Free Red 1-2-3 by John Katzenbach Page B

anonymous threat.
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    JOHN KATZENBACH
    No . . . No . . . the police don’t think it means anything much, but I just wanted to ask some of the neighbors to keep an eye out for anything unusual.
    Like strange cars parked on the road or something. Thanks . . .”
    The responses had been solicitous, concerned. Of course everyone would keep eyes peeled for any suspicious behavior. The families with small children had reacted strongly—wondering whether they should keep the kids indoors until this formless threat had dissipated, as if it were some oil slick on the surface of the ocean. The weather being what it was, which was lousy, Karen thought it unlikely the kids would be outside anyway.
    Her next call had been to the alarm company, which had promptly sent out an overly enthusiastic workman to install the system, all the time happily and ominously opining about how you can’t be safe enough and people don’t understand how much danger is lurking out there before managing to sell Karen an enhanced security package with a monthly charge deducted from her credit card.
    She had subsequently gone through the entirety of the policeman’s rec-ommendations: Get a dog . No, she hadn’t done that, but she was considering it. Get a gun. No, she hadn’t done that, not yet, but she would consider it. Call a private detective . No, she hadn’t done that, but she was considering it. In fact, she realized, she was considering everything and nothing all at the same time.
    How is any of this going to keep me alive? Wouldn’t the Big Bad Wolf have visited all the same online advice pages, read all the same words, and figured out all the same things?
    Wouldn’t he know precisely what all the experts suggested she do? How smart is he?
    Martin and Lewis had already set off the system twice in the two days it had been functioning. This meant that either she had to get rid of them or figure out some way to make it work in concert with cats. This seemed an insurmountable problem. It dogged her as for the first time in years she ignored the exercise pad and made her way into the shower.
    Warm water and suds cascaded over her body.
    58
    RED 1–2–3
    She scrubbed herself vigorously, soaping every spot she could reach once, then twice, and finally a third time, as if soap could erase the lingering sense of exhaustion from her unsettled night. She held out a hand against the tile wall, steadying herself against the flow of water. She felt dizzy.
    Her eyes were closed when she heard a sound.
    It was not a recognizable noise, nothing clear-cut like a car door slamming, or a radio being switched on. It wasn’t loud—not a crash! or a clang!
    It was more like the first second of a hissing kettle, or a stiff breeze rustling through nearby tree branches.
    She froze in position. A sudden burst of adrenaline coursed through her body so that she felt like she was abruptly spinning a million miles per hour, though she was immobile. Steam surrounded her like a fog, clouding her comprehension. The noisy flow of water obscured recognition.
    What was that? What did you hear?
    She was abruptly aware of her nakedness. Dripping. Vulnerable. She sharpened her hearing, trying to determine what the sound was.
    It was nothing. Nothing. You’re alone and jumpy.
    The house is empty. It always is. Just two cats. Maybe they made the sound. Maybe they knocked over a lamp, or a stack of books. They’ve done that before.
    The steam curled around her, but she had the sensation the water was no longer warm, that it had turned icy. She took a deep breath, shut off the shower, and stood in the stall, listening. Then, instantly, she thought: If someone is out there, switching off the shower will tell them I’m about to get out. She jammed her finger twisting the shower dial back on, and she jumped as too-hot water spilled over her back.
    Conflicting thoughts screamed inside her head.
    It was just anxiety. Nothing was there.
    Straighten up. Step out. Act your age. Stop