by Play Dead
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
A Note from the Author
Okay, if this is the first book of mine you’re going to try, stop now. Return it. Grab another. It’s okay. I’ll wait.
If you’re still here, please know that I haven’t read Play Dead in at least twenty years. I didn’t want to rewrite it and pass it off as a new book. I hate when authors do that. So this is, for better or worse, the exact book I wrote when I was in my early twenties, just a naive lad working in the travel industry and wondering if I should follow my father and brother and go to (shudder) law school.
I’m hard on it, but aren’t we all hard on our early stuff? Remember that essay you wrote when you were in school, the one that got you an A-plus on, the one your teacher called “inspired”—and one day you’re going through your drawer and you find it and you read it and your heart sinks and you say, “Man, what was I thinking?”
That’s how it is with early novels sometimes.
Over the years, I’ve borrowed a bit from this book—names, places, even a character or two. Close readers may recognize that and will hopefully smile.
Finally, flawed and all, I love this book. There are an energy and risk taking in Play Dead that I wonder if I still have. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young. I’m not this guy anymore, but that’s okay. None of us is stagnant with our passion and our work. That’s a good thing.
Enjoy.
Praise for Harlan Coben and His Bestselling Novels
“Coben again keeps the reader off balance with innovative story lines and diabolical bad guys.”
—People
“More twists and turns than an amusement park ride.”
—USA Today
“Every time you think Harlan Coben couldn’t get any better at uncoiling a whip snake of a page-turner, he comes along with a new novel that somehow surpasses its predecessor.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“An exhilarating, bang-up Porsche Turbo of a novel that you absolutely will not put down.”
—Dennis Lehane
“Coben twists story lines into psychological thrill rides. The pages flip so fast it’s a wonder you don’t develop paper cuts.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“Truly surprising.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“The action unfolds with the intensity of TV’s 24… . Nobody writes them better than Coben.”
—The Associated Press
“Lively, fast-moving entertainment, jam-packed with the bizarre plot twists that are his stock-in-trade.”
—The Washington Post
“Coben is one of the best authors around at writing page-turning suspense… . He has a knack for hooking readers right away and holding their interest as they zoom through his plots.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Most thriller authors only wish they could write like Coben. The guy has a way of grabbing you from the first paragraph and never turning you loose till the ashes have settled. Coben takes chances; he pulls no punches.”
—The Madison County Herald (MS)
“Harlan Coben thrillers are precision-tooled page-turners. If you’re looking for immediate immersion in a book that will not let go until it’s done, then Coben’s your man.”
—London Lite
ALSO BY HARLAN COBEN
Deal Breaker
Drop Shot
Fade Away
Back Spin
One False Move
The Final Detail
Darkest Fear
Tell No One
Gone for Good
No Second Chance
Just One Look
The Innocent
Promise Me
The Woods
Hold Tight
Long Lost
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in an SPI Books edition. Published by arrangement with the author.
First Signet Printing, October 2010
Copyright © Harlan Coben, 1990, 1993
eISBN : 978-1-101-44361-3
Excerpt from Caught copyright © Harlan Coben, 2010
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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In memory of my father,
Carl Gerald Coben,
the best dad in the whole world
Prologue
May 29, 1960
IT would be a mistake to look directly at her when she spoke. Her words, he knew, could not affec
t him; her face and body could.
Sinclair turned and gazed out the window as she closed the door. It was a warm day, and outside he could see many of the students lazing in the sun. A few played touch football, but most just lay on blankets, couples cuddling close to one another; opened textbooks sprawled near them, ignored, giving the illusion at least that they had actually planned to study.
A flash of golden highlights drew his vision toward a head of blond hair. He turned and recognized the pretty sophomore heartthrob from his two p.m. class. Half a dozen boys surrounded her, all battling for her attention, all hoping to draw her brightest smile. A stereo from one of the rooms blasted Buddy Holly’s final single across the commons. Once again, he looked at the attractive blonde who was not one-tenth as striking as the brunette standing behind him.
“Well?” he asked.
From across the room, the stunning beauty nodded and then realized he was still not facing her. “Yes.”
He sighed heavily. Below his window, a few of the boys moved away from the blonde with dejected faces, as though they had been eliminated from a competition, which, he guessed, they had been.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure.”
Sinclair nodded, though he could not say why he did so. “What are you going to do?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she began with blatant annoyance, “but I think you might be involved in this, too.”
Again he nodded for no reason. On the commons, another boy had been thrown from the ring, leaving only two to battle for the blonde’s potential favors. He turned his attention to the touch football game and watched a pass float slowly through the humid air. A bare-chested boy extended his hands. The ball spiraled toward him, bounced off his fingertips, and landed on the ground.
Sinclair concentrated on the game, feeling the boy’s disappointment, trying his best to ignore the power she wielded over his mind. His eyes inadvertently shifted back to the blonde. A winner had been chosen. With down-turned eyes, the runner-up stood and sulked off.
“Will you please turn around and face me?”
A smile played on his lips, but he was not foolish enough to turn around, to expose himself to her devastating weapons, to allow her to cast her sensual spell over him. He looked down at the young man who had captured the blonde. Even from his window on the second floor, he could see the hunger in the boy’s wide eyes as he moved in to claim his hard-sought prey. The boy kissed her. His hands began to wander.
To the victor go the spoils.
He diverted his attention toward the library, feeling as though he were invading the young couple’s privacy now that their relationship was getting somewhat physical. He put a cigarette in his mouth. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out. Do whatever you please but I don’t want you here anymore.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I can.” He lit the cigarette. “I do.”
“But I was going to tell—”
“Don’t tell anybody anything. It’s already gone far enough.”
There was silence for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was pleading, the tone strumming at his nerves. “But I thought …”
He inhaled deeply on the cigarette as though he wanted to finish it in one puff. From the commons, he heard a sharp slap. The blonde had halted the young man’s hormones as he tried to slip past the innocent groping stage. “Obviously, you thought wrong. Now get out.”
Her voice was a whisper. “Bastard.”
He nodded yet again, but this time he was in full agreement with what had been said. “Just get the hell out of my office.”
“Bastard,” she repeated.
He heard her slam the door. Her high heels echoed against the wooden floor as the most beautiful woman he had ever known headed out of the ivy-covered building.
He stared out the window at nothing in particular. His vision unfocused, and his world became a blurry mass of green grass and brick buildings, his mind racing with a series of what-ifs.
Her face swam in front of his eyes. He closed his eyes, but the image did not fade.
I did the right thing. I did the right thing. I did the—
His eyes flew open. Panic filled him. He had to find her, had to tell her he did not mean any of it. He was about to swivel his chair, turn, and run for her when he felt something metallic push against the back of his head.
A coldness rippled through him.
“Bastard.”
The gunshot shattered the still air.
1
June 17, 1989
LAURA opened the window and felt the gentle tropical breeze refresh her naked body. She closed her eyes as the palm trees’ cool wind made her skin tingle. The muscles in her legs still quaked. She turned back toward the bed and smiled at David, the man who had put her legs in this precarious position.
“Good morning, Mr. Baskin.”
“Morning?” David repeated. He glanced at the clock on the night table, the day silent except for the crashing of the waves outside the window. “It’s well into the afternoon, Mrs. Baskin. We’ve spent almost the entire day in bed.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Certainly not, Mrs. B.”
“Then you won’t mind a little more exercise.”
“What have you got in mind?”
“How about a swim?”
“I’m spent,” he said, sprawling back against the pillows. “I couldn’t move if the bed was on fire.”
Laura smiled seductively. “Good.”
David’s eyes widened with awe as she slowly strode back toward the bed, remembering the first time he had seen that body, indeed the first time the world had seen that body. It was almost a decade ago and a full eight years before they met. Laura had debuted as a seventeen- year-old cover girl on Cosmopolitan wearing a—Ah, who the hell saw the dress? He had been a junior at the University of Michigan at the time and he could still recall the way the mouths of every member of the basketball team dropped when they saw the issue on a newsstand in Indiana before their Final Four game.
He feigned panic. “Where are you going?”
Her smile grew. “Back to bed.”
“Please, no.” He held up his hand to ward her off. “You’re going to put me in the hospital.”
She kept walking.
“Vitamin E,” David pleaded. “Please.”
She did not stop.
“I’m going to scream rape.”
“Scream.”
His voice was barely audible. “Help.”
“Relax, Baskin. I’m not going to attack you.”
His face registered disappointment. “You’re not?”
She shook her head, turned, and began to walk away.
“Wait,” he called after her. “Where are you going?”
“To the Jacuzzi. I’d invite you to join me but I know how tired you are.”
“I feel a second wind coming on.”
“Your powers of recuperation are truly incredible.”
“Thank you, Mrs. B.”
“But you’re still out of shape.”
“Out of shape?” David repeated. “Playing against the Lakers isn’t this exhausting.”
“You need to work out.”
“I’ll try harder, Coach. Really I will. You just tell me what to do.”
“To the Jacuzzi,” Laura commanded.
She threw a silk robe over her shoulders, partially covering the gorgeous figure that had made her the world’s highest-paid fashion model up until her early retirement four years ago at the tender age of twenty-three. David slid out from under the satin sheets. He was tall, a shade under six five, which was on the short side for a pro-basketball player.
Laura eyed his naked physique admiringly. “No wonder they say you’ve revolutionized the game.”
“Meaning?”
“Your ass, White Lightning. Women come to the game just to watch it wiggle downc
ourt.”
“You make me feel so cheap.”
David filled the circular tub with hot water and turned on the jet streams. He uncorked a bottle of champagne and lowered his muscular frame into the water. Laura loosened her robe and began to take it off. Talk about paradise. Everything was perfect.
The phone rang.
Laura rolled her eyes. “I’d better get it,” she said reluctantly, retying the silk cord and heading back into the bedroom. David leaned back, his legs floating in the water. He felt the warm streams massage his aching body. His muscles were still sore from the rugged play-offs even though they had ended almost a month ago. He smiled. The Celtics had won, so it was a good ache.
“Who was it?” he asked when she came back in.
“Nobody.”
“Nobody called us in Australia?”
“It was just the Peterson Group.”
“The Peterson Group?” David repeated. “Aren’t they the company you’ve been trying to get to carry the Svengali line in the South Pacific?”
“The same.”
“The company that you’ve been trying like hell to set up a meeting with for the past six months?”
“You got it.”
“So?”
“So they want to meet with me today.”
“When are you going?”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I told them I couldn’t meet with them while I was on my honeymoon. My husband is very possessive, you know.”
David sighed out loud. “If you blow this opportunity, your husband is going to kick your ass. Besides, how are you going to support him in the style to which he’s become accustomed if you blow big opportunities?”
Laura’s robe fell to the floor, and though he had seen her body so many times since they fell in love two years ago, he still found himself gaping. She joined him in the tub, her eyes closing as she released a long breath. David watched the water surround her breasts. Her black hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing that incredible European-exotic face.