Honeymoon

by James Patterson

  “Look…” Tess stared at him, nervously. “It just happened. He’s a good guy.”

  “I’m sure he is.” He smiled. “It’s you I can’t figure out. The jewelry and the Mercedes. Then you’re like some horny little cotillion bitch, doing it in the parking lot with the guy who parks the cars.”

  She was starting to get scared. She knew what he was like when he got this way. He moved over to the edge of the bed and sat down. His erection almost made her sick. She pulled away, but he grabbed and squeezed her arm. Then he sort of cradled her diamond lariat. For a second she thought he was going to rip it off her neck. “My turn, cupcake….”

  He yanked away the sheet and threw her down on the bed. Then he grabbed her by the ankles and spread her wide. He rolled her back and thrust himself inside. She didn’t fight him. She couldn’t. Feeling him inside her made her gag. He thought he owned her, and maybe he did. He moved hard against her, the way he always did, something crude and foreign inside her. All she felt was shame. “I’m sorry, Ned,” she whispered to herself. She watched him grunt and sweat like some disgusting animal.

  He made her do everything he liked—all the things she hated. When he was finished, Tess lay there, feeling so dirty, shivering, as if the room had grown cold. She wanted to cry. She had to end this. Now.

  “I need to talk to you,” Tess said. He was up and looping his belt through his fancy Italian golf pants.

  “Sorry, darling, no time for cuddle talk now. I have to get back.”

  “Then I’ll see you later? At the benefit?”

  “Well, that depends.” He smoothed his hair in the mirror.

  “On what?” She didn’t understand.

  He smiled, almost pathetically. “Things have gotten very cozy, haven’t they, Tess? It must feel just like home, right, since you seem to make a habit of shitting where you sleep. You’re very pretty, my love, but you know what I think? The jewelry and the fancy car… I’m beginning to think they’ve made you feel like you really belong.” He smiled one more time. “Hope that was as good for you as it was for me.”

  He turned, tossing the room key in the palm of his hand. “And by the way, you know you really ought to lock the door. You can never tell who might pop in for a quickie.”

  IT’S OVER! she screamed to herself.

  Tess kicked at the covers in rage. She felt ashamed, angry, weak. This wasn’t going to happen anymore.

  Some stuff that must’ve fallen out of his pocket jangled on the sheets. Loose change, a golf tee. Tess hurled them with all her might against the wall. It wasn’t worth it anymore. Not for anything.

  She threw on a robe and ran herself a bath, anything to remove the touch of him. That was the last time she would ever feel his hands on her. It would mean giving this up, but he was more than she could take. Like Ned said, they could go anywhere. Go walkabout. He didn’t know just how prophetic he was. A fresh start. Yeah, she’d earned that.

  Tess went into the bedroom closet and laid out a long backless Dolce & Gabbana evening gown. She picked a pair of brown Manolo Blahniks. She would look gorgeous tonight. Give him something to miss for the rest of his life.

  Tess knotted up her hair and sank naked into the large tub. The scent of the lavender bath oil made her feel good, clean. She lay back and rested her head on the smooth porcelain rim. The water lapped up over her shoulders. She shut her eyes.

  Ned’s face and his laugh crept into her mind. Whatever shame she felt, it wasn’t enough to erase what had been a very good day. Ned Kelly. Like the outlaw. She smiled again. More like the pussycat. It was about time she had a go with someone who treated her well—make that great. He actually looked up to her.

  She heard the bathroom fan go on. For a second Tess just lay back with her eyes closed. Then she heard humming.

  Her eyes bolted open. Someone huge was standing over her. Tess’s heart leaped into her throat. “What’re you doing here?”

  He had a sullen, cold look in his eye, dark hair tied in a ponytail. She thought she’d seen him somewhere before.

  “A shame,” he said with a shrug.

  Suddenly he had Tess by the throat with his thick hands. He forced her head underwater. What’re you doing?

  Tess held her breath as long as possible, but as she opened her mouth, water rushed into her lungs, making her cough and gag, letting more water in. She was thrashing and kicking against the porcelain tub. She tried to force herself up, but Ponytail had her by the shoulders and head. He was incredibly strong, probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds.

  Panic took hold, more water pouring into her lungs. She was clawing for the man’s face, trying to scratch him, anything. Through the soapy water she could see his thick arms holding her down. Too much time going by. She stopped kicking. Stopped flailing. She wasn’t coughing anymore. This can’t be happening, a voice said inside her.

  Then another voice, afraid—far more accepting than Tess ever imagined. Yes, yes, it can. This is what it’s like to die.

  Learn more about Lifeguard.

  What would you do if you faced your wife’s killer? Forgive… or get your revenge?

  For an excerpt, turn the page.

  Ethan Breslow couldn’t stop smiling as he reached for the bottle of Perrier-Jouët Champagne chilling in the ice bucket next to the bed. He’d never been happier in his whole life. He’d never believed it was possible to be this happy.

  “What’s the world record for not wearing clothes on your honeymoon?” he said jokingly, his chiseled six-foot-two frame barely covered by a sheet.

  “I don’t know for sure. It’s my first honeymoon and all,” said his bride, Abigail, propping herself up on the pillow next to him. She was still catching her breath from their most daring lovemaking yet. “But at the rate we’re going,” she added, “I definitely overpacked.”

  The two laughed as Ethan poured more Champagne. Handing Abigail her glass, he stared deep into her soft blue eyes. She was so beautiful and—damn the cliché—was even more so on the inside. He’d never met anyone as kind and compassionate. With two simple words she’d made him the luckiest guy on the planet. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?

  I do.

  Ethan raised his Champagne for a toast, the bubbles catching a ray of Caribbean sunshine through the curtains. “Here’s to Abby, the greatest girl in the world,” he said.

  “You’re not so terrible yourself. Even though you call me a girl.”

  They clinked glasses, sipping in silence while soaking everything in from their beachfront bungalow at the Governor’s Club in Turks and Caicos. It was all so perfect—the fragrant aroma of wild cotton flowers that lingered under their king-size canopy bed, the gentle island breeze drifting through open French doors on the patio.

  Back on a different sort of island—Manhattan—the tabloids had spilled untold barrels of ink on stories about their relationship. Ethan Breslow, scion of the Breslow venture-capital-and-LBO empire, onetime bad boy of the New York party circuit, had finally grown up, thanks to a down-to-earth pediatrician named Abigail Michaels.

  Before he’d met her, Ethan had been a notorious dabbler. Women. Drugs. Even careers. He tried to open a nightclub in SoHo, tried to launch a wine magazine, tried to make a documentary film about Amy Winehouse. But his heart was never in it. Not any of it. Deep down, where it really counted, he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He was lost.

  Then he’d found Abby.

  She was loads of fun, and very funny, too, but she was also focused. Her dedication to children genuinely touched him, inspired him. Ethan cleaned up his act, got accepted at Columbia Law School, and graduated. After his very first week working for the Children’s Defense Fund, he got down on one knee before Abby and proposed.

  Now here they were, newly married, and trying to have children of their own. Really trying. That was becoming a joke between them. Not since John and Yoko had a couple spent so much time in bed together.

  Ethan swallowed the last si
p of Perrier-Jouët. “So what do you think?” he asked. “Do we give the DO NOT DISTURB sign a break and venture out for a little stroll on the beach? Maybe grab some lunch?”

  Abby nudged even closer to him, her long, chestnut-brown hair draping across his chest. “We could stay right here and order room service again,” she said. “Maybe after we work up a little more of an appetite.”

  That gave Ethan an interesting idea.

  “Come with me,” he said, sliding out of the canopy bed.

  “Where are we going?” asked Abigail. She was smiling, intrigued.

  Ethan grabbed the ice bucket, tucking it under his arm.

  “You’ll see,” he said.

  Abby wasn’t sure what to think at first. Standing there naked with Ethan in the master bathroom, she placed a hand on her hip as if to say, You’re joking, right? Sex in a sauna?

  Ethan put just the right spin on it.

  “Think of it as one of your hot yoga classes,” he said. “Only better.”

  That pretty much sealed the deal. Abby loved her hot yoga classes back in Manhattan. Nothing made her feel better after a long day at work.

  Except maybe this. Yes, this had great potential. Something they could giggle about for years, a real honeymoon memory. Or, at the very least, a tremendous calorie burner!

  “After you, my darling,” said Ethan, opening the sauna door with good-humored gallantry. The Governor’s Club was known for having spectacular master bathrooms, complete with six-head marble showers and Japanese soaking tubs.

  Ethan promptly covered the bench along the back wall with a towel. As Abby lay down, he cranked up the heat, then ladled some water on the lava rocks in the corner. The sauna sizzled with steam.

  Kneeling on the cedar floor before Abby, he reached into the ice bucket. A little foreplay couldn’t hurt.

  Placing an ice cube between his lips, he leaned over and began slowly tracing the length of her body with his mouth. The cube just barely grazed her skin, from the angle of her neck past the curve of her breasts and all the way down to her toes, which now curled with pleasure.

  “That’s… wonderful,” Abby whispered, her eyes closed.

  She could feel the full force of the sauna’s heat now, the sweat beginning to push through her pores. It felt exhilarating. She was wet all over.

  “I want you inside me,” she said.

  But as she opened her eyes, Abigail suddenly sprung up from the bench. She was staring over Ethan’s shoulder, mortified.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “There’s someone out there! Ethan, I just saw somebody.”

  Ethan turned to look at the door and its small glass window, barely bigger than an index card. He didn’t see anything—or anyone. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Abby nodded. “I’m sure,” she said. “Someone walked by. I’m positive.”

  “Was it a man or a woman?”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “It was probably just the maid,” said Ethan.

  “But we’ve still got the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.”

  “I’m sure she knocked first and we didn’t hear her.” He smiled. “Given how long that sign’s been out there she was probably wondering if we were still alive in here.”

  Abby calmed down a bit. Ethan was probably right. Still. “Can you go check to make sure?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. For a laugh, he picked up the ice bucket and put it in front of his crotch. “How do I look?”

  “Very funny,” said Abigail, cracking a smile. She stood up and handed him the towel from the bench.

  “I’ll be back in a jiff,” he said, wrapping the towel around his waist.

  He grabbed the door handle and pulled it toward him. Nothing happened.

  “It’s stuck. Abby, it won’t open.”

  “What do you mean the door won’t open?”

  In a split second, the smile had disappeared from Abby’s face.

  Ethan pulled harder on the handle, but the sauna door wouldn’t budge. “It’s like it’s locked,” he said. Only they both knew there was no lock on the door. “It must be jammed.”

  He pressed his face against the glass of the little window for a better view.

  “Do you see anyone?” Abigail asked.

  “No. No one.”

  Making a fist, he pounded on the door and shouted. “Hey, is anyone out there?”

  There was no response. Silence. An annoying silence. An eerie silence.

  “So much for it being the maid,” said Abby. Then it dawned on her. “Do you think we’re being robbed and they’ve locked us in here?”

  “Maybe,” said Ethan. He couldn’t rule it out. Of course, as the son of a billionaire, he was less concerned about being robbed than being locked in a sauna.

  “What do we do?” asked Abby. She was starting to get scared. He could see it in her eyes, and that frightened him.

  “The first thing we do is turn off the heat,” he answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He hit the Off button on the control panel. He then grabbed the ladle sitting by the lava rocks and held it up to show Abby. “This is the second thing we do.”

  Ethan wedged the ladle’s wooden handle into the doorjamb as though it were a crowbar, leaning on it with all his weight.

  “It’s working!” she said.

  The door shifted on its hinges, slowly beginning to move. With a little more muscle Ethan would be able to—snap!

  The handle splintered like a matchstick, sending Ethan flying headfirst into the wall. When he turned around, Abby said, “You’re bleeding!”

  There was a gash above his right eye, a trickle of red on his cheek. Then a stream. As a doctor, Abby had seen blood in almost every conceivable way and always knew what to do. But this was different. This wasn’t her office or a hospital; there were no gauze pads or bandages. She had nothing. And this was Ethan who was bleeding.

  “Hey, it’s fine,” he said in an effort to reassure her. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

  She wasn’t convinced. What had been hot and sexy was now just hot. Brutally hot. Every time she breathed in, she could feel the sauna’s heat singeing the inside of her lungs.

  “Are you sure the sauna’s off?” she asked.

  Actually, Ethan wasn’t sure at all. If anything, the room was beginning to feel hotter. How could that be?

  He didn’t care. His ace in the hole was the pipe in the corner, the emergency shutoff valve.

  Standing on the bench, he turned the valve perpendicular to the pipe. A loud hiss followed. Even louder was Abby’s sigh of relief.

  Not only had the heat stopped, there was actually cool air blowing in from the ceiling vent.

  “There,” said Ethan. “With any luck, we’ve triggered an alarm somewhere. Even if we didn’t, we’ll be okay. We’ve got plenty of water. Eventually, they’ll find us.”

  But the words were barely out of his mouth when they both wrinkled their noses, sniffing the air.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ethan. Whatever it was, there was something not right about it.

  Abby coughed first, her hands desperately reaching up around her neck. Her throat was closing; she couldn’t breathe.

  Ethan tried to help her, but seconds later he couldn’t breathe, either.

  It was happening so fast. They looked at each other, eyes red and tearing, their bodies twisted in agony. It couldn’t get worse than this.

  But it did.

  Ethan and Abby fell to their knees, gasping, when they saw a pair of eyes through the small window of the sauna door.

  “Help!” Ethan barely managed, his hand outstretched. “Please, help!”

  But the eyes just kept staring. Unblinking and unfeeling. Ethan and Abby finally realized what was happening. It was a murderer—a murderer who was watching them die.

  Learn more about Second Honeymoon.

  About the Authors

  JAMES PA
TTERSON has created more enduring fictional characters than any other novelist writing today. He is the author of the Alex Cross novels, the most popular detective series of the past twenty-five years, including Kiss the Girls and Along Came a Spider. Mr. Patterson also writes the bestselling Women’s Murder Club novels, set in San Francisco, and the top-selling New York detective series of all time, featuring Detective Michael Bennett. James Patterson has had more New York Times bestsellers than any other writer, ever, according to Guinness World Records. Since his first novel won the Edgar Award in 1977, James Patterson’s books have sold more than 240 million copies.

  James Patterson has also written numerous #1 bestsellers for young readers, including the Maximum Ride, Witch & Wizard, and Middle School series. In total, these books have spent more than 220 weeks on national bestseller lists. In 2010, James Patterson was named Author of the Year at the Children’s Choice Book Awards.

  His lifelong passion for books and reading led James Patterson to create the innovative website ReadKiddoRead.com, giving adults an invaluable tool to find the books that get kids reading for life. He writes full-time and lives in Florida with his family.

  HOWARD ROUGHAN is the author of The Up and Comer and The Promise of a Lie. He lives in Connecticut with his family.

  JamesPatterson.com

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  Books by James Patterson

  Summer Novels

  Second Honeymoon

  (with Howard Roughan)

  Now You See Her

  (with Michael Ledwidge)

  Swimsuit

  (with Maxine Paetro)

  Sail