The Dead Play On. Heather Graham

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      Dedicated to our men and women in the military, past and present.

      And to the USO and International Thriller Writers—especially Sloan D Gibson and John Hanson of the USO, Tom Davin and Chris Schneider of 5.11 Tactical and Kim Howe of ITW.

      To those who work at Walter Reed, the hospitals and bases in Kuwait, Ramstadt and Mildenhall.

      And to Kathleen Antrim, Harlan Coben, Phil Margulies and F. Paul Wilson—with whom I shared one of the most amazing experiences of my life, a USO tour to visit our servicemen and women.

      We can never thank those who serve—who risk everything—enough.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       Title Page

       Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

Prologue

      TYLER ANDERSON KNEW the band’s set list; hell, he’d been playing with the B-Street Bombers for years. They could change things up when they wanted, but it was a Wednesday night, and most Wednesday nights they just kept to the list. They played hard, and they played well, but the weekends tended to be way crazier, with bachelor parties, conventions and the crowds—mainly tourists—that thronged the French Quarter. Wednesdays they did their most popular songs, cover songs by Journey, the Beatles, the Killers and other older songs, along with some newer hits that had made the Top 40 list.

      And then something happened.

      He picked up his sax—his beloved saxophone, his one precious memento from his friend Arnie Watson.

      Arnie was dead and buried now. He’d survived three tours in Afghanistan, only to come home and die of a drug overdose. Arnie’s brokenhearted mother had insisted that Tyler take his saxophone. After all, they’d learned to play together on the sometimes mean streets of New Orleans, working their way up over the years from dollars tossed in their instrument cases to playing scheduled dates in real clubs.

      And so Tyler had decided that he could keep his friend close by playing the sax.

      But when he picked it up that night, something—he didn’t know what—happened.

      They were supposed to go into Lady Gaga’s “Edge of Glory,” but he didn’t give anyone a chance to begin. He was suddenly playing—and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t even sure he knew what he was playing.

      And then he did.

      Out of nowhere, he realized, he’d started playing The Call’s “I Still Believe,” which had enjoyed a moment of glory in the vampire film The Lost Boys. It was a good song—a great song for a sax player, with a challenging arrangement. Arnie had loved to play it.

      But he had never played the song himself. Didn’t know it.

      But he did now. It was as if the damned sax was playing itself.

      And as he played, Tyler felt as if the room was drifting away in a strange fog. And suddenly he was seeing things that Arnie might have seen. Sand and mountains and withered shrubs. He heard explosions and men shouting. There was blood.

      But...

      Arnie had returned СКАЧАТЬ