by Jeff Gunhus
He’d already assumed the answer, so snapped back with the second question, an old interrogation tactic. A quick response is often the most truthful response.
“Why not?” he’d asked.
“There are a lot of people who still remember Tracy Bain as the high school student athlete with a future in front of her. They deserve to keep that memory.”
Mason had kept quiet. Waiting.
Finally, Allison added, “And I don’t trust you with them.”
Mason had laughed at that. An unexpected response.
“God, you do have brass balls, don’t you?” he’d said before turning serious. “Let me explain my intentions and see if I can earn your trust.”
The two of them had sat down and had a frank conversation about Mason’s feelings about Mark Summerhays, what Mason suspected about the man but couldn’t prove. How his goal wasn’t to blackmail congressmen into appropriating funds for the FBI, but to prevent his beloved country from electing a criminal to its highest office.
Together, they hatched the plan to achieve his goal without the videos. They would send in Libby with a wire. Allison had thought Mason too confident that his son would not have crossed the line and ordered Harris to kill if necessary, but she was willing to play along. In her mind, once they started talking about it they would incriminate one another and the chips would fall where they would. As long as she got to watch the person who set Harris in motion do a perp walk, she was happy. The fact that it had worked and Mason had seen his son vindicated was just icing.
“Do you want me to walk you in?” Jordi asked.
“I look that bad?”
“Worse.”
She punched him in the arm. He smiled, but then looked at her seriously.
“Get some distance. Take a break,” he said. It was his real voice, without the fake accent he usually adopted. “You’ve been around so much death, maybe you should try life for a while?”
She leaned over and gave the big man a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Jordi. I think you’re right.”
“While you’re at it,” Jordi said, his accent back in full force, “call that cop you told me about, go out on a date and get a good shag. It always works for me.”
Allison felt herself redden. Neil Briggs, the officer who’d flirted with her at the hospital crime scene had left her a message, making it clear it was a social call. She’d made the mistake of telling Jordi about it. She laughed as she climbed out of the car. She knew better than to answer. Jordi always grabbed the last word so it was best to just let him have it early.
She waved as he pulled away then went down the driveway to her house, both her body and soul hobbled by the events over the past year. Tortured by Arnie Milhouse. Burying Richard. Holding the dying men during the botched raid on Sam Kraw. The woman from the fire dying on the ground next to her. Natalie pleading for her life. It was too much. More than she ever wanted to bear. Too much sadness and too much pain for a lifetime, let alone a single year. She wanted no more to do with it and her letter to Mason had made that clear.
She walked into her house and heard the TV on in the back room.
“I’m home, Dad,” she called out.
No response.
“Dad?”
She walked down the hall, the sound of the TV getting louder. She fought a rising sense of panic that something was wrong. That her father was dead, either by natural causes or from some part of her career dealing with the darkness in the world finding its way into her house. She quickened her step.
“Dad?”
She turned the corner and took in the sight.
Her dad and Maria were on the couch, the TV playing an old black and white movie, John Wayne in Stagecoach if she wasn’t mistaken. Her dad sat upright while Maria was fast asleep, her head on his lap. He waved at Allison, put his finger to his lips and pointed to Maria. Carefully, he lifted himself off the couch and replaced his lap with a cushion. He pointed to the kitchen and tiptoed that direction. Allison followed.
“Looks like she’s a big John Wayne fan,” she said with a laugh.
“She likes those mushy love stories,” he said. “I pretend to like them but as soon as she falls asleep, I switch the channel.”
“You know, she works for you. If you want to change the channel, you can just do it.”
“She quit the agency last week,” her dad said. “She’s just…you know…here now. I hope that’s OK.”
His speech was so clear and his thoughts so quick, that for a second she allowed herself the idea that he’d been miraculously cured. But she chastised herself. There were good days and bad, she knew this, and the trick was to take things as they were and enjoy the good as it came.
She threw her arms around his neck, gave him a hug and kissed both of his cheeks.
“What’s all this for?” he said.
“For being a scoundrel,” she said.
He grinned and gave her a wink. “You know what we should do?”
“What?”
“Make some hot chocolate, go out in the backyard and see who can name the constellations. Remember we used to do that?”
Allison blinked back tears. “Yeah, I remember. It’s really cold out there. Are you sure––”
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll see if Eddie wants to join us. He’s probably sleeping. Teenage boys. They’re always…always…teenage boys are always…”
Allison stepped into his arms and laid her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace as his voice faded away.
“It’s OK, Dad,” she said. “I’m right here.”
She felt him take a long, shuddering breath, then he held her out at arm’s length.
“Just two hot chocolates,” he said. “Me and you. Just like old times.”
“Just like old times,” she agreed.
She made the drinks, found a warm blanket for them to share and then they went outside and cuddled up under the stars. Her dad told the old stories, clear as if he were reading them off a sheet. They laughed together at the punch lines to funny stories they’d both heard a hundred times. Cried as they recalled their sweetest memories as well as their saddest.
But as the sky lightened in the east, her dad’s memory faded, retreating back into the darkness so impatient to claim his mind forever. Rather than cling to it or chase it, Allison just laid her head on his shoulder and they stopped talking. As the sun rose and chased the shadows from the world, she held on to her dad and took comfort from the strength in the arms wrapped around her.
Finally, they went back inside. Maria had moved from the couch to the master bedroom and her dad padded along the hallway in that direction. Allison kissed him goodnight, went to her bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to get undressed or get under the covers.
But before she could drift off, she heard her door open. It was her dad, a glass of water balanced carefully in his hands. He gently placed it on her bedside table, then patted her head the way he had when she was a little girl.
“It’s going to be all right, hon,” he whispered. “You’ll see.”
He left the room, closing her door gently behind him.
Allison reached out and touched the glass with the tips of her fingers. She smiled, surprised to find that she agreed with him. With a cleansing breath, Allison settled into her bed, cleared her mind and fell into a deep, restful sleep, better than any she’d had in years.
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Author’s Note
Thank you for reading this book. Without you, the reader, I’d be scribbling away for only my own pleasure. I’d be awake before dawn, mainlining caffeine while my five kids and wife slept upstairs, telling these stories only to myself.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d still do it. I love the process so much that I’d still do it if I had to pay for the privilege. There’s something about clawing my way through a story, excavating characters
and building a world where surprising things happen that really cranks my motor. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.
But having you share the journey with me is gravy. And damn if it isn’t good tasting gravy.
We’re all busy. Modern life demands our attention in ways unfathomable even a decade ago. Jobs that follow us home. Twenty-four-hour news channels. Kids on three or four sports teams at a time. Holidays. Family. Keeping up with our friends’ fake perfect lives on Facebook. It can seem overwhelming. At least to me it does.
Finding the bandwidth to invest hours, days even, into reading a novel, is nothing short of a miracle. But, for me, there’s nothing better than the immersive experience of reading a good story well told. When you choose to read KILLER PURSUIT or any of my books, you give me your trust that I will deliver that experience to you. I hope that I have done so to your satisfaction with this novel. I hope that I delivered the goods and that we’re square. If I fell short, please know I took the attempt seriously and did my level best. And if you enjoyed it, then I’m one happy guy. Like I said, gravy.
If KILLER PURSUIT was a good ride for you, please drop me a line and let me know. Even better, drop a quick review on Amazon or your favorite online site. Best of all, tell your friends as word of mouth is the way most people choose their next book to read.
I appreciate your support and your trust. I hope I prove to be deserving of them both.
Best,
Jeff Gunhus
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About the Author
Jeff Gunhus is the author of the Amazon bestselling supernatural thrillers, Night Chill and Night Terror and the thriller Killer Within. He also writes the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book of the series, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His book Reaching Your Reluctant Reader has helped hundreds of parents create avid readers. As a father of five, he and his wife Nicole spend most of their time chasing kids and taking advantage of living in the great state of Maryland. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel. If you see him there, sit down and have a cup of coffee with him. You just might end up in his next book.
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