Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,75

off. Like the feeling before my last encounter with Marco, my old partner, some sixth sense said to me that I should refrain from stepping out into the spotlight.

Maybe it was that Hannah is a journalist. I don’t see how what happened could be much of a news story. Maybe a brief blurb on page four. But still I don’t quite trust Hannah, which I realize is a strange contradiction—I like her, but I don’t trust her.

I think it comes down simply to the fact that I’m someone who wants—no, needs—to stay hidden. Hannah is someone who works in the public eye, whose job it is to reveal what’s hidden. I don’t want the world to know where I am or even who I am.

I set my steaming omelet down on my table and pour myself a glass of orange juice. I eat quickly, voraciously, and feel better immediately. Now all my worries about yesterday seem like paranoia.

It is a cloudy day, nothing like the clear, beautiful weather yesterday, and the gloom of the sky seeps through the windows and gives my house a depressing air. I still need to make a trek up to Lake Aloha before the weather turns too cold. But today just isn’t an inviting day to do it.

Nevertheless, I don’t want to be cooped up all day. I check the time and see that I could make it to the afternoon spinning class at the gym. I might run into Hannah, but I don’t quite feel the same worry I did the day before. That had just been the old Logan, the cautious Logan, the guarded Logan. The Logan who had to look over his shoulder all the time.

Now, with a fresh mind and full stomach, I think it wouldn’t be so bad to run into Hannah.

I dress and then jog to the gym, which is just a few blocks away along a path that runs parallel to the lake. Lake Tahoe—twelve miles wide and twenty-two miles long—is known for its amazing clarity. The surface reflects the color of the sky. It’s ordinarily an intense cobalt blue, but today, under a foamy gray sky, the water looks opaque and gray and choppy. The beach, which was packed with tourists all summer, is empty.

When I get to the gym, I say a quick hello to the employee working the front counter, and then I head back to the spinning room. There’s a stack of newspapers in a rack by the door, but I don’t even think to glance at them. It doesn’t occur to me that my picture might be on the front page.

Chapter 6

I stake claim to a bike in the back of the room and begin adjusting the seat and pedals. A minute later, a pretty young woman comes in and chooses the bike next to mine. She smiles at me, and I smile back—a shared smile, like yesterday with Hannah. I’ve been living in Lake Tahoe for two years and never once had a date. Two days in a row now I’ve had pretty girls smile at me.

The class starts. There are a few other people in the class, going through the motions, their bodies on autopilot, but I push myself hard. I’m feeling a little frustrated—my inability to get to Lake Aloha yesterday, today’s crappy weather keeping me from it again—so I try to take my annoyance out on the workout.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman next to me pushing herself just as hard. She sees me and smiles. I grin, and we both turn up the resistance, fighting the pedals. We’re communicating without words, motivating each other.

Sweat beads on my forehead and my T-shirt starts to cling to my wet chest. She wipes her brow with a towel, takes a quick drink, and gets back to work. The instructor is speaking through his headset and fast-paced rock music is playing, but I’m not paying attention to anything but her. She’s my inspiration.

I catch myself thinking about Hannah. Nine out of ten guys would probably say this girl next to me is more attractive. She is somewhere in her mid-twenties, with an athletic frame and blond hair that, even pulled back in a ponytail, is luxuriant. She has a pretty face with sharp cheekbones and a ski-jump nose.

Hannah, on the other hand, is a little bit more like the girl next door. She has plain brown hair, cut in a no-nonsense bob, and most guys might say