The Hunt Club

by John Lescroart

  "Offers are good."

  "Sometimes they are. This is one of those times." Speaking more quickly now, wanting to get it all out in a hurry, she went on, "You know how everything was, I mean with the Trial TV people, before I got before I disappeared? I mean, Spencer wasn't going to be able to help me. It wasn't going to happen."

  "Right."

  "Well, this is I mean, you couldn't plan something like this, but when I was gone, missing you know this, I kind of became a story."

  "No 'kind of' about it. You were hot."

  "I was hot," she admitted with a rueful look. "And then when it turned out I'd been kidnapped and then getting rescued the way I did the way that you did, I mean all of that, you know. Then all the interviews and stories."

  Hunt had something of a vague recollection. Time, Newsweek, CNN. Basically, everywhere—he'd been a small part of the frenzy himself. He decided to make it easier for her. "They want you now."

  She couldn't quite hide the pride in her small smile as she nodded. "Yes. Yes, they do. Without doing anything myself to make it happen, it seems now I've got name recognition."

  Hunt forced his own brave smile. He brought a finger up and touched her cheek. "And pretty-face recognition."

  "Maybe even that," she said, "if you can believe it."

  "Oh, I believe that all right. So have you told your boss here yet?"

  "Gary? Well, that's the other thing. Things at work, at Piersall, have been well, I've told you a little about this. It seems Gary has come to think I might have been personally involved with Judge Palmer ."

  "That's all right, Andrea. I don't need "

  "No." Her eyes bored into his, signaling her complete honesty, begging him to believe her because she was being so sincere. "But I just need to tell you that I would never have done that. It would have been completely unethical. We were working on huge cases together, Judge Palmer and me, millions and millions of dollars, and anything personal between us would have jeopardized every single case we touched."

  "Okay," Hunt said, his heart tightening in his chest. For an instant, he considered telling her that it didn't matter. People weren't perfect; everybody made mistakes. It wasn't his place to judge her. What hurt him now was that she felt she had to lie to him, that perhaps it was okay, even noble, to lie to him if it would keep his vision of her intact.

  As though he had ever wanted the vision.

  He'd wanted the person.

  And now that person irrevocably was someone who could look him in the eye and not tell him the truth. Because though he might never be able to prove if she had had her rumored affair with Judge Palmer, he knew that her denying it now with these rehearsed lines was a lie. And now suddenly what might have been had become what never could be.

  She was going on. "Gary said that even a hint of that suspicion, any sign at all, and Jim Pine would fire the whole firm. All of our work for them would be suspect, subject to appeal or lawsuits, worthless." She drew a breath. "Anyway, I don't know if there's any more law work for me in this town anymore. For what it's worth, Gary seemed to recognize that. The severance package was pretty good."

  Hunt forced another smile. "So it's all worked out?"

  "Yes, except for " She paused. "Well, that you and I never really had a chance to "

  Gently, he raised a hand and pressed two fingers against her lips. "Don't worry about you and me," he said. "You're a star, Andrea. Go be a star."

  She nodded, sighed, smiled up at him. "I knew you'd understand, Wyatt."

  "I do. Completely." One last attempt at a smile. "So when are you going?"

  "Can you believe it? They want me Monday. I fly out tomorrow."

  * * *

  Hunt was sitting on the cooler in the alley, hands around a plastic cup full of beer as Connie came out the back door. "Can I take a minute with Mr. Hunt?" she asked.

  "You can take an hour if you want, although Devin might be upset."

  "No. He likes me to spend time with other guys. He says it always makes him look so much better by comparison."

  Hunt had to grin. "He's one of a kind, all right."

  "He's not all wrong, not most of the time, anyway."

  Hunt put an arm around her. "If you're flirting with me, you've got a half an hour to cut it out."

  "I'll time it," she said. Looking back over her shoulder, making sure they were out of earshot, she said, "I just want to tell you, seriously, how grateful I am—we all are—to you. And how proud."

  He turned to look at her. "What for?"

  "Well, maybe it slipped your mind in the crush of events, Wyatt, but while you were getting all the fame and glory for finding Andrea Parisi, the important thing to me is that you also saved my man's life. He knows you did, too."

  "I didn't—"

  "Don't go all modest on me, Wyatt. It's unbecoming. You saved his life. You saved all their lives. I will never be able to thank you enough, nor will the kids, and they don't even have any kind of real understanding of it yet."

  "Not being modest, Con, but it was really just circumstances. It could have gone another way, and he would have saved me. I mean, he's not the cop of the year for nothing."

  "No. I know that. But he also wouldn't be the cop of the year if something hadn't got him back into being who he is."

  "I think that might have been a little bit you, too."

  She nodded. "Acknowledged, but you lit the fire under him. You made it happen. I think you saved more than his life, Wyatt. You brought him back to who he is."

  "Well, he's a great guy."

  "Yes, and he always has been, although sometimes he forgets it. But when he does, he's got me to remind him. You. I don't think you get reminded often enough that you're pretty special yourself. So I thought I'd take a minute and tell you." She put her hand on his arm. "Do you hear me?"

  Hunt let out a breath. "I hear you. Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Connie leaned into him briefly and then stood up and looked back behind her. "Okay," she said. "Where did she go? I didn't get to say ten words to her."

  "Who?"

  "'Who?' he asks. The famous Andrea Parisi? Perhaps your girlfriend, not that I'm asking."

  Hunt tried to keep it light. "She had to leave. She got a new job in New York and starts on Monday."

  "In New York. But what about you?"

  "What about me? I'm fine."

  "You're not. You liked her. You liked her a lot."

  But he shook his head. "I never really knew her, Con, except that she was beautiful and smart and fun and nice."

  "Well, my friend, that doesn't sound all bad. Some people, they look for those things in people they date."

  "They're good qualities, I admit, as far as they go."

  "But they don't go far enough? Is that it?"

  Hunt considered for a second. "That's a nice way to put it," he said. As he turned to Connie, this time his smile was genuine. "It's for the best, Con. I really think it's for the best."

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My first and most important acknowledgment is to my mate, friend, partner, and muse, Lisa Sawyer. Without a solid and happy home front, nothing creative is possible for me, and Lisa's strength, good sense, and fundamental joy in life makes her the best lifelong companion imaginable. Contributing mightily to our domestic tranquility as well as to the tone of these books, our son Jack Sawyer Lescroart remains constant in his role as best pal, jokester, plot checker, general all-around mensch.

  Also close to home, my longtime collaborator Al Giannini has once again walked the walk with me from the earliest stages of this effort. His take on the most labyrinthine inner workings of the legal community, his encyclopedic knowledge of both the law and of human nature, and his creative instincts have been part and parcel of the underpinnings of every one of my San Francisco books, and my debt to him cannot be overstated. For thirty or so years, Andy Jalakas worked in child protective services in New York, and many of his experiences led me to the backstory for this novel's lead character. At
Andy's suggestion, I also read and drew from a powerful and important book, Marc Parent's Turning Stones: My Days and Nights with Children at Risk. I also tip my hat in thanks to David Corbett, a very, very fine writer and former private investigator, who was very generous with his time, expertise, and insight. My assistant, Anita Boone, continues in her role as majordomo, efficiency expert, fact checker, and general right-hand person. She's a terrific help and perhaps the world's most patient human being, especially around sometimes angst-ridden writers.

  Over the past several years, my Internet correspondence has assumed an important role in helping me communicate directly with my readers, some of whom have recommended concepts that might be fun to explore. Before I even began to think about The Hunt Club, one of my correspondents, Joe Phelan, recommended that I take a look at the California Correctional Peace Officers Association (the CCPOA), or prison guards' union. That suggestion came to play a central role in this book, and I'm grateful to Joe for all of his references. That said, I reiterate that though the CCPOA material in the book is based on actual facts and occurrences, this is a work of fiction, and I took substantial liberties with both the organizational structure and leadership of the union. (I love hearing from my readers and can be contacted through my Web site, www.johnlescroart.com.)

  For technical advice on various topics, I'd like to thank San Francisco Police Officer Shawn Ryan for the chilling details of his own firefight; my friend Peter J. Diedrich, Esq., for the odd, obscure legal nugget that helps to season this narrative; and Frank Seidl for his wide-ranging knowledge of Napa County and the wine industry, which much to my delight I've finally had an opportunity to exploit. Karen Hlavacek is an incredible proofreader whom I can't thank enough.

  This book, to say the least, did not write itself. In fact, in the early stages, it sometimes felt as though it would never get truly started. But helping me out of the blocks were my two great friends who also happen to toil in these fields of words—John Poswall and Max Byrd.

  Carole Baron, though no longer at the helm at Dutton, has been a guiding force and cheerleader for my work from the very beginning, and she contributed mightily to the original concept here. Day to day, my editor, Mitch Hoffman, has kept the process on its course with several interim readings (and astute comments). Don Matheson, perennial best man, provides my regular gumption fix, without which the pages would pile up far too slowly and would be far less fun to write.

  Several characters in this book owe their names (although no physical or personality traits, which are all fictional) to individuals whose contributions to various charities have been especially generous. These people (and their respective charities) include Doug Malinoff, Yolo County Court Appointed Special Advocates (CASA); Sue Kutschkau, Cal State Fullerton Foundation; and Betsy Sobo, the American Repertory Ballet. Lastly, I am extremely grateful as always to my agent, Barney Karpfinger, who embraced the perhaps risky idea of this book from its conception and helped to keep the seed alive until it came to fruition.