I, Alex Cross (Alex Cross 16)

A panel truck of some kind flashed its lights from across the front parking lot. Nicholson looked over, and the driver motioned him to come that way.

He motioned again—more urgently.

Nicholson’s heart jumped into his throat. Something was off. It was supposed to have been a car, not a truck, and the meeting point was supposed to be right here, where people could see. Where nothing funny could happen.

Too late. When he looked back at the diner again, Mara was gone. A little boy stood where she’d been, hands cupped around his face behind the glass, looking out at him like this was a remake of Village of the Damned.

Pulse racing, Nicholson motioned to the driver that he’d be right back, and gimped toward the door at what he hoped was a natural enough pace.

Inside, the restaurant and newsstand were mostly empty, with Mara nowhere in sight.

A quick check of the deserted ladies’ room told him what he already knew: This had just officially become an individual sport. He continued out the back door by the loos and kept moving.

The rear lot was quiet and looked empty. He’d parked the rental maybe fifty yards away, which right now seemed like fifty too many. When he checked over his shoulder, someone was coming out the same door he’d just used—maybe the truck driver, maybe not; it was hard to tell in the blowing mist and rain.

He broke into an excruciating, lopsided run, but now he could hear faster steps than his own slapping the wet pavement behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the panel truck again, skirting the lot. Pete’s Meats, it said on the side, and even now some part of his brain registered the irony.

Mother of God, I’m dead. So’s Mara. Maybe she is already.

He got as far as one hand on the rental-car door. A calloused palm slapped over his mouth, absorbing any scream he had to offer. The man’s arms were massive, and Nicholson felt himself twisted around as though he were a small child.

For a split second, he felt sure his neck was about to be broken. Instead, something stabbed up under his chin, creating a stomach-churning flash of pain and disorientation.

His vision fluttered. Parking lot, sky, and car all swam together in a blur, until the curtain came down for Tony Nicholson and everything went far, far away.

Chapter 92

NICHOLSON WOKE UP in the dark, on cold ground, but at least he was alive. He was completely naked, he realized, and his wrists and ankles were bound.

A horrible ache blazed up in his neck when he tried to look around. But he was still in the game, which was all that really counted now, wasn’t it?

There was a building of some kind behind him, dimly lit from the inside. Everything else was just shadows and trees. A stack of firewood, maybe. Machinery of some kind near the building. What? A snowblower? Lawn mower?

“He’s waking up,” a voice said, not far away from him.

Nicholson heard footfalls and the sound of sloshing water. As the steps came closer, a flashlight beam lit the ground in front of him. He saw a pair of feet in dark cordovans.

“Welcome back, Tony. Thought we lost you back there. Here you go!”

When the splash of water hit, it jolted him like an electric shock. His whole body seized with the cold, and his breath came in crazy accordion gasps he couldn’t control.

“Get him up,” someone else said.

They hoisted him under the arms until his bare ass landed on a wooden chair. The flashlight caught just glints of things—a face, a stump, a flash of silver in someone’s hand. Gun? Phone?

“Where’s Mara?” he slurred, as she suddenly came to mind.

“Don’t worry about her right now. Least of your problems. Trust me on that.”

“We had an arrangement!” He sounded pathetic and he knew it. “Promises were made to me. I did exactly as I was told!”

Something sharp pricked at the crown of his head. “Who else knows about Zeus?” one of the men asked. His tone was bland, conversational.

“No one! I swear! Nobody knows. I did my part. So did Mara!”

A stinging line, almost like fire, ran straight down behind his ear to the back of his neck. There was a slight breeze, an air current, but it lit up the pain like acid.