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“What if you’re wrong?”

“That’s exactly why I need to talk to your source.”

“There is someone else you could talk to,” I said. “The manager at Lombardo’s.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because Dwayne Robinson didn’t just seat himself. If he was supposed to sit next to Marcozza that day, it would have to have been arranged. The question is, who did the arranging? Who’s the man with the plan?”

Sorren resumed reaching for his next cigarette, sliding it into his mouth. Out came a Zippo lighter. I could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he lit up and took a deep puff. Jesus, these cops and robbers really liked their nicotine fixes. First Sam Tagaletto, now Sorren. I moved a half step away from him, upwind. Both of my parents had smoked like chimneys, and both had died of cancer.

“Let me sleep on it,” he said. “In the meantime, whether it was Pinero, D’zorio, or the tooth fairy, you still need police protection, Nick. We need to keep you alive. Is that okay with you?”

He extended his hand to shake mine. With his other hand he was returning the lighter to his pocket — only he missed. It fell to the ground, skipping off the asphalt and landing at my feet.

“I got it,” I said, bending down.

That’s when I got my head blown off.

JESUS CHRIST! What now? What the hell just happened? Not my head — but damn close!

The back window of the ambulance had just shattered, shards of glass falling on me like jagged rain. A split second earlier and that window would’ve been my head, a bullet right between the eyes.

“Move! Move! Move!” I heard. It was Sorren, and he was shouting at me.

Tucked in a low crouch, he began pushing me toward the front of the ambulance as the booming echo of the gunshot was drowned out by the collective scream of the street. The neighborhood crowd was scattering everywhere at once. It was pure pandemonium.
Run for your lives!

“Whoever wanted you dead still does,” Sorren had just said to me.

You ain’t kidding …

A second shot pierced the side of the ambulance about a foot from my chest, the blast from it ripping through the air. My guess was that the shooter didn’t have the right angle yet.

Not
yet
.

The shooter, wherever he was, was obviously using a long-range rifle.

Then came a completely different sound.
Pop! Pop-pop-pop! Pop! Pop-pop-pop!

Those were handguns — and aimed in the opposite direction. It was return fire.
That’s what you get, asshole, for shooting up a street filled with cops!

I peeled around to the front of the ambulance, the small of my back practically glued to the bumper. Sorren followed right behind me.

“You okay?” he asked, out of breath.

I was gasping for air, too. “Yeah, I’m all right. You?”

“Peachy. Just great, Nick. All in one piece. I don’t think I like hanging out with you, though.”

Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over, no more fireworks. All the screaming and confusion gave way to an eerie silence.

No one was standing up yet, though. No one wanted to come out into the open.

Twenty feet away I locked eyes with a woman who’d been ducking behind the crimson bricks of a stoop. Her expression said it all.
Is it really over?

“Maybe for you, lady,” I could have told her.

Not for me.

David Sorren gripped my arm. “Stay here,” he said. “Do not move.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see if they got the shooter.”

Sorren came up out of his crouch, peeking over the hood of the ambulance.

“Hey, be careful,” I said.

He nodded before cracking a slight smile. “Still think that police protection isn’t necessary?”

I’m sure Sorren thought it was the most rhetorical question he’d ever asked, but as he dashed off I couldn’t help wondering if the answer was so clear. I’d just been
surrounded
by cops, and I’d come dangerously close to getting nailed by two separate gunshots. The policemen were New York’s finest, but as to how much they’d be able to protect me, I wasn’t so sure.

That’s when something off in the distance caught my eye. It was a bright block of yellow at the far end of the street. There was a white light on top of it, and I could swear it was calling my name.
C’mon, Nick, let’s get lost…. Let’s get the hell out of here
.

I HAD THOUGHT about going to Courtney’s apartment, but that was somewhere they might come looking for me. So I went someplace else, someplace safer.

“
How
much did the taxi cost?” asked my sister, Kate, cradling her mug of chamomile tea at the head of her kitchen table. At one a.m., it was the only decaf she had had in the cupboard.

“One hundred and seventy-six dollars,” I told her. “Plus tip.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief. “You know, you could’ve negotiated a flat fee with the driver up front. Saved yourself some money, Nicky.”

I started to laugh. It felt good, but only for a moment.

“What’s so funny?” Kate asked. Then it occurred to her. “Oh yeah, you’re right. Given the night you’ve had, maybe the money wasn’t so important.”

“No, that’s not it,” I said. “I still can’t get used to you being the frugal one in the family.”

Of course, truth be told, I wasn’t surprised in the least. When Kate’s husband had been alive, they’d had lots of money, thanks to his job as an oil trader. After he died, she had even more from his insurance policy. But gone forever was her sense of security. In its place was a newfound appreciation for the value of everything, starting with life itself. Somewhere down the list was the true meaning of a dollar.

Kate took a sip of her tea. “Life is just one big curveball, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

A sleepy voice suddenly chimed in from the door to the kitchen. “You can say that again. Life is one big, nasty curveball.”

We both turned to see Elizabeth standing there in her pink pajamas.

“What are you doing up, young lady?” asked Kate. “You have school.”

Elizabeth flashed her great smile, the one she’d inherited from her mother and father. “The blind have a heightened sense of hearing, remember?”

“How are you, sweetheart?” I said.

“I knew it was you, Uncle Nick.”

“Let me guess … was it my cologne?”

She laughed. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve got
school
tomorrow,” said her mother again. “You need to get to bed.”

“Actually, that makes two of us,” I said, standing up from the table. “Walk me to the guest room, Lizzy, okay?”

“Certainly. Be my pleasure.”

I followed my niece toward the stairs to the second floor, marveling at how she had every step, every corner, every piece of furniture, mapped out perfectly in her mind. She didn’t need to reach out for anything, including my hand.

“Will you be here tomorrow when I get home from school?” she asked, halfway up the steps.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

She stopped, turning back to me. “Wow,” she said. “When most people say ‘I don’t know’ to a question like that, they usually do know. But I can tell in your voice. You really
don’t
know.”

Elizabeth was spot-on as usual. I had no idea what the next day would bring, or where it would even bring me. I was running from the police, albeit their protection, choosing instead an out-of-the-way home in the woods of Weston, Connecticut. “The pizza delivery guy can hardly find it,” Kate always joked. “Or even FedEx.”

Still, just to make sure, I had had the taxi driver circle around a bit before pulling into the driveway. All quiet on the Weston front. There was no one following us.

For one night at least, I was safe.

Tomorrow — probably all hell would break loose again.

I PULLED THE freshly cleaned and starched sheets, the blanket, the duvet — everything — over my head in Kate’s very comfortable guest room bed at the end of the hall. For some reason I thought that would help me sleep. It didn’t exactly work out that way.

All I could see when I closed my eyes was Derrick Phalen, and no matter how much I tossed and turned, I couldn’t shake the image of him. His missing eyes.

Would I ever? I doubted it.

I was exhausted, tired beyond all belief, and yet I still couldn’t sleep a wink. Back in Manhattan I would have tried listening to certain street sounds, something I did when I needed to clear my mind. Basically, I’d count car horns instead of sheep.

Out here in the woods of Connecticut, however, there
was nothing but silence. And it was deafening — at least tonight it was.

Frustrated, I pushed back the covers and reached blindly for my iPhone on the nightstand.

I’d turned it off in the backseat of the taxi after it had started to ring like crazy. Needless to say, some people were a little curious as to where I was, not the least of whom was surely a very ticked-off David Sorren.

But it was only Courtney I felt bad about. Really bad. Although I had texted her to let her know I was all right, I hadn’t responded when she’d written back “Where R U?” Better that she not have to lie on my behalf. Also, better that she didn’t get any more involved in my problems than she already was.

I turned on my iPhone again now. 3:04 a.m., announced the home screen.

Sure enough, there were a half-dozen messages from Sorren and even more from Courtney. I’d continue to ignore Sorren’s messages until morning, but I thought I’d at least listen to one from Courtney. I knew she had to be incredibly shaken up by Derrick Phalen’s murder. After all, she had been the one to send me to him and he had been her friend.

“Nick, it’s me again,” began her message. “Please call me back. Please, Nick.”

I reached for the volume because I could barely hear her, when suddenly the phone began to vibrate.

Shit!
What had I pressed?

Nothing
. Someone was actually calling me at three in the morning.

I was so worried I would wake up Kate and Elizabeth that I didn’t even bother to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“Hello, Nick.”

“Who is this?”

I immediately knew I’d heard the voice before, but I couldn’t place it. Right away, he placed it for me.

“I warned you at the diner, Nick, but you didn’t listen,” he said. “You should’ve listened.”

I shot straight up and turned on the light beside the bed.

Jesus. It was the guy from the Sunrise Diner, the one with the gun. The one who’d told me I was in a shitload of danger.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked.

“I sure do,” he said. “I also know what room you’re in, Nick. It’s the only one in the house with the light on.”

In the middle of the night, he was
here
.

I RACED OVER to the small window facing the front of the house. Tearing back the closed curtain, I pressed my nose up against the glass. I didn’t care if he could see me — could I see him?

Was he really out there? It sure sounded like it. And it looked like it, too.

Even with the reflection from the light in the room, I couldn’t miss the shining headlights on the car parked outside in the driveway. But that’s all I could see.
Where are you, you son of a bitch?

It was as if he could read my mind and was playing with me. The next second, he stepped out of the darkness, a creepy-as-hell silhouette right in front of his car. His elbow was bent, the phone to his ear.

“You didn’t think anyone could find you out here, huh?”
he asked. Only it wasn’t a question. It was a boast. I guess he was impressed with his own skills.

“I’m calling the police,” I said.

“Yeah, just like you did at the diner.”

“This is different.”

“Why? Because you’re not alone in this nice house out here in Disturbia?”

The mere suggestion of Kate and Elizabeth sent a jolt up my spine. All at once my worst fears collided with sheer rage. My body was spilling over with adrenaline. Whoever this guy was, he was royally pissing me off.

“You listen to me,” I said, changing my grip on the phone. I squeezed it so tight I thought it would break in my hand.

“No, you listen to me,” he shot back, cutting me off. “You’re in so far over your head, you don’t know which way is up. You can’t deny that, can you, Nick?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“At three in the morning, I’d say I’m your worst fucking nightmare. Agree or disagree?”

Then he stepped away from the headlights, slipping back into the darkness.

Shit! Where is he?
I thought.

And — the far scarier thought —
where is he heading?

SPRINTING OUT OF the guest room, I called to Kate and Elizabeth. With one hand I was dialing 911; with the other I was groping for a light switch in the hallway.

Kate beat me to it.
Flick!

The hallway lit up brightly as my eyes locked onto hers. She’d come rushing out of her bedroom like her house was on fire. Sweats, T-shirt, panicked expression.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nick, what’s going on?”

“Yeah, what is it?” asked Elizabeth, emerging from her room at the same time.

They both got their answer as the voice of the 911 operator suddenly chimed in on my phone. It was a woman. Very calm and sure of herself, thank goodness. An emergency professional.

Like that speed talker in those old FedEx commercials, I
gave her the address. “There’s a man outside the house,” I said next. “I think he’s about to break in. He’s armed.”

Like a bolt, Kate ran over to Elizabeth, grabbing her hand. “Come with me,” she said. “Right now.”

She led Elizabeth to the stairs heading up to the third floor, the attic.

“Wait, I want to stay with you guys,” Elizabeth pleaded.

“No,” insisted Kate. “You go up into that attic and lock the door behind you. No matter what you hear,
you do not open that door
. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth nodded, fighting back tears. She reached out for the railing, only to stop and turn around. Suddenly, she dashed down the hall. Just from my voice she knew exactly where I was.