Free Private Screening by Richard North Patterson Page A

light airplane to drop the parcel at 11:30 tomorrow evening in a meadow near your cabin. It was too short to trace the call, but the voice was like you described—a wheeze.”
    Parnell hesitated. “Did you ask the question?”
    â€œYes. He said he’d call your house in half an hour. I’m on my way.”
    Hanging up, Parnell turned to watch Alexis.
    She sat in the music room; Parnell could not bring himself to enter.
    Through the window of the library, he saw two headlights. A moment later, a policeman let McCarry in.
    Shaking his hand, Parnell asked, “What if they know the answer?”
    â€œThen he’s alive.”
    The telephone rang.
    McCarry went to answer it. As Parnell turned, he saw that Alexis had looked up at the sound.
    Putting down the telephone, McCarry gazed at Alexis, and then Parnell. In the semidark, his eyes seemed clear and comprehending.
    â€œLexie-love,” he said.
    For a last moment, Parnell looked back at his wife. Sitting at the piano, her profile seemed like china.
    â€œI’ll pay no ransom,” he answered softly.
    â€œColby?”
    Parnell realized that he had closed his eyes. Standing, he shook hands with Danziger, somewhat formally.
    â€œSorry to be late,” the lawyer said. “Quite a crowd coming out of Chinatown. Are you in a rush?”
    â€œA bit. Alexis is rather nervous over this Kilcannon party, and I feel I should be there. Personally, I don’t like his politics but …” He shrugged, helpless. “The man taps something in her.”
    Danziger smiled in sympathy. “Charisma.”
    They ordered drinks. Sipping his manhattan, Parnell mused, “I suppose it’s good for her, in a sense. An emergence …”
    â€œOf course.”
    Parnell snapped from his reverie. “Now,” he said. “Young Mr. Lord.”
    â€œI spoke to him.” Danziger’s tone was one of distaste. “He asks too much.”
    Their eyes met. “He did well this morning,” Parnell answered quietly.
    â€œIt was cheap. Lord’s a hired gun looking for headlines.”
    â€œWhat does he want, John? Cole’s job back?”
    â€œ And retroactive pay. There’s some complex custody matter involving Cole’s daughter, and I’m sure Lord means to use you to finance his client’s efforts.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œYou don’t have to pay it.” Danziger’s voice sharpened. “There’s no justification for that.”
    Parnell finished his drink. “Settle with him.”
    â€œDon’t be a fool, Colby. The jury won’t …”
    â€œPay him, dammit. Just pay Lord the money.” Standing, Parnell excused himself without ordering lunch.
    6
    D AMONE had moved so quickly, Stacy remembered, that nine years later it still scared her.
    She’d been singing at a crummy club in Oakland; the floor smelled like stale beer, and the bathroom had an acrid stench from kids throwing up drugs—Stacy could hear them vomit during breaks. Damone stuck with her, hustling deejays and club owners in to hear her sing. But the last night her only audience was some lesbian bikers; Stacy won them over with “My Funny Valentine.”
    Afterward she waited in the back room for Damone to settle with the owner. Then Damone rushed in, taking her arm.
    â€œDid we get paid?”
    â€œThat’s next. Something’s funny—I don’t want you in here any longer.”
    The owner lived in a trailer behind the club. A light was on; the bouncer who should have been guarding Stacy stood at the door. In the dark, she saw his shadow shift slightly, arms loose at his side. He was taller than Damone.
    â€œWhere’s Naxos?” Damone asked.
    â€œSleeping.”
    â€œWake him up. We haven’t been paid yet.”
    â€œThen chalk it up to experience, asshole.”
    As Damone moved past him, the man pulled a revolver and swung at his head. Stacy started