Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 1: The Dark Tide, Don’t Look Twice, Relentless. Andrew Gross

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СКАЧАТЬ right. “What’s going on, Mom?”

      As much as she wanted to, how could Karen possibly tell her?

      That the person she admired most in the world, who had always provided for her and kept her strong, had deceived them in this way. What had Saul said? Setting up accounts. Running money, for people she didn’t know. Offshore?

       What kind of people?

      All that money, it terrified Karen. What was it for? She began to think that maybe Charlie had committed some kind of crime. Did Charlie ever mention any other accounts he might be managing?

      No, she had told him. You know Charlie, he was an honest guy. He fretted over nickels and dimes for his clients.

      Had she been kidding herself all these years?

      A few more days went by. Karen was driving herself half crazy, thinking about Charlie being out there somewhere, what all this meant. It was late one night. The kids’ lights had long been turned off. Tobey was asleep on her bed. Karen went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself some tea.

      Charlie’s photo was on the counter. The one from the memorial: in his white polo shirt and khaki shorts, Topsiders and aviator Ray-Bans. They had always thought it was vintage Charlie, kicking back on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean—a cell phone stapled to his ear.

       You knew him, Saul….

      Karen picked it up, for the first time restraining an urge to shatter it in anger against the wall. But then the strangest memory came to mind. From deep in the vault of their life together.

       Charlie—waving.

      It had been the end of a glorious week in the Caribbean, sailing. St. Bart’s. Virgin Gorda. They ended up in Tortola. The kids had to be back to school the following day.

      Then, strangely, Charlie announced he needed to stay on. A change of plans. Someone he had to see down there.

      Out of the blue?

      So he accompanied them to the local airport, the little twelve-seater shuttling them back to San Juan. It had always made Karen a bit nervous to fly those tiny planes. On takeoff and landing, she always held Charlie’s hand. Everyone made a little fun of her….

       Why was all this coming back now?

      Charlie said good-bye to them at the makeshift gate, more like a glass door leading out onto the tarmac. “You’ll be fine,” he told her with a hug. “I’ll be back up north in two days.” But buckling herself in, in the two-engine plane, Karen felt an inexplicable jolt of fear shoot through her—like she might never see him again. She had thought, Why aren’t you with me, Charlie? a flash of being alone, reaching out for Alex’s hand.

      As the plane’s propellers whirred, Karen’s eyes went to the window, and she saw him, on the balcony of the tiny terminal, in his beach shirt and Ray-Bans, his eyes reflecting back the sun.

       Waving.

      Waving, with his cell phone stapled to his ear, watching the tiny plane pull away.

      Offshore, Saul had said to her. The Bahamas or the Cayman Islands.

      Now that same fear rippled through Karen, staring at his photo. That she somehow didn’t really know him. Not the way it mattered. His eyes dark now, not reflecting the sun but deeper, unfamiliar—like a cave that led to many chasms. Chasms she had never explored before.

      It scared her. Karen put down the photo. She was thinking, He’s out there. Maybe thinking of her now. Maybe wondering, at this very moment, if she knew, if she suspected, felt him. It gave her the chills. What the hell have you done, Charlie?

      She knew she couldn’t keep bottling this up forever. She’d go insane. She had to know. Why he had done this. Where he was.

      Karen sank down on a stool at the counter. She put her head in her hands. She’d never felt so confused or so isolated.

      There was only one place she could think to go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

      Hauck headed back upstairs to his office from the holding cells down in the basement. He and Freddy Muñoz had just taken a statement from a scared Latino kid who was part of this group from up in Norwalk who had been heisting fancy cars from backcountry Greenwich homes, a statement that could now blow the case wide open. Joe Horner, a detective from the Norwalk police department, was holding on the phone for him.

      As Hauck turned in from the hallway, Debbie, his unit’s secretary, flagged his attention.

      “Someone’s here to see you, Ty.”

      She was seated on the bench in the outer office, wearing an orange turtleneck and a lightweight beige jacket, a tote bag on the bench next to her. Hauck made no attempt to conceal that he was pleased to see her.

      “Tell Horner I’ll get back to him in a minute, Deb.”

      Karen stood up. She smiled, a little nervous to be here. Hauck hadn’t seen her for a couple of months, since that other situation, the people harassing her, had quieted down and they’d pulled the protection. He had called once or twice to make sure everything was okay. Smiling, he went up to her. Her face was pallid and drawn.

      “You said I should call.” She shrugged. “If anything ever came up.”

      “Of course.”

      She looked up at him. “Something did.”

      “Come on in my office,” he said, taking her by the arm.

      Hauck called to Debbie that he’d ring the Norwalk detective back, then led Karen past the row of detectives’ desks through the glass partition into his office. He pulled out a cheap metal chair at the round conference table across from his desk. “Sit down.”

      It was clear she was upset. “You want something? Some water? A cup of coffee?” She shook her head. Hauck pulled another chair around and sat, facing her, arms across the back. “So tell me what’s going on.”

      Karen sucked in a breath and pressed her lips tightly together, then reached inside her purse, the expression on her face somewhere between grateful and relieved. “Do you have a computer in here, Lieutenant?”

      “Sure.” Hauck nodded, wheeling around to a credenza by his desk.

      She handed him a small DVR disc. “Can you put this in?”

      He reached down and inserted it into the computer beneath the credenza. The disc kicked in and came to life, some kind of TV show or news report in mid-airing on the screen. A mass of people on the streets of New York. In unrest. Amateur footage, a handheld camera in the crowd. It became immediately clear he was watching the aftermath of the Grand Central bombing.

      Karen asked him, “Did you happen to watch that documentary, Lieutenant? Last Wednesday night?”

      He shook СКАЧАТЬ