Alex Kava Bundle

by Alex Kava

  Sanchez only shrugged and told him there were no guarantees with anything. Pakula knew he himself was sounding more like a civilian than a law enforcement officer. He knew the risks and had always been willing to take them, but in the past it had always been a matter of taking the risks for himself, not for a friend. Not for a friend he already felt responsible for.

  “Almost two,” Sanchez announced into his headset, and Pakula braced himself, his body stiffening just as it had earlier right before the Black Hawk had taken off. In retrospect, that part had been a cakewalk.

  CHAPTER 68

  1:56 p.m.

  Melanie parked in the last slot in the corner, exactly where Jared instructed, away from the door of the truck stop. She cut the engine, but he made no attempt to leave the car. Instead, he sat back in the seat, looking out the rear windows, looking up as if expecting something to come out of the sky.

  “Didn’t you say you had to pick something up here?” she asked.

  “Yeah, wait a minute. Something’s not right.” He slouched down in the seat. “I left the gun in the glove compartment,” he said. “Charlie, get it for me.”

  Melanie reached for the compartment before Charlie could. She opened it, hesitated, took a deep breath and wrapped her fingers around the gun. It felt so odd and yet familiar and not quite as heavy as she remembered.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Jared,” she said, pulling the gun out and holding it in her lap.

  “Give me the gun,” Jared told her, but he stayed slouched down instead of reaching over the seat for it.

  “Not until you tell me, Jared. No more secrets. What are we picking up?”

  “Just some money. I had Max Kramer wire some money for us.”

  “Max Kramer?” She remembered the phone calls he had made to his attorney. Was it possible he was simply asking Kramer for help? “What makes you think you can trust him?”

  “He got me off before, didn’t he?”

  “I thought he got you off because you weren’t guilty.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I meant.” Jared’s head and eyes kept darting around but he stayed low, which only made Melanie more nervous. “Don’t worry about Kramer, Mel. I’ve got some insurance back in my room.”

  “What do you mean, insurance?”

  “Melanie, give me the fucking gun. You know that I’m just trying to take care of you and me.”

  “What about Charlie?”

  Melanie looked over at Charlie. He was sitting perfectly still, half slouched in his seat, following his uncle’s example. He was always following Jared, doing exactly what Jared asked without question, without thought.

  “Of course, Charlie, too. But you know, Mel, Charlie’s been screwing up a lot. He’s the reason we’re in this fucking mess. Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

  She could see the boy cower from Jared’s words and she was startled by the image of another boy, cowering, bracing himself, not for words, but for blows. Charlie reminded her exactly of Jared as a boy. And when she looked back at Jared she could see how much he now reminded her of her father. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Jared’s quick temper, his outbursts of rage. No, it wasn’t possible.

  “Charlie, I’m giving you a chance to make it all up,” Jared told him, smoothing his voice into a tone Melanie used to believe was genuine. “I want you to go inside the truck stop. There’ll be an envelope waiting. It’s in your name. Just ask for it at the counter, okay? Can you do that, buddy?”

  Charlie was nodding, and he reached for the car door, but Melanie stopped him.

  “Don’t, Charlie. You stay put.”

  “Melanie, stay the fuck out of this.” Jared had already forgotten about his soft voice. His eyes were even more frantic now. What did they see? What was he expecting? Were there snipers waiting? Is that what he expected? Is that what he would let happen to Charlie?

  She glanced over at Andrew Kane and he must have taken it as an invitation.

  “Make a choice, Melanie,” Andrew told her, softly, quietly. “This is the end of the road.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Jared punched the author in his wounded shoulder, then he crouched back down. “Charlie, go on in. And hurry the fuck up. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  “Charlie, stay put,” Melanie told him, and that’s when she understood what she needed to do, just like all those years ago. In a brief moment everything became so clear. She raised the gun and pointed it at Jared over the seat. He looked as if he wanted to laugh at her, until his eyes met hers.

  “I choose Charlie,” she said, and she pulled the trigger.

  Monday, September 13

  CHAPTER 69

  10:30 a.m.

  Grace wasn’t sure why they were even humoring Melanie Starks; maybe she wanted to get Max Kramer more than she realized. Right now they had nothing concrete to connect him to the bank robbery. He had confessed to an affair with Tina Cervante and to giving her the locket with their initials. But that was all. He insisted he had no idea why Jared Barnett would target her in such a violent way.

  Pakula led the way through the house. Corrine Starks had to let them in because of the search warrant, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. One of the young officers Pakula brought along stayed downstairs with Ms. Starks, keeping her from interrupting their search, but the poor guy couldn’t shut her up. However, her profanity seemed focused on her daughter, Melanie, calling her a murdering whore. Grace couldn’t imagine being put in that position as a mother, choosing a son over a daughter, but then she couldn’t imagine having a son like Jared Barnett.

  The other officer stayed beside Melanie, keeping a close watch and leading her by the elbow, despite her hands being cuffed in front of her.

  “Is this it?” Pakula asked Melanie when they came to the closed door at the end of the hallway.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Pakula opened the door and went in first. He pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and started to put them on while he looked around the room.

  “He said he had some kind of insurance,” Melanie said. “I know it’ll connect Jared and Max Kramer. I just know it.”

  It was a small room cluttered with piles of dirty clothes, magazines and boyhood things: a dartboard on the closet door, a baseball trophy and an autographed baseball amongst the empty take-out containers and wrappers. Grace couldn’t help wondering if there was really something here or if Melanie Starks was conning them. She and her son, Charlie, were looking at a stack of felony charges that, if convicted, could mean the death penalty for both of them. They kept insisting—though Charlie Starks wasn’t quite as convincing as his mother—that Jared Barnett had killed everyone in the bank, but the ballistics report showed two different guns had been used. The second gun, however, had never been found. As much as Grace believed Jared to be a cold-blooded killer, she couldn’t see him going into the bank with two guns blazing like some Wild West bank robber.

  “He used to hide things,” Melanie was telling Pakula, “by stuffing them inside an ordinary object. You know, like a football or maybe a pillow.”

  Once again, Grace found herself wondering what made someone like Melanie Starks stand by while her brother killed six innocent people. Seven if they counted Danny Ramerez. His body had been discovered late Saturday in a Dumpster behind the Logan Hotel after residents complained of the smell. Ironically, he had been stuffed inside a black garbage bag not unlike the one Rebecca Moore’s body had been found in seven years ago. Max Kramer’s crack whore—who couldn’t seem to get her story right about the convenience store robberies—was able to make a positive ID of Jared Barnett as the man she had seen hauling a black bag out of the Logan Hotel the night Danny Ramerez supposedly disappeared.

  As for the convenience store robberies, Charlie Starks admitted—surprising even his mother—that Jared had used them only as practice runs. Charlie had scoped out each store then reported back to Jared who was waiting outside. The boy talked about it as if it were some game the two h
ad played.

  Grace crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, watching Pakula search through Jared Barnett’s closet, emptying shoeboxes of baseball cards and tossing out a couple of footballs, neither of which seemed to have any hidden compartments.

  She glanced at Melanie Starks, trying to determine if she was, indeed, conning them, hoping to cut a deal for both her and her son. Life with the possibility of parole for Charlie and less time for her. Grace and her boss had agreed that, if Melanie Starks could, in fact, implicate Max Kramer as the mastermind of the bank robbery as well as the murder of Tina Cervante, it would be worth the deal. What an odd twist of fate it would be if Max Kramer, the defender of death row inmates, ended up on death row himself.

  “I don’t think there’s anything here,” Pakula said as he dug through the dresser drawers and looked under the bed. He shoved aside the piles of clothing and pulled back the bedcovers and suddenly there it was.

  Grace knew as soon as she saw it. Underneath Jared Barnett’s bedspread was Emily’s stuffed white dog.

  “It’s Mr. McDuff,” she said without realizing how ridiculous it probably sounded.

  “Excuse me?” Pakula said.

  Grace went over to the bed and picked up the stuffed animal. “Emily’s been missing this since Wednesday. She kept telling me that the shadow man took it.”

  “The shadow man?” Pakula was looking at her now as if she were nuts. Even Melanie looked confused.

  “I think your brother must have taken it from my house.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Then Grace felt it. She found the slot cut into Mr. McDuff’s back and, without pulling it out and contaminating it, she could see Jared Barnett had inserted an audiocassette. She held it up to show Pakula and Melanie.

  “He must have known that I might be the one looking through his things, and of course, I wouldn’t miss this. I think we have our evidence.” And she looked to Melanie. “If this is what I think it is, you might have your deal.”

  EPILOGUE

  Two years later

  Manhattan, New York

  Andrew Kane smiled up at Erin Cartlan as she handed him a bottled water.

  “They’re lined up out the front door,” she said, pleased, referring to the line of people outside the door of her bookstore waiting to meet him and get an autographed copy of his new book.

  “I hear it’s your best yet,” the brunette in front of him said, waiting for him to finish her inscription. “East of Normal? Wherever did you come up with that title?”

  “You’ll figure it out when you read the book,” he answered.

  “Is it true it’s based on something that really happened to you?”

  “You know book publicists,” he said, keeping his eyes down and scratching his name on the page. “They’ll say anything to sell tons of books.”

  He handed her the book and that’s when he saw her. She was in line, not ten feet away. He almost didn’t recognize her. She was dressed in a tailored brown suit and her hair was cut short. She was actually very pretty. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was a professional businesswoman and not an ex-convict out on parole. She waved when she saw him notice her. He waved her to the front of the line.

  “Do you mind?” he asked the gentleman who was next and, of course, what could he say but no he didn’t mind.

  Andrew stood to greet her, not knowing what was appropriate. She saved him by offering her hand.

  “God, Melanie, you look great. How long have you been…” He stopped himself before saying “out of jail,” but he could see she knew the rest of the question.

  “Only a couple of months.”

  “And how’s Charlie?”

  “Good. Really good. Three more years and he has his first parole hearing.” She turned back to the long line, distracted and smiling when she said, “Look at you.” Then she turned over the copy of his novel she had already picked up. “It’s good. I like how you did it.”

  “Well, there are some things I used creative license with.”

  “I know.” She smiled. She’d obviously already read the book and was pleased with her portrayal.

  “How did you find out about…” and she leaned in, lowering her voice, “my father and, well, you know?”

  “Mostly your mom and some newspaper articles. I suspected Jared had to kill him to end the abuse and that’s partly why Jared was the way he was. Did I do okay?”

  “Oh, yes, I loved the book,” she said, hugging it to her. “Even if you did get a few things wrong or rather used creative…what was it?”

  “Creative license. You know,” and he pulled her aside, indicating to Erin and the waiting line of people that he’d only be another minute or two, “I never would have believed you were capable of doing what you ended up having to do.”

  “Really?” She leaned in close again. “What you didn’t realize was that it wasn’t the first time for me.”

  “Excuse me?” He wasn’t sure what she meant.

  “My father?” She looked around to make sure there was enough chatter behind her that she couldn’t be overheard. “It wasn’t Jared that night. He just cleaned up the mess.”

  Andrew stared at her, only now realizing what she was saying, that she had killed her father and not Jared.

  “So can you autograph my copy to me and Charlie?”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Like many other suspense writers I use bits and pieces about real-life crimes and killers in my novels. Through research and interviews I often discover fascinating details that inspire a plot twist of a killer’s M.O. or an unusual piece of evidence. And always I hope it’s these small details that add authenticity to my novels.

  One False Move, however, came about in an entirely different way. In March of 2001 I retreated to my favorite cabin at Platte River State Park, isolating myself to finish my second novel, Split Second. My dogs and I were the only occupants out of the thirteen cabins that surround the lake. During our second evening I heard a helicopter flying low over the park. In a matter of minutes I learned that two men had robbed a bank in nearby Lincoln, Nebraska. By the time I heard the news they had already shot a farm couple in order to steal their pickup and were on the run. The state park was in the middle of the manhunt, and so was I.

  The experience sparked the idea for One False Move, and that summer I scratched out pages of notes even though I knew I’d have to put them aside while I wrote two more Maggie O’Dell novels. In the fall of 2002 I pulled out the notes again in order to finally start writing. That same fall three men walked into a bank in Norfolk, Nebraska, with the intention of robbing it. Forty seconds later they left without any money, leaving five innocent people dead and triggering a state-wide manhunt. It was the deadliest bank robbery in Nebraska’s history.

  Although my idea for One False Move came a year and half before and was based on an entirely different bank robbery and manhunt, I was struck by some of the similarities. I talked to law enforcement officials and reporters who had been personally involved in the Norfolk case. Their experiences and stories gave me a greater appreciation for what I was writing about and most definitely enriched my novel.

  Most of them were asking the same questions I had already been asking—why and how could anyone do something like this? What pushes some of us to do evil while others will never cross that line? If it’s human nature to fight for survival, to what extremes are we willing to go? These are the same questions I seem to ask in every one of my novels. However, this time I realized the questions were not simply rhetorical. Both crimes had hit a bit too close to home. This time I was using bits and pieces of two separate crimes that had affected either me personally or people I knew.

  It was one more reminder that truth is stranger than fiction. And although I write fiction, I now realize with the help of my readers that what I write might not be only for entertainment but can sometimes touch people in ways I never imagined or intended. This has definitely been an experience that has g
iven me a new level of sensitivity to the crimes and characters I portray in my novels.

  I want to thank all of those who shared their experiences with me concerning that fatal day in Norfolk in September 2002. And to the victims’ families, I extend my deepest sympathy.

  ISBN: 978-1-55254-979-7

  Copyright © 2007 Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  A Perfect Evil

  Copyright © 2000 by S.M. Kava

  Split Second

  Copyright © 2001 by S.M. Kava

  The Soul Catcher

  Copyright © 2002 by S.M. Kava

  At the Stroke of Madness

  Copyright © 2003 by S.M. Kava

  A Necessary Evil

  Copyright © 2006 by S.M. Kava

  One False Move

  Copyright © 2004 by S.M. Kava

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.