Second Honeymoon Page 0,51

for nothing. She knew exactly where she wanted to take the conversation.

“John O’Hara, the president’s brother-in-law, has been afforded Secret Service protection since before the inauguration,” she began before pivoting. “But why I’m here today—why the president thought it was so important we make this threat public—is because we obviously can’t afford to give that same protection to everyone in this country named John O’Hara. The last thing we want is to cause a panic, but at the same time we have a responsibility, a duty, to let people know.”

The room erupted again, but there might as well have been a “mission accomplished” banner hanging behind her. One that was actually true this time. She’d cleverly deflected the spotlight away from the president’s brother-in-law.

Next question.

“Where have the killings taken place so far?”

Kyle calmly checked off the towns and cities. Winnemucca…Park City… Flagstaff…Candle Lake.

Wait a minute, I thought. Park City?

I bolted off the stool in the kitchen, heading straight for the den. That’s where I’d left it, the Bible that had arrived in the mail. Sender unknown.

I opened the cover, staring again at the stamp in red ink as I walked back into the kitchen. PROPERTY OF THE FRONTIER HOTEL, PARK CITY, UT.

I put the Bible down on the granite countertop, flipping to the page where the passage had been cut out—Deuteronomy 32:35, the Song of Moses. I had it marked with a yellow sticky note on which I’d written the missing words.

To me belongeth vengeance, and recompence;

their foot shall slide in due time:

for the day of their calamity is at hand,

and the things that shall come upon them make haste.

I’d barely finished reading the last line when I heard a voice over my shoulder. Someone was in my house, right in my kitchen. Someone I was sure I didn’t know this time.

“Are you John O’Hara?” the stranger asked.

Chapter 68

I FROZE, MY body holding perfectly still for a few seconds. Those seconds felt like a lifetime. Or was it that I felt like my lifetime only had a few seconds left?

If I had been anywhere away from home, I would already have been doing the world’s fastest deep knee bend to reach for my shin holster.

But that baby, and, more important, the 9mm Beretta it was holding, was sitting somewhere in my bedroom upstairs, along with my wallet, pocket change, and a half-eaten roll of Pep O Mint Life Savers.

Now what?

It was the next best thing. Lunging to my right, I grabbed the closest handle from the block of Wüsthof knives next to the stove and spun around with my arm cocked, ready to throw.

Again, I froze.

Good thing, too. Otherwise she probably wouldn’t have done the same—and she was the one with the gun.

“FBI!” she shouted, collapsing into the crouch position they teach you your first year. Smaller target, more vital organs shielded. Only when she saw that she had the upper hand did she reach for her badge. Even from twenty feet away I knew it was legit.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” I said, lowering the knife. I exhaled so heavily I could’ve blown up a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon.

Her exhale was just as big. A Rocky to my Bullwinkle. “My God, I could’ve shot you!” she said, lowering her gun.

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

I nodded at the TV. The CNN anchor was back on the screen, as were the same four words: “John O’Hara serial killer.”

The second she saw it she rolled her eyes. They were green, I couldn’t help noticing, and about as attractive as the rest of her. Interesting, though. With her hair pulled back and minimal makeup, I could tell she was trying her best not to advertise her looks. Just the opposite, actually.

“I’m John O’Hara,” I said, acknowledging what we both saw on the screen. “And you are?”

“Special Agent Brubaker,” she said. “Sarah.” She holstered her Glock 23. “You thought I was—”

“About to make me the fifth victim, yeah,” I said. “Wait, how did you get—”

We were officially finishing each other’s sentences. “I rang the doorbell but no one answered. I came around back, the patio door was open…you didn’t hear the doorbell?”

“No one can—it’s broken,” I said. “Gee, maybe I should get that fixed, huh?”

She started to laugh, but it wasn’t on account of my sarcasm.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, looking at the counter in front of me.

I glanced down to see the badass blade that I was ready to throw at her like