouldn’t. The need to understand why.

  Alison had been his, why had Jack taken her? What did he have that Nathan didn’t? Nathan was relieved no one else knew the depth of his obsessive stupidity, but his sharp-eyed sister had spotted his worsening depression and kept bugging him about what was wrong.

  So stop. Right now. No more watching Jack Thompson. What had he been hoping to achieve? To catch his brother fucking someone else’s woman? Was Nathan planning to ruin Jack’s life the way Jack had ruined his? Fuck Jack’s girlfriend and dump her like Jack had Alison? Nathan leaned back in his chair.

  Well, if he was being honest, he’d thought about making a move on Jack’s girlfriend. He liked the idea of giving his brother a taste of what it was like, even though he knew it was a terrible thing to do. But as far as Nathan knew, since Jack had been discharged from Ashlands, he’d never managed more than one date with any woman.

  Over the last three months, Jack had worked seven different jobs. He’d walked out of three and been fired from four. No need for Nathan to wreck Jack’s career, he was doing fine by himself and Jack was wrecking Nathan’s without even trying.