Free Shattered Lives by Joseph Lewis Page A

good life, and now, it was gone.
    The anger had been building.  At first, it was a spark, an ember.  There was never any fear, just the urgency to get away.  But the fact that he had to run started the anger.  The ember became a flame, and the flame grew into a raging fire.  He wanted to lash out, strike back and hurt someone.
    Not just anyone, but those who had done this to him.
    There were several on his list.  Each target important, essential.  Each had to be dealt with and disposed of.
    Each had to be taught a lesson, and the lesson was simple, but painful.  The lesson would have to be painful.  That would be a very important part of the lesson: pain.  That would give him satisfaction.  It always did.  After all, they had done this to him- taken away his life. 
    It would take planning and preparation- two things the man was particularly good at, which was why his lifestyle had been undetected for so long.  His secret would still have been undetected if that Indian kid hadn’t come forward.  The man or one of the others would definitely have to take care of him.
    Then there were the two FBI agents- the woman and the old guy.  He had never met them, but the paper and the TV hadn’t seemed to tire of showing their pictures, their faces and telling anyone who had tuned in what a fantastic investigation they had done.
    The man would be patient.  He would plan.
    The man would take care of business.
    And there would be pain.
     

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    Waukesha, Wisconsin
     
    Randy sat next to Danny Limbach on one side facing George and Billy on the other.  On the end sat Jeff Limbach.  He was about the same age as Jeremy and had dark-hair flecked with gray and had piercing blue eyes and a warm, engaging smile.  He seemed friendly and gentle, and it was clear that the boys had liked him. 
    Before the Limbachs had arrived, Randy had explained that Jeff was a famous author.  Each of his last six books debuted in the top five on the New York Times Best Seller List, and each had climbed to the top spot.  Four of his books had been made into movies, and Jeff had written the screen adaptation for two of them, and in one, had a bit part.  George didn’t read much, didn’t watch much if any TV, and had never been to a movie, so he had never heard of him, which the twins could hardly believe.
    Billy told George that when Jeff was eighteen, he was riding his motorcycle home from a football game late one Friday night.  A drunk driver or someone who the police had assumed was a drunk driver, pulled up alongside of Jeff and squeezed him into the guard rail dragging him and the cycle for thirty yards, before throwing him off the bike and into a field, where a farmer had found him early the following morning.  It was the helmet he had worn, the moist, muddy earth he had landed in, and the grace of God that had saved his life.  As it was, Jeff had spent several weeks in the hospital, suffering agonizing surgery after surgery.  Equally painful rehabilitation followed up each surgery.  He had to relearn to walk, and his football playing days were over, which was a tough way to end his senior year in high school. As a lasting remembrance of the accident and of the many surgeries he had suffered through since that accident, Jeff had an ugly scar and a permanent limp.  He used a fancy cane made of dark wood with a pearl handle to help him get around.  The only good that came from all of those long stretches in the hospital confined to a bed was that Jeff developed a love for books and writing.
    Danny Limbach didn’t look anything like his father, except for the piercing blue eyes and smile.   He had a fresh, scrubbed look and a perpetual smile.  His hair was cut short and worn in a preppy, gelled and spiky look. George couldn’t tell if his hair was light brown, dark blond or light red.  
    He wore a blue polo shirt and khaki shorts and dockers with low cut socks.  On his right wrist was a gold bracelet