Chapters (42)
- Cover Page
- EARLY BIRD BOOKS
- Praise for the Writing of Richard North Patterson
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- About the Author
I slid next to the couch. “I’m here now.”
“You don’t understand.” She looked away. “I’m scared of you.”
I reached out. She whirled in sudden anger. “Who are you, Adam? Are you a lawyer, a policeman, my husband, what? This afternoon I could have lost you to something I don’t understand. I look at you now and I don’t know you. What do you want for us? Can you tell me that? Can you even tell me what you want for yourself?”
My hand froze in midair. “I want you.”
“Oh God, Adam, that’s not an answer. That’s just something you say.”
“But it’s the only answer I’ve got. I can’t sit here and tell you ‘What I Want from Life’ like it’s some sophomore exercise. I don’t know anymore and even if I did it might not be true five years or even five days from now. All I know is that I want you. That’s true no matter what.”
“But why do you want me?” She held up her hand as if to prevent an answer. Then she ran it across her face, murmuring, “I need time to think things out.”
She rose and walked to the stairwell, paused, and turned to watch me, head angled and still. “What happened to Lee is terrible, Adam. But once you found him there wasn’t any choice. You can’t feel guilty now.”
I glanced down at my drink. “Guilt’s out, anyhow. Now they’re selling books like Kicking Ass for Number One and How to Be a Shit to Your Friends and Like It. It’s just that sometimes I think that guilt is the only thing that keeps us human.”
She shook her head. “That’s conscience, Adam. Guilt just keeps you looking back.” She hesitated, then added softly, “But I’m grateful he let you go,” and went up the stairs.
I stared after her. Then I finished my drink and turned on the eleven o’clock news.
The screen crackled and then the white dot at its center widened to become Nora Culhane, standing in front of the police station. “It’s quiet here now,” she was saying, “and police spokesmen have not yet released the information leading to Lee’s arrest. But it follows by less than twenty-four hours an apparent threat against Kris Ann Shaw, wife of attorney Adam Shaw, who discovered Mrs. Cantwell’s body five days ago. There is no word yet on whether Lee has confessed to the murder. But this first break means that the intense police efforts to find the killer may be drawing to a close. For TV Seven, this is—”
“Nora Culhane, girl reporter,” I said aloud, and switched her off.