into more confusion. Chief among them: How the hell could she get off a clean shot with so many people around?
Before Dana could outthink herself, her instincts took over. Aiming her gun and pulling back her finger on the Glock’s trigger, she felt a familiar power explode up her arm as the firearm went off with a tremendous bang.
Thankfully – unlike her confidence – Dana’s aim hadn’t suffered one little bit over the past year. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.
The bullet from her Glock tore off the top of the man’s head cleanly at his hairline. An absolutely perfect shot.
A moment later, his bloody scalp came to a tumbling stop alongside the third-base foul line, a good fifty feet away from where it had initially begun.
CHAPTER 44
Nicholas Preston – a terribly confused soul who’d legally changed his name to ‘Nicole’ at the age of thirty-one – had time enough for just one more thought before the bullet from Dana Whitestone’s gun blew off the top of his head.
I’m going to be famous for this.
It was everything he ever could have dreamed of.
And a whole lot more, too.
CHAPTER 45
On the plane ride out to Chicago later that night in the Department of Justice’s thirty-million-dollar Gulfstream IV, Dana reflected again on the events her life, especially those of the past year. Once again, things had been rough on her – no debating that simple fact – but once again she’d made it through to the other side of the seemingly un-crossable chasm alive.
Above all else – no matter what anybody else said about her – Dana was a survivor.
And that was nothing to sneeze at.
Four hours later, she stepped inside the childhood home of Nicole Preston. In the master bedroom, she found a diary sitting in the top drawer of a nightstand beside the bed. Settling down onto the neatly bed on top of the plaid comforter, Dana opened up the well-worn red-leather cover and began to read:
18 November 1982
I don’t know what to do about Timothy any more. He thinks he’s a girl and has started calling himself Nicole. I believe it’s the female version of his imaginary friend, Nicholas.
It all started when Timmy was seven years old. We were playing in the house one day when he slipped on the floor and banged his head against the bathroom sink. He was never the same after that. I’ve always blamed myself because I was chasing him at the time, playing a game of tag.
When Timmy was thirteen years old, I came home from work one day to find that he’d chopped off his own penis with a meat cleaver. I barely managed to get him to the hospital in time to save his life.
I know that my son hates me, and this makes me sad beyond words.
What happened to the cute little boy whose precious little face appeared in all those televisions commercials? I’ll never know.
One thing I do know, however:
I miss my son with every last inch of my soul, and I want him back desperately.
CHAPTER 46
Dana closed the diary and wiped tears from her eyes. A moment later, her cellphone rang in her pocket.
She dug it out, flipped it open and placed it to her ear. ‘Hello?’
A male voice came across the line. ‘Dana, it’s Gary Templeton. I need to tell you something.’
Dana frowned. Templeton’s speech sounded slurred, like he’d been drinking. And she knew better than anyone how badly alcohol could cloud your judgment, how it could make you say and do things you normally wouldn’t say or do. Still, slurred or not, it was nice to hear Templeton’s voice. It had been a long time.
‘What do you need to tell me, Gary?’ Dana asked softly.
Templeton paused. Then he cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m in love with you, Dana. I’m sorry for telling you over the phone like this, but I’ve always been in love with you. Ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.’
Dana smiled and let the Cleveland cop down as gently as she could. ‘Thank you for telling me this, Gary, but I think it’s best if we just stay friends for now. Is that OK with you?’
A click sounded in Dana’s ear.
Dana frowned again and took away the phone away from her face, checking the battery indicator to make sure the damn thing hadn’t died on her. Five strong bars. She placed the phone back to her ear. ‘Hello? Are you still there, Gary?’
No response. The connection had