by Tami Hoag
He's somewhere warm . . . he's not afraid . . . he knows I love him. . . .
She came out of bed before the sound even registered in her conscious mind. Her bare feet hit the carpet. She grabbed the old velour robe Paul had discarded. Doorbell. At midnight—ten past now. Her heart pounded. Possibilities flashed through her head: Paul looking for forgiveness, Mitch coming with news—good? Bad?
She hit the switch for the front porch light with one hand while the other clutched the robe together over her breastbone, over her heart. The bell sounded again. She pressed her eye to the peephole.
“Oh, my God.”
The words came out in a strangled whisper. Josh stood on the front step, waiting.
In the next instant Hannah was on her knees on the cold cement. She pulled her son into her arms. She held him against her body as tight as she could, crying, thanking God, kissing Josh's cheek, kissing his hair, saying his name over and over. She didn't feel the cold or the scrape of the concrete step against her knees. She felt only relief and joy and her son's small body pressing into hers. The relief was so enormous, she was terrified it was a dream. But if it was a dream, she knew she wouldn't let go. She would stay on this step and clutch him to her, feel his warmth, breathe in the scent of him.
“Oh, Josh. Oh, my God,” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips, mixing with the salty taste of tears. “I love you. I love you so much. I love you. I love you.”
She stroked a trembling hand over his tousled brown curls and down the back of the striped pajamas he wore. The same pajamas she had seen him in. The same pajamas Megan O'Malley had seen him in, though she had not been sure whether what she had seen had been real or imagined. There were so many questions yet unanswered. They flashed through Hannah's mind. If Garrett Wright had taken Josh, then who had brought him home?
She opened her eyes and looked beyond her front step into moon-silvered night. No one. No cars. No shadows except those of the trees against the pristine snow. The town lay sleeping, unaware, quiet.
Josh squirmed a little in her arms, and Hannah pulled herself back to the moment. Such a perfect moment, the one she had held as a brilliant and fragile hope in her heart. She had her son back. She would have to call Mitch—and Paul . . . and Father Tom. She would call the hospital and leave a message for Megan. Josh would have to be taken to the hospital to be examined. The press would descend again . . .
“Honey, who brought you home?” she asked. “Do you know?”
She leaned back to look at him. He simply shook his head, then tightened his arms around her neck and put his head down on her shoulder.
Hannah didn't press him. For this moment she wanted to think of nothing but Josh. No questions of how or why or who. Only Josh mattered. And he was home and safe.
“Let's go inside, okay?” she said softly, fresh tears squeezing between her lashes as Josh nodded against her shoulder.
Hannah rose with her arms around him, barely noticing his weight as she carried him into the family room. Doctor's instincts and mother's instincts prompted a quick evaluation of his physical condition. The small bruise on his cheek—the bruise she had seen in her dream—was fading. He was thinner and pale, but whole, and he wanted to be held. Hannah complied readily. She wanted him with her, next to her, physically connected to her. She held him on her lap as she sat on the love seat and used the portable phone to call Mitch, then Paul's office. Mitch promised to be over in a matter of minutes. Paul's machine picked up. Jealously channeling all her emotions to Josh's return, she didn't bother to feel irritation toward Paul for not being there; she simply left the message and hung up.
“It doesn't matter, sweetie.” She kissed the top of Josh's head, hugging him tight again as another wave of relief washed through her. “All that matters is that you're home, you're safe.”
She blinked away more tears as she looked down at him. He was asleep. His head lolled forward as he breathed deeply and evenly. His thick, long lashes curled against his cheek. My angel. My baby. The thoughts were as familiar as his face, thoughts she had recited in her mind since before his birth and countless nights after it, when she had slipped into his room to watch him sleep. My angel, my baby . . . so perfect.
A sliver of pain pierced her joy. Perfect. Josh had always been a happy child, a joy to her. Who would he be now? What had he gone through? The possibilities had tormented her every hour he had been away. Now they gathered at the edge of her relief like a pack of hyenas. She chased them back as she carefully eased out from under her son and lay him down on the love seat. He was in one piece, whole and clean. She kissed his forehead as she tucked an afghan around him and breathed in the scent of shampoo. She wanted to push his sleeve up to see if there was a bandage on the inside of his elbow, but she didn't want to wake him. And she wanted him to have these few moments of peace before having to face an examination and answer questions.
She let her hand rest on his instead, her fingertips on his wrist. His pulse was regular and normal. She didn't count the beats, but concentrated on what they represented—life. He was alive. He was with her. The piece of her heart that had been missing was returned and it beat in tandem with his.
Has he said anything about Wright?” Mitch asked quietly. He sat in a wing chair with his forearms braced against his knees, his parka open. After Hannah's call he had literally rolled out of bed and into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair stuck up in all directions. He wished Megan could have been here to help him ask these questions, to close the case she had fought so hard to solve.
“No.” Hannah sat on the floor in front of the love seat where Josh lay sleeping beneath the folds of the red afghan. She touched him constantly in small ways, stroking his hair, rubbing his back, petting his hand, as if breaking physical contact would shatter the spell and he would disappear again. “He hasn't said anything. I asked him if he knew who brought him home. He shook his head no.”
“He's in shock. It may take him a while . . .”
He let the thought trail off, not wanting to follow it. Of the paths it might take, most of them led to more unhappiness, and he wanted to spare Hannah for the moment. Still, duty dictated. Procedure had to be followed, questions had to be asked. Even now, in the dead of night, he had men knocking on doors down the block looking for anyone who might have glanced out a window and seen anything out of the ordinary.
“We'll have to take him in to the hospital tonight—”
“I know.”
“And I'll have to try to get him to answer some questions. If he can tell us anything about Wright—”
Hannah's fingers stilled on Josh's hand; she looked up at Mitch. “What will this mean? Garrett Wright is in jail and now Josh comes home. What will that do to the case against him?”
“I don't know. A lot depends on Josh, on what he can tell us. But even if he can't tell us anything useful, we've still got the lineup ID, and we'll have DNA and trace evidence from the sheet. If Wright thinks this gets him off the hook, he can think again. We caught him, honey,” he said, his gaze unwavering, his voice quiet but strong with conviction. “We nailed Garrett Wright cold, he's as guilty as sin, and we'll keep looking until we find his accomplice. Then we'll nail him, too.”
He rose from the chair and offered Hannah a hand up. “That's a promise. Garrett Wright's next game will be in a court of law. I predict Lady Justice will kick his butt.”
“I hope so.”
Mitch gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I know so. But I don't want you worrying about it. The only thing you should think about tonight is that Josh is home. That's all that matters.”
“That's the only thing that really matters at all,” she agreed, looking down at her sleeping child.
He could have been lost forever, vanished into a shadow world, as many children were every year, never to be seen again, leaving behind only questions and heartbreak for the people who loved them. For reasons known only to the dark mind of his abductor, Josh had been allowed to cross b
ack out of the shadows. That was all that counted. The truth, justice, revenge, were distant and abstract thoughts for Hannah. Their world had been shattered, their lives irrevocably altered, but Josh was home. That was all that really mattered.
Josh was home. Their lives could begin again.
EPILOGUE
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY
DAY 13
They think they've beaten us at our own game.
Poor simple minds.
Every chess master knows in the quest for victory
he will concede minor defeats.
They may have won the round, but
the game is far from over.
They think they've beaten us.
We smile and say,
Welcome to the Next Level.
BANTAM BOOKS BY TAMI HOAG
DARK HORSE
DUST TO DUST
ASHES TO ASHES
A THIN DARK LINE
GUILTY AS SIN
NIGHT SINS
DARK PARADISE
CRY WOLF
STILL WATERS
LUCKY'S LADY
SARAH'S SIN
MAGIC
And coming soon in hardcover
KILL THE MESSENGER
Praise for the bestsellers of
TAMI HOAG
DARK HORSE
“A thriller as tightly wound as its heroine . . . Hoag has
created a winning central figure in Elena . . . Bottom
line: Great ride.” —People
“This is her best to date . . . [a] tautly told thriller.”
—Minneapolis Star-Tribune
“Hoag proves once again why she is considered
a queen of the crime thriller.”
—Charleston Post & Courier
“A tangled web of deceit and double-dealing makes
for a fascinating look into the wealthy world of horses
juxtaposed with the realistic introspection of one very troubled ex-cop. A definite winner.” —Booklist
“Anyone who reads suspense novels regularly is
acquainted with Hoag's work—or certainly should be. She's one of the most consistently superior suspense and romantic suspense writers on today's bestseller lists. A word of warning to readers: don't think you know whodunit 'til the very end.” —The Facts (Clute, TX)
“Suspense, shocking violence, and a rip-roaring
conclusion—this novel has all the pulse-racing touches that put Tami Hoag books on bestseller lists and
crime fans' reading lists.”
—The Advocate Magazine (Baton Rouge, LA)
“Full of intrigue, glitter, and skullduggery . . . [Hoag]
is a master of suspense.” —Publishers Weekly
“Her best to date, an enjoyable read, and a portent of even better things to come.” —The Grand Rapids Press
“A complex cerebral puzzle that will keep readers
on the edge until all the answers are revealed.”
—The Midwest Book Review
“To say that Tami Hoag is the absolute best at what
she does is a bit easy since she is really the only person who does what she does. . . . It is testament to Hoag's skill that she is able to go beyond being skillful and find the battered hearts in her characters, and capture their beating on the page. . . . A superb read.”
—Detroit News & Free Press
DUST TO DUST
“Compelling and expertly told. Plot lines smolder
and ignite as the suspense builds. The result leaves . . .
the reader scorched.” —USA Today
“[This] wintry tale of crime and punishment
packs a powerful thrill. Bottom line: Good cops +
bad cops = killer suspense.”
—People (Page-turner of the week, starred review)
“Dust to Dust breathes new life into the old good cop vs. bad cop genre. . . . A roller-coaster ride of a thriller that will leave fans awaiting the next installment.”
—New York Post
“Sharp dialogue and an unusual plot make this a highly engaging outing for Hoag.” —Chicago Tribune
“Practice must make perfect after all because
Tami Hoag . . . just keeps getting better. . . . Hoag not
only develops her characters, she also thickens the
plot with every chapter, until there is no alternative
but to keep turning those pages.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“As a master of complex plots, Hoag is adept
at faking readers into thinking they've figured out
what's happened, only to shatter their theories.
Dust to Dust continues the tradition.”
—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
“In this well-crafted thriller, Hoag sets a complex plot in motion and gives it a powerful, emotional center.”
—Minneapolis Star-Tribune
ASHES TO ASHES
“Hoag has more or less taken over the serial killer
genre all by herself.” —Chicago Tribune
“You'll want to lock the doors while you're
reading. . . . Hoag does her homework and gets the
details right in this creepy story. . . . Powerful.”
—Minneapolis Star Tribune
“An up-all-night read.”
—The Detroit News
“[A] detail-packed thriller . . .The Silence of the
Lambs comes to mind more than once.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“[A] compelling . . . startling story.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Hoag has a way of sneaking up on the reader
in superior thriller tradition. . . . She neatly side-
steps the graphic crudeness of some of her competitors, while still providing enough surprise twists and
stomach-turning carnage to satisfy any
heebie-jeebie enthusiast.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Absorbing . . . always interesting . . . Once again,
Hoag doesn't disappoint.”
—New York Post
“Promises to keep readers up reading into the night. . . .
A lot of bang for the buck.”
—Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
“Chilling . . . Patricia Cornwell wrote thrillers that
had readers turning the pages until 3 A.M. Now Hoag
is keeping readers up all hours.”
—Sun-Sentinel (Fort Lauderdale, FL.
“If ‘page turner' is a term too easily used, Ms. Hoag
has restored its legitimacy. Her stories shock us, shake us, take us to the darkest edges of criminal conduct.”
—The Cincinnati Enquirer
“We who know a little about Tami Hoag's
novels lock the doors, grab a bowl of popcorn, and
settle down for an often unsettling read. With Ashes,
we need to look over our shoulders every chapter or so because the evil therein gathers momentum with every move a serial killer makes.”
—The Detroit News
“This is a winning psychological thriller that will
attract fans of Thomas Harris.” —Booklist
A THIN DARK LINE
“A Thin Dark Line is chilling, it's atmospheric,
it's even romantic; but the novel's best achievement
is its making readers constantly interrogate their
ideas about justice and revenge, their own
presumptions of guilt and innocence.”
—Us magazine
“This mystery defies you to put it down, and when you're done you're damn glad you didn't.”
—Detroit News & Free Press
“Hoag deftly demonstrates that the search for
truth is rarely straightforward. Important clues are
cunningly buried, and the book's tension is as
sustained as it is palpable.” —Chicago Tribune
> “With a flair for dialect and regional atmosphere,
Hoag captures the essence of the Cajun family
and working relationships while injecting suspense
and heart-pounding terror into a violent tangle
of justice, innocence, treachery, and public opinion.
A thoroughly engrossing read.” —Booklist
“Hoag has evolved into a fine thriller writer.
[She] displays a firm grasp on locale [and] there's
plenty of suspense in waiting to see how it will all resolve. Psychopathic villains are common enough,
but Hoag has managed to endow hers with a
scarred entourage that provides a tragic note.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Hoag is always a good gritty read.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Hoag writes big, full stories with complex
characters and situations. She doesn't shrink from the raw side of crime and the dark side of human nature.”
—The Cincinnati Post
Look for
TAMI HOAG'S
exciting novels of suspense
DARK HORSE
available in June 2004
in paperback
and
KILL THE
MESSENGER
available in July 2004
in hardcover