Liar Liar - James Patterson Page 0,18

trying to catch her breath. “We have to think about what that means. He’s got information on all my former partners. You. Pops. Everyone there is at risk. I think he’s going to try to come after someone I love. You better warn my mother, I guess.”

“Why is he doing this?” Whitt asked. “What’s the connection between him and Sam?”

“I don’t know.” Whitt could almost hear the fury rising in her voice. “He’s doing this because he’s got spiders crawling around in his shriveled little brain. Whatever the reason he chose Sam, Sam’s gone now. He’s shifted his focus to me. You’ve got to be careful, Whitt.”

“I will, I—”

“He knows where you live. He knows…He knows everything.”

“Harry, you’ve got to come in. We can work with you. We can put a trace on his phone.”

“You won’t be able to trace his phone any more than you’ll be able to trace mine.”

“Come in,” Whitt begged. “Harry, please. We’ll help you find him.”

There was a pause. The line went dead. Whitt looked at the disconnect screen on his phone and felt an urge to throw it across the room.

“Fuck!” he snapped. Placed the phone down carefully. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“This is so irresponsible.” Vada shook her head. Her face and neck were flushed. “So reckless.” Whitt didn’t answer. He didn’t have the strength to defend Harry now. Regan Banks did indeed know where he lived and had attacked him there before. He wondered if he should get a hotel room. If he should request an officer be posted to watch over Tox Barnes in hospital.

They sank slowly into their seats, the weight of the work before them filling Whitt with dread.

“Don’t lose heart,” Vada said. “We will find him.”

“Or he’ll find one of us,” Whitt answered.

Chapter 25

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Bonnie Risdale looked up from her computer screen toward the hallway at the sound, a politely quiet rapping at the front of the house. Charity door knockers, she thought. It was the curse of working from home. At least once a month they came with their little pamphlets, embarrassingly happy to see her, painful cheerfulness on youthful faces. She put the laptop aside when the knocking came again, walking to the door in her slippers.

He was not what she expected. He was alone, his big fist raised for further knocking, and his chiseled face didn’t spread into a smile as she opened the door. He was handsome, if in a tired, worn way. The glasses were inexpensive, almost ill-fitted.

“Hello, Bonnie,” he said.

The first sparkle of fear. A silly thing she pushed aside immediately. There was nothing to be scared of. A tall, handsome man was standing on her doorstep, framed by the red rosebushes on either side of her stoop. His hair was short, neat, combed to the side in an almost boyish way.

“Um, hi?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Richard Winslow.” He waved a badge, but her eyes didn’t focus on the silver shape in the leather; she was too distracted by his other hand, reaching for her own. He gave a flicker of a smile, really not more than a twitch. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m here making inquiries into a matter of some importance, and I think you can assist me.”

The hand was cold. A second pulse of fear, higher this time, a tightening in her throat. Bonnie had dealt with the cops long ago. This man’s language was the same. Stern. Unnecessarily official. She glanced at the empty street. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t place it. His shirt was wrinkled. His shoes didn’t match his trousers. Shouldn’t he be with a partner?

“Where’s your—”

“May I come in?” He took a step up onto the stoop, smiling. “The matter relates to someone you’ve been involved with in the past. A Detective Harriet Blue?”

Bonnie felt the fear in full now, an invisible choking grip around her throat. She stepped back. Harry. God, it had been so long. There were days, few and far between, when Bonnie didn’t think about what had happened to her at all. A swift, violent attack behind a bar in the city six years ago. Harriet Blue had been Bonnie’s investigating officer. Bonnie remembered the small woman with the keen blue eyes, a straight-to-the-point hunter of details. Harry had interviewed Bonnie over and over. She’d caught the guy. Of course. The detective had never allowed Bonnie to feel any doubt that she would. She’d seemed the over-the-top type, the kind of fierce, obsessive cop who would pursue the case without eating, without sleeping.