The Collectors

by David Baldacci

  Milton exclaimed, “Will you loosen up, Caleb? And it’s not a felony if we’re putting the real book back, now is it?”

  Caleb started to say something and then rapidly calmed. “No, I guess it isn’t.”

  “I’ll take care of the details,” Annabelle said. “I’ll just need the book from you, Caleb.” She reached out for it.

  He immediately clutched it to his chest. “Can’t I keep it until you really need it?” he asked, his hand lightly running over the cover.

  “You told Monty Chambers it was just a dumb book,” Reuben reminded him.

  Caleb looked miserable. “I know. I haven’t slept a wink since I said it. I think the book fairies have cursed me,” he added glumly.

  “Okay,” she said. “You can keep it for now.”

  Reuben looked at Annabelle hopefully. “Okay, now that all the fun’s over, would you like to go out with me sometime? Like maybe tonight?”

  She smiled. “Can I take a rain check, Reuben? But I appreciate the offer.”

  “It won’t be the last one, may-dam.” He kissed her hand.

  After the others had left, Annabelle joined Stone, who’d gone to work in the cemetery.

  As he washed off a tombstone, she gathered weeds in a plastic bag.

  “You don’t have to stay and help me,” he said. “Working in a cemetery isn’t exactly the life I’d picture for someone like you.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “So what do you picture for someone like me?”

  “Husband, kids, nice house in the suburbs, PTO board, maybe a dog.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m kidding. So what now?”

  “Well, I have to return the book so Caleb will get off my back.”

  “And after that?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not one who looks that far ahead.” She grabbed another sponge, knelt down and started helping Stone clean off the grave marker. Later, after they’d eaten a dinner that Annabelle prepared, they sat on the porch and talked.

  “I’m glad I came back,” she said, glancing at Stone.

  Stone said, “I am too, Annabelle.”

  She smiled at his use of her real name. “That Seagraves guy, he called you a Triple Six. What’s that about?”

  “That was about thirty years ago,” Stone said.

  “Fair enough. We all have secrets. So you ever think about going someplace other than here?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “Here tends to grow on you,” he said simply.

  Maybe it will, Annabelle thought. They sat in silence, staring up at the full moon.

  A four-hour drive north, Jerry Bagger stood looking out his window at the same moon overhead. He’d called in every favor he’d ever earned, threatened and beaten up more people than he could remember, loving every minute of it. The result was he was closing in as her defenses and covers started falling away. Very soon it would be his turn. And what he’d done to Tony Wallace would pale next to what he had planned for the lady. The image of her slow destruction at his hands never failed to curl his lips into a smile. He was back in control. Bagger puffed contentedly on his cigar and sipped a finger of his bourbon.

  Get ready, Annabelle Conroy. Here comes big, bad Jerry.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Michelle, the one who really makes it all work.

  To Colin Fox, thanks for a great editing job. Here’s to many books together.

  To Aaron Priest, the master, enough said.

  To Maureen, Jamie, Jimmy and all the rest at Hachette Book Group USA, for being great friends and business partners.

  To Lucy Childs and Lisa Erbach Vance, for all you do for me.

  To Dr. John Y. Cole at the Library of Congress, for making the Library come alive.

  To Mark Dimunation and Daniel DeSimone at the Library of Congress, for showing me the gem that is the LOC Rare Book Reading Room.

  To Diane van der Reyden at the Library of Congress, for making the rounds of your department with me. I hope I got it mostly right.

  To Dr. Monica Smiddy, thank you for the detailed and thoughtful medical advice.

  To Bob Schule, my eagle reader and world-class consultant.

  To Deborah, who helps keep me sane and on schedule.

  To Rosemary Bustamante, for your foreign language skills, and for being a great friend.

  To Maria Rejt, for making it better from across the pond.

  To Cornelius Behen, for the use of your name. Hope you liked the character.

  And finally, to the memory of Robert (Bob) Bradley, who never got to see his name in the book but who lives in the hearts and minds of the Bradley and Hope families and all his friends.