Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) (19 page)

 Where the hell had
that
come from?

 Reed crossed to a refrigerator in the corner of the room and grabbed a can of Coke. He didn’t offer any to Waxman or Donovan.

 “Look,” he said, popping the top. He was trying for nonchalance, but the undercurrent of nervousness Donovan had sensed in their previous encounters was still present. “I realize you gentlemen have a job to do, but I’m in the middle of a bitch of a shoot right now, so why don’t we cut past all the crap and get to the point?”

 “You first,” Waxman said.

 “I haven’t seen him, I don’t know where he is, and I don’t expect to hear from him anytime soon.” He took a sip of Coke, smiled at them. “Anything else you need to know?”

 “We’re still waiting for you to cut past all the crap.”

 “How many times do I have to tell you, I barely know the man. Met him, what—twice? And that was before he made the transition from annoying to homicidal. Marrying my sister doesn’t make him my best friend.”

 “Uh-huh,” Waxman said, unimpressed. “You happen to watch TV last night or read the papers today?”

 “Are you kidding? Who has time?”

 “Get any calls from friends or relatives?”

 “I told you. I’m in the middle of a shoot. That pretty much takes up every second I have. And you two aren’t helping much.”

 “Then I guess you haven’t heard.”

 “Heard what?”

 Waxman looked at him. “Your brother-in-law is dead.”

 
Dead
, Donovan thought, Rachel’s words drifting back to him.
They told me you were dead.
 

 He watched Reed, looking for a reaction to Sydney’s news. All at once Reed’s nervousness drained away. His whole body relaxed. He set his Coke on a desktop and sank into a leather executive’s chair. He didn’t have to say a thing to communicate exactly what he was feeling.

 “You don’t seem very broken up about it,” Donovan said.

 Reed looked at him. “Name me three people on this planet who would be.”

 “Sara, for one.”

 “Leave her out of this.”

 “She’s smack in the middle of it, Tony. Whether you like it or not. Always has been. And I think it’s time you told us the truth.”

 “About what?”

 “Alex came to your house, didn’t he?”

 “I already told—”

 “Come on, Tony, we both know it’s true. Right after the crash. He sat in your living room watching CNN. And when they showed Sara in a coma, and me being rushed to the hospital, Alex turned to you—looked right at you—and said, ‘I’m gonna put that motherfucker away, and you’re gonna help me.’ Isn’t that how it went, Tony?”

 Reed was trying hard not to show it, but every word Donovan said had hit home. Donovan couldn’t explain it, but he knew—he
knew
—that that was exactly how the scene had played out. In a corner of his mind he could see Gunderson sprawled on Reed’s living room sofa watching television while Reed paced nervously. He didn’t know where this image was coming from, but there it was.

 “Well, Tony?”

 “I want a lawyer,” Reed said.

 “Christ on a cracker,” Waxman muttered.

 “We don’t have time for lawyers,” Donovan said, feeling his adrenaline rise. “Just tell us where she is.”

 Reed gave him a puzzled look. “Where
who
is?”

 Donovan had had enough. Grabbing a handful of Reed’s shirt, he pulled him out of the chair, slammed him against the wall. The framed
One From the Heart
poster rattled, threatening to fall.

 “Don’t fuck with me, Tony.” His head was starting to throb. “I’m very short on patience right now.”

 Waxman moved toward them. “Easy, Jack. Take it easy.”

 “Stay out of this, Sydney.” Donovan kept his eyes on Reed. “Where
is
she? Tell me now or you’ll be directing videos from a wheelchair.”

 “Come on, man, I don’t even know who
she
is.”

 Adrenaline buzzed through Donovan’s body, his head pounding now. He spun Reed around again and shoved him back into the leather chair. The force sent Reed toppling to the polished wood floor.

 Donovan started toward him, but Waxman blocked his path. “That’s enough, Jack. Take a couple of deep breaths.”

 “He knows. He’s hiding something.”

 “He ain’t Nemo. And this isn’t gonna help.”

 “You have any other suggestions?” Donovan pushed past Waxman and moved toward Reed again. “Your sister’s in a coma because of me, Tony. At least that’s what your buddy Alex thought. Maybe the two of you didn’t share a whole lotta burgers and beers, but Sara’s something you had in common.”

 “Fuck you,” Reed said.

 Donovan reached down, grabbed him again. “Where is she, you little turd?”

 He was about to lift him up off the floor when Reed threw his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right!” he shouted. “I’ll tell you what I know!”

 Donovan let him loose, backed off. Reed took a breath and climbed to his feet as they waited.

 “Here it is, no bullshit: Alex did come to my house. And he
did
say something about you. But all he wanted from me was money. That’s all they ever wanted. He and Sara. I was their personal bank account, whether I liked it or not.”

 “What about Jessie?”

 “I swear on my sister’s life I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about. I haven’t seen Alex in weeks.”

 Donovan stood there, wanting to pound the crap out of Reed, wanting to make him squeal the way Fogerty had. But something clicked in his brain, and in that instant he knew this was a waste of time.

 Reed was telling the truth.

 Donovan relaxed, turned to Waxman. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

 “Huh?” Waxman said.

 “He’s clueless. Let’s go.”

 Waxman looked as if he’d just dropped in from another planet and couldn’t quite fathom the behavior of this alien beast. “Did I just miss something?”

 A guy with a clipboard appeared in the office doorway. One of the crew members they’d seen earlier. “Hey, Tony. The creep’s back.”

 Reed’s face went pale. “What?”

 “I told him you were in a meeting, but I don’t think—”

 A deep baritone cut him off: “Hey, asshole, you trying to hide from me?”

 All at once the doorway filled with a hulking mass of muscle in a Gold’s Gym T-shirt, his fierce gaze directed at Reed. “I need cash, man, and I need it now.”

 Donovan’s own gaze dropped immediately to the hulk’s inner left forearm. A long, puckered, pink scar ran the length of it, bearing all the earmarks of a homemade stitch job.

 Donovan’s heart skipped.

 Holy shit. Ski Mask.

 At that instant, the hulk’s head swiveled in Donovan’s direction, the eyes going wide. Without missing a beat, he grabbed Tony’s crew member by the shoulders, hurled him at Donovan and Waxman, then turned on his heels and ran.

34

H
E WAS ALREADY
across the warehouse by the time Donovan reached the stage floor. Coming around a corner, Donovan heard the echo of a door banging open and saw a blast of sunlight, the hulk’s massive frame silhouetted against it as he darted outside.

 Cutting a diagonal path toward him, Donovan plowed through a gaggle of cast and crew members milling around a catering table. The angel let out a shriek, wings fluttering, as he swept past her. He brushed against a light stand and it toppled over with a loud crash, more shrieks and cries of alarm rising behind him.

 Somewhere in the confusion he heard the sound of Wax-man’s voice, shouting for people to “Move!” There was another loud crash and Waxman let loose a flurry of profanities that would make a truck driver blush.

 Donovan ignored the commotion. Reaching the door, he slammed through it and found himself in a parking lot, pale sunlight glinting off the windshields of a dozen or more cars. Squinting against the light, he quickly scanned the lot, his pulse up, heart pounding in his ears, head now feeling as if he’d been worked over by a jackhammer operator on a vicious amphetamine high.

 Across the lot, the hulk was about to climb behind the wheel of an F-150, but quickly abandoned that idea when he saw Donovan coming his way. Taking off on foot, he cut across a narrow side street, blew past a forklift operator unloading rolls of carpet from a container truck, and headed into an alley between two warehouses.

 Donovan followed, the thud of his heart growing louder with every step. As he neared the alley, the forklift operator swung into a reverse arc, warning beeps shrieking. Donovan veered around him and reached the mouth of the alley just as the hulk made an abrupt left turn at the far end.

 Donovan felt his chest seizing up but pushed himself, picking up speed. As he moved deeper into the alley, its walls seemed to close in on him, that odd sense of déjà vu sweeping over him again. For just a moment, he felt separated from his body, as if some dark part of him were being sucked away. The faint whisper of voices filled his ears.

 Donovan shook off the feeling and continued forward, bad leg throbbing, lungs scorched by every ragged intake of breath. Reaching the end of the alley, he turned left and saw a vacant lot up ahead, its far end bordered by a chain-link fence.

 The hulk was halfway across it.

 Relying on pure adrenaline, Donovan willed his feet to move even faster. He knew he’d pay for this, probably wind up right back in the hospital, but he couldn’t give up. Not now.

 But as the hulk neared the chain-link fence, the pounding in Donovan’s head grew so fierce it overrode everything else. He was suddenly deaf to the world, his vision narrowing, a circle of light the size of a penny pulsing like a tiny sun spot between his eyes.

 The hulk was halfway up the fence now, limbs moving furiously as he scrambled up and over it. Beyond it was a steep, grassy embankment that sloped downward toward a highway. Midafternoon traffic streaked by.

 Donovan’s vision continued to narrow, the sun spot growing bigger and brighter with every step he took. A nickel. A quarter. A half-dollar. He felt his body beginning to give out on him, the chain-link fence within his reach but at the same time seeming miles away.

 Then, inside the circle, he saw it: a face. Nothing more than a fleeting glimpse, a quick flash of sense memory. Dark eyes, malevolent smile, reptilian tongue flicking between the teeth.

 Gunderson.

 Donovan hit the fence hard and collapsed against it, fingers caught in its wide mesh, the circle of light widening as Gunderson’s grin flashed at him again.

 
Give us a kiss.
 

 Donovan willed the vision away, trying desperately to see past the light toward the embankment below. But everything outside the circle was a blur.

 Was the hulk down there?

 Legs collapsing beneath him, he felt himself falling. He scrambled for purchase, trying and failing to hang on to the fence. After a moment of blackness, he realized he was on his back, staring up at the pale afternoon sky.

 His head continued to pound, but his vision had cleared, and now sounds of traffic filtered in, horns honking, angry shouts. Ski Mask had undoubtedly reached the bottom of the embankment and was either getting away or would soon be roadkill. But Donovan couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

 A voice called out to him. “Jesus, Jack, you got a friggin’ death wish or what?”

 A moment later, Waxman crouched next to him, out of breath, fingers pressing Donovan’s neck, checking his pulse. “You are one dumb motherfucker.”

 Struggling for air, Donovan tried and failed to get some words out, offering Sidney little more than a wheezy grunt.

 “Don’t worry,” Waxman said. “I called it in. He won’t get far.”

 But Donovan had something else on his mind, trying again to get it out. Another wheezy grunt.

 Waxman leaned in closer. “What?”

 “… It was real …” Donovan said between breaths.

 Waxman frowned. “Real? What are you talking about?”

 “… the dream.”

 The frown deepened. “Sorry, old buddy, you lost me.”

 “A.J…. Gunderson.”

 “What about them?”

 “They were there,” Donovan said, knowing that where he’d gone when he’d hit that black river last night was as real as the ground beneath him, and the gray sky above.

 The netherworld.

 Purgatory.

 The road to Yaru.

 It didn’t matter what the name was. He’d been there, and it was real. And he remembered it all.

 He looked up at Waxman, at the puzzled expression on his friend’s face.

 Then he said, “I saw Gunderson.”

35

R
ACHEL CHECKED HER
watch and discovered it had stopped: 1:28 p.m. About the time she and Jack had left the hospital.

 They’d lost another hour since then, maybe more, and Jessie was only a stone’s throw away from what most people in law enforcement considered the cutoff point between hope and despair: the twenty-four-hour mark.

 The majority of children abducted by strangers wound up dead within the first three hours. The rest rarely made it past twenty-four.

 And even if Jessie
was
being kept alive by those stolen oxygen tanks, there was no telling how much longer they’d last.

 But Rachel wouldn’t allow herself to give up hope. Not yet, at least.

 She had been waiting here for what seemed an eternity, listening to the radio until a song came on that reminded her of her ex.

 The Eagles. “Tequila Sunrise.”

 Two bars into the thing, she jabbed the off button with such ferocity she almost broke a nail.

 No point in reliving that nightmare.

 But then it was too late, and all the memories came crashing back, all the times she’d spent behind the wheel of a car very similar to this one, a four-year-old Toyota she and David had scrimped and saved to put a down payment on. And what she remembered in particular were the late nights after David and his buddies from the muffler shop had poured their paychecks down their throats and she was dragged out of bed by a drunken phone call.

 Then it was into that Toyota and out to McBain’s. Rachel’s taxi service.