The Puppet Master E-Book

Jan Coffey

• Herausgeber: Book Duo Creative
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 448

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

 FOUR SEEMINGLY DISPARATE LIVES ARE BEGINNING TO UNRAVEL...AND ONE PERSON IS HOLDING THE STRINGS.   The Rocket Scientist On the eve of a new satellite launch, the fiancé of NASA project manager Alanna Mendes is apparently killed in a fishing accident...only to be spotted six months later in Silicon Valley. The Computer Genius Four years after being caught by Homeland Security hacking into NASA's mainframe computer, Jay Alexei is still blacklisted from the top colleges and computer companies. Now a changed man, he is desperate for a second chance. The Financial Wizard Once a successful international banking CFO, today David Collier is a broken man who can't afford the expensive treatment for his daughter's rare kidney disorder. The American Dream When a terrorist group abducts the son of rags-to-riches tech mogul Steven Galvin, the billionaire is trapped in a nightmare where no amount of money can help him. "This is a fast-paced action-packed morality play that grips the audience from the moment the offer is first made and never slows down." "This book is an amazing example of the quality artistry that is Jan Coffey's work! It is very much a journey through the mind of mastermind."    

Leseprobe

THE PUPPET MASTER

JAN COFFEY

withMAY MCGOLDRICK

Book Duo Creative

In the event that you enjoy The Puppet Master, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the authors. Thanks!

The Puppet Master. Copyright © 2014 by Nikoo and James A. McGoldrick

First Published by Mira Books, 2009

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher: Book Duo Creative.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Dar Albert, WickedSmartDesign.com

CONTENTS

Part I

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

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Part II

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Part III

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Edition Note

Authors’ Note

Preview of BLIND EYE

Also by Jan Coffey, May McGoldrick & Nik James

About the Author

To our Taft “children”

May God give you...

For every storm, a rainbow,

For every tear, a smile,

For every care, a promise,

And a blessing in each trial.

For every problem life sends,

A faithful friend to share,

For every sigh, a sweet song,

And an answer for each prayer.

—An Irish Prayer

Hilary Andrysick, Isaac Bamgbose, Yara Benjamin, Mina Blossom, Mathieu Bogrand, Zach Brazo, Amy Brownstein, Pat Clare, Kathy Demmon, Grace Dishongh, Lindsay Dittman, Jack Dowling, Cyrus Eslami, Julie Foote, Ches Fowler, Mackenzie Holland, Bo Jones, Allyson Kane, Alex Kendall, Paul Kiernan, Holly Lagasse, Dan Lima, John Lombard, Alexis McNamee, Catie Moore, Liesl Morris, Austin Paley, Chelsea Ross, Patrick Salazar, Will Sayre, Max Scheifele, Ben Slowik, Ryan Uljua, Katie Van Dorsten, Bob Vulfov, Annie Ziesing…

and Sam McGoldrick.

And to the entire

Taft ’09 Graduating Class

PARTONE

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache…

—Hamlet

CHAPTERONE

FEAR

Kapali Carsi, the Grand Bazaar

Istanbul, Turkey

January 2009

Kapali Carsi, Istanbul’s largest covered market. A rabbit warren of over four thousand shops, restaurants, public or private rooms. Nothing existed under the sun that you couldn’t buy or sell under the gold, blue and white tiled arches and painted domes. Turkish carpets, tiles and pottery, jewelry and watches, lamps and paintings, copper and brassware, leather apparel, cotton and wool, meerschaum pipes, alabaster bookends and ashtrays. Along with opium harvests and shipments of semi-automatic weapons, if you knew who to talk to. Anything a buyer could want, so long as he had euros or dollars to offer as payment.

Though Kapali Carsi was now more of a tourist attraction than a locals’ market, a person could still find Turks of every walk of life brushing shoulders with people of every nationality. Everyone came here. The shops inside and the stalls lining the alleys surrounding the bazaar were always bustling.

In the daytime, that is.

Nathan Galvin was enjoying Istanbul. After twenty days in the city and many walking tours through it, he was feeling very at ease here. He was even using the Turkish he’d studied for the six months prior to coming here from the United States. He no longer took cabs, preferring to walk or take a tram to get around. He now haggled and never paid full price for anything. And that included food and even the price of his new hotel room.

Nathan looked out the tram window at the orange setting sun as it flashed between the buildings. He was dressed in jeans and old sneakers and a gray down jacket that kept out the cutting January wind. With his Mediterranean complexion, short hair and stubble of beard, he knew he didn’t look much different than most of the natives. He liked that. He preferred to move about freely. He liked to eat where the locals ate and live the way they did. He wanted to weave himself seamlessly into the tapestry of Istanbul. Simple as that.

Nathan picked up his backpack off the floor of the tram and got out at Carsikapi stop. One of the south entrances of the Grand Bazaar loomed ahead of him. It was near sundown. The air was growing colder. He zipped up the jacket to his chin. The smell of spices and kebobs from various restaurants permeated the air. His stomach began to protest in hunger, but he ignored it. The streets were already nearly empty of shoppers and tourists. The storekeepers he passed were beginning to close for the night, taking in the merchandise hanging out on poles for display.

He walked down the slight incline to the nearest arched doorway. A group of young men and women who looked to be university students stood at each side of the door, passing out flyers as people made their way out of the bazaar. Nathan noticed that he was one of the only ones going in. A dark-eyed beauty turned and handed him a flyer. He took it with a nod and looked down at the Turkish words as he entered the bazaar. His command of reading and writing hadn’t caught up to his conversational Turkish.

Inside, the air was much warmer, and Nathan dropped the paper into a nearby barrel. The place was nearly deserted. He hadn’t been here before at this time of day, but as he walked by the shops, it occurred to him that he recognized the smells of the place. The scent of wool from rugs stacked up in the nearest store. The smell of saffron and other spices from the next stall. Each store seemed to offer its own distinct scent. Since arriving in Turkey, he realized, he was so much more attuned to his senses. Smells, tastes, the bright colors. At twenty-three, he didn’t think he’d ever been so aware of these things.

The rug seller was pulling sheets of plastic over his inventory. He gave Nathan a cursory glance but found him unworthy of his time.

Nathan unzipped his jacket and took out a small notebook from his pocket. He stared down at the directions written on it: name, place, time. The shop mentioned wasn’t one that he’d visited before, nor did he remember going by it on his other visits to the bazaar. He had some walking to do to get there.

He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and made his way straight into the belly of the building. Following a major concourse, he looked down shop-lined alleys bleeding off to the left and right. Most of the shops this far into the bazaar were already closed, their wooden shutters bolted, and the owners gone to their suppers and their hookahs and their tea. Almost no one was going in the direction he was going now.

Unexpectedly, a cold sliver of fear slid upward along Nathan’s spine.

Shaking it off, he went over in his head what he was supposed to say. Digging his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, he touched the flash drive that he needed to exchange when he arrived at the shop. The instructions were simple. What he needed to say was brief. He’d practiced it enough times that he could do it in his sleep. Still, he could feel the anxiety building. He was still new at this, and he wanted to be done with the job. There were even fewer people when he took a left down a narrower alley. All the stores were closed, except one near the end. In the darkness beyond it, Nathan could see a closed wooden double door, just large enough for bringing in merchandise. It was barred, and on the other side, he decided, lay one of the alleyways surrounding the bazaar.

Two men were talking loudly about soccer as they refilled bins with dried fruit from burlap sacks.

Nathan saw someone materialize in the darkness by the door. The man was smoking a cigarette, his eyes intent on Nathan.

The cell phone in his pocket vibrated to life. He reached for it. He knew it would be his parents. He’d been playing phone tag with them for the past few days. He knew he shouldn’t answer it now.

Part of his instructions had been to have no personal items on him today. No cell phone. No passport. Nathan had made an exception with the phone.

The phone vibrated again. He actually considered answering it. He glanced at his watch. It was around 8:00 a.m. back on the East Coast in the US There would be no short conversation with them. He could call them after he was done with this job. He noticed that the man by the door had disappeared. Nathan’s parents made the decision for him. The cell phone stopped vibrating.

Nathan nodded to the two dried-fruit sellers as he passed them. When he reached the end of the row, he peered in the dim light at the notebook in his hand. He was to turn right and take the next left, where another concourse crossed. A woman wearing a black chador and dragging a toddler by the hand behind her was the only person in this stretch of shops. She steered a wide path around Nathan and hurried on.

Without the lights of the shops, it was now quite dark. He saw a shadow by the next archway. Nathan thought it must be the same man who’d been watching him before. Dark leather jacket. The glow of a cigarette cupped in his hand.

Nathan’s scalp prickled, and he slowed down. He’d been told this would be a clean, in-and-out job. Simple. A chance for him to meet a local contact. He was sent here alone. It should be easy, but still, doubt nagged at Nathan as he reached the archway. He glanced down at the directions again. He was close to the meeting place. The smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. The alley ahead was one dark shadow. The man with the cigarette had certainly moved through here only seconds before. He had to be the contact.

An unexpected breeze touched his cheek. He looked up. A small window high in the archway was open, and Nathan could see a white moon in the dark sky. It was beautiful. Forcing himself to be calm, he made a mental note to walk by the river before going back to his hotel tonight. Istanbul had its dangers, but it was a civilized city. A city of beauty. Paris of the Middle East. He filled his lungs with the fresh air and made up his mind. He stepped through the arch into the darkness.

“Merhaba,” a voice whispered. The man was ahead and to the right.

The tip of the cigarette glowed, and Nathan zeroed in on him before stepping forward and repeating the greeting. “Merhaba.”

“Nasilsiniz?” the man asked. How are you?

“Iyiyim,” Nathan answered, suddenly uncomfortable with the small talk.

He knew this wasn’t the final destination. He’d been told he would meet his contact at a shop.

“Isminiz nedir?” Nathan asked. It wouldn’t hurt to ask the other man’s name. He wanted to be sure he had the right person.

“Arkadaş.”

Nathan had to repeat the name a couple of times in his head before the meaning dawned on him. It wasn’t a name. The word meant “friend.” He was saying he was a friend. Nathan stopped a few feet away from him. The man was leaning against the wall. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a dark shirt and black pants. In the darkness, his face was obscured. The cigarette in his hand hung at his side.

“Isminiz nedir?” Nathan repeated. He wanted a name.

The man dropped the cigarette, crushed it beneath his boot. He shifted against the wall, and his face came into view. Uncontrollably, Nathan took a half step back.

“It…is not…matter,” the man said in broken English.

Nathan stared. The man’s upper lip was marked with a scar that started on the right side of his nose and ran down on a diagonal through his thick mustache. A short white line from the same cut scarred his lower lip. His black eyes showed nothing.

The man’s hand slipped into the jacket pocket and Nathan’s body tensed.

“You here. Want this,” the man said, taking his hand out of the pocket. Within the palm Nathan saw the small flash drive.

Nathan nodded, a head jerk intended to be friendly, and pulled the flash drive from his own pocket.

“Yes. Everything you need is here. This was easy.” He realized he was speaking too quickly. He never thought the job would go like this. He didn’t like it.

Nathan extended his hand, holding out the flash drive. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.

At that moment the cell phone came to life again in his pocket. Its soft buzz echoed in the silence of the dark.

“Here it is. I have to go.”

“Wait.” The man looked at Nathan’s pocket. “Not go.”

“It’s nothing. We’ve made our…” From behind, the hood snapped over his head even as a light flashed brilliantly behind his eyes. Voices murmured for only a moment in muffled Turkish as Nathan felt himself falling from a great height.

And the rest was silence.

CHAPTERTWO

LOSS

NASA Ames Research Center.

Moffett Field, California

The day the Loma Prieta earthquake rocked the Bay Area, Alanna Mendes had been working for NASA at Moffett Field for exactly one month. At the very moment the quake began, she was on her way home to Mountain View when the roadway suddenly shuddered and then buckled beneath the shuttle bus. She would help others out of the vehicle, wait with them for rescue vehicles to arrive, and eventually make her way home on foot.

The next morning, Alanna was on time for work, as she would be every morning for the next nineteen years. Rain, wind, fog, good weather, bad weather, earthquakes…it made no difference. One thing that never changed was Alanna Mendes. She was punctual, precise, dedicated to her job. She was a creature of habit.

And after what had happened this past few months, she needed that in her life.

Each morning was the same. Leaving her apartment at 6:20, she would board the shuttle bus one block away at precisely 6:29. She sat in the second to last seat on the exit-door side of the bus. She said very little to others who got on the bus after her. The shuttle would make one more pickup stop in Mountain View and then four stops at various buildings once it entered the complex of facilities at Moffett Field. She would have between seventeen to nineteen minutes before reaching her destination at Building 23 of the NASA Research Park. Alanna would be at her desk between 6:45 and 6:50.

She liked beginning the day this way. The precision and the predictability of it appealed to the engineer in her. The time on the bus was her prep time, her focus period and her chance to immerse herself in work. She loved her job. She was good at it. But doing what she did required a clear head, a focused mind. The commute gave her a chance to shake out the cobwebs and leave her personal life behind. Like every other morning, she spent the minutes going over her schedule for the day on her cell phone and reading email that had been sent to her overnight. She took the indispensable electronic device from her bag now.

Other NASA workers who rode the bus kept their distance. Her seniority and rank gave her clout, and they all knew what she’d endured this past fall. Everyone respected her desire for privacy.

“Mind if I sit here, Dr. Mendes?”

Almost everyone, Alanna thought, looking up. A new hire. She’d been introduced to the young engineer right before the holidays. She’d also seen her on her floor twice during the days between Christmas and New Years, when just a skeleton crew had been working. There were over a hundred and fifty people who worked in her group. It was a miracle that Alanna remembered the engineer at all. She looked up at the round, cheerful face and decided she didn’t care to remember her name.

Alanna motioned vaguely at the four unoccupied rows of seats in front of her and looked back down at her cell phone. “There are plenty of seats.”

“You probably don’t remember me,” the engineer said, dropping her briefcase and lunch pack on the seat in front of Alanna. She didn’t sit down, though, and Alanna was forced to look up again.

Some of the other riders were directing surprised looks back at them.

“I’m Jill Goldman,” the young woman continued, extending her hand. “I’m working with Phil Evans, who works for you. He’s been telling me so much about you and the all your work on STEREO project. I’ve read every one of your publications. And when I was interviewed by NASA, I was astounded to think that I would actually be able to work beside you and⁠—”

“I remember you,” Alanna interrupted, deciding there was no point in being an absolute bitch. She shook the woman’s hand briefly. “Look, Ms. Goldman, I have to get this done before we arrive at building 23.”

She moved her briefcase from the floor to the seat beside her. She snapped it open and took out a pen, hoping that would make her point about the seat not being available.

“Sure, sure. I understand.” Jill slipped into the seat in front of her.

Alanna made a mental note to talk to Phil today. He could explain some ground rules to the young woman.

Jill turned around in her seat. “Did you have a nice New Year’s Eve?”

Alanna decided to write an email to Phil, instead. Right now.

“This was the first New Year’s Eve my husband and I spent as married couple,” Jill said, leaning her head back against the glass. She was staring into space, caught up for a moment in her own little world, not even realizing that her question had gone unanswered. She refocused her attention on Alanna. “We were married the weekend before I started working here at Moffett. The Friday of Thanksgiving weekend. We had a small ceremony at my parent’s house. The immediate family and a handful of friends came over. It was just perfect. Just the way we both wanted it to be.”

As much as Alanna wanted to brush her off, the tone of the young woman’s voice and the date tugged a string deep inside. She stared down at the cell phone. A haze covered her vision.

That was supposed to be Alanna’s wedding weekend, too. Ray and Alanna had planned to be married the day after Thanksgiving. A small ceremony. Just a handful of friends and her grandmother. She hadn’t wanted to wear a wedding dress, just a suit. Ray had talked her into choosing a white suit.

The rush of emotions tore at the façade she forced herself to maintain. Alanna closed her eyes, remembering how on the same Friday night this Jill Goldman had been married, she had checked into the hotel in Carmel where she and Ray had planned to spend their wedding weekend. Locked up in that suite, she’d shed so many tears, rehashed it all. Guilt. Denial. More guilt. Why had she encouraged him to go on that trip?

It wasn’t her fault. A freak explosion, the police had said. An accident.

Alanna felt a single tear squeeze past her eyelids. She brushed it away.

“Oh, my God,” Jill whispered. “It was you they were talking about. I’m so sorry. I heard half a conversation—I didn’t know. I never realized it was you. It was your fiancée who died on that boating thing this past fall just before the STEREO satellite launch. How horrible that must have been! I am so sorry.”

A lump the size of a basketball had lodged itself in Alanna’s throat, but it didn’t matter. She felt the bus pull away from the first stop at Moffett Field, the Microsoft facility. She didn’t want to talk about this. She shoved her things into the briefcase and closed the top.

Jill’s voice was hushed. She was apologizing again, but Alanna couldn’t hear it. She’d thought she was done with these sharp, slashing cuts of emotion. The antidepressants she’s been given by her doctor before Christmas had been helping. Until now. She needed air. She needed to walk. She needed to screw her head on straight before she arrived at work.

Alanna pushed to her feet.

“Are you okay?” Jill placed a hand on her sleeve.

“I’m fine,” Alanna managed to say. She started toward the front of the bus. She could feel the curious glances of a few of the riders as she passed.

“You are getting off at the next stop, Alanna?” a voice asked. It was another project manager in Building 23.

She nodded and walked past him, too. The shuttle slowed down at the stop. Alanna cleared her voice, tried to paste on a fake smile. She pulled on her sunglasses, despite the fact that the day was overcast. Too many people were getting out at this stop. She knew some of them. She would have no privacy.

At the last moment, she dropped into a vacated seat. She slid to the window and stared out at the departing riders and the commuters. Men and women, casually dressed, juggled coffees and briefcases and purses as they made their way along the sidewalks. Engineers, researchers, clerical workers, technical types. They were so young, she thought. They seemed to be getting younger every year.

The bus door swung closed, and they pulled away from the curb. Two stops more, she told herself. She could manage two stops.

Alanna froze.

She saw him on the sidewalk. Only for an instant, but she couldn’t be mistaken. He was walking toward the bus stop they’d just left. He was wearing a blue blazer and carrying a leather briefcase. His hair was longer, curlier. She stared at his face as the bus flashed past him, her breath crushed from her chest. She whirled in her seat, staring at his back for only a second, and then he was gone.

It was Ray.

Stunned, she sat still, unable to grasp what had just happened.

It couldn’t have been Ray. He was dead. It was a freak accident. He was gone.

Alanna was on her feet in an instant.

“Stop!” She scrambled toward the door. “Stop the bus!”

CHAPTERTHREE

DESPAIR

Brooklyn, New York

His hand shook. The stack of mail slipped to the floor and scattered around his feet. David Collier read the letter from the insurance company for the second time.

At present, no recognized studies provide evidence that the aforementioned treatment is viable. We regret to inform you…

They were rejecting his daughter.

“Daddy…is everything okay?”

We regret to inform you…

David bent down to pick up the pieces of mail. He tried to pull himself together.

“Absolutely, honey,” he said quietly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He put the bag of groceries he’d brought in on the kitchen counter and dumped the mail next to it.

The small apartment smelled like a hospital. David couldn’t bring himself to look up at Leah. The eight-year-old was lying in the rented hospital bed they kept where a dining table should be. His little girl was halfway through the day’s peritoneal dialysis. The visiting nurse put aside the magazine she was reading and changed one of the plastic bags on the elaborate set up.

“How is it going?” he asked her.

The dour woman gave a firm nod and leaned back in her seat, once again lost in her reading.

The home treatment was one that David’s wife, Nicole, had been trained in last year. As far as time and Leah’s comfort, this was so superior to what the child had gone through in the clinics and hospitals since the first time the doctors discovered the rare kidney disease.

This method used the lining of Leah’s abdominal cavity, the peritoneum, as a filter. David knew all the specifics. All the details. A catheter was placed in Leah’s belly to pour a solution containing dextrose into the abdominal cavity. While the solution was there, it pulled wastes and extra fluid from the blood. Later, the solution was drained from the belly, along with the wastes and extra fluid. The cavity was then refilled, and the cleaning process continued.

Not pleasant to think about, but it was keeping his daughter alive.

The dialysis could be done at home, usually while Leah slept, without a health professional present. Since Nicole’s death, though, there’d been a change in schedule. David wasn’t trained in the procedure. A visiting nurse had to come to the house to set up and monitor it. And this had to be done during the day, which meant for those two days every week, Leah was not going to school. But that wasn’t the extent of it. David had met with Leah’s doctors yesterday. They were planning to increase the dialysis. Starting next week, it would be every day. Her kidney function was rapidly failing. David had guessed at a need for change in treatments before he was told. Every day, he could see the steady decline in her health. She was losing weight again and she had no energy.

David hadn’t been able to get up his courage to tell the eight-year-old the bad news.

“Any mail for me?” Leah asked, stretching a hand toward him.

David knew what his daughter wanted. She wanted to have him sit on the edge of the bed and wait with her until they were done. Leah wasn’t too keen on this specific nurse. They’d had her in a couple of times before. David went through a large visiting nurse agency that accepted their insurance. Liking a specific person seemed to be the kiss of death. They never came back. On the other hand, the sour ones were always repeats.

This one hadn’t said more than two words to him. He had a feeling she hadn’t been any more talkative with her patient.

Leah smiled when David sat down on the bed beside her. “So, anything good?” she asked, some of the strain gone from her pale face.

David gave a cursory glance at the mail he’d dropped on the counter. The insurance denial topped bills and bills and bills. There was no end to it. They were breaking him. And the letter today threatened to destroy what he had left of his family. Leah had been through a kidney transplant once already. Her body had its way of rejecting the organ. The doctors had predicted it would happen within a six-month to a one-year window. They were almost at ten months, and it was happening.

Then, the last time they were at the hospital, one of the doctors had told David about the research that was going on in Germany. They were cloning a person’s kidney. He thought Leah would be a perfect candidate for the study.

An endeavor like that cost a lot of money, though, and David had gone through everything he had. He looked over at the mail again. With the rejection by the insurance company, he didn’t know where else he could turn.

“Anything good, daddy?”

David caressed Leah’s soft brown hair. He shook his head. “Sorry, love. Nothing good.”

He reached down, picked up the morning newspaper off the floor, and glanced at the headlines he’d already read earlier in the day. He couldn’t trust his emotions right now.

“It’ll be okay,” Leah whispered to him.

David was shaken by the tone, by the gentleness and love that it conveyed. There was so much of Nicole in their daughter. There had been so many times over these past four years that David had been on the verge of a breakdown—of doing something stupid. The world was against them. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. His job, Nicole’s and Leah’s health, the financial strains, the legal troubles that had dogged him. Nicole had held him together, though. She’d been able to keep him in one piece and standing straight, facing life’s challenges each day. Her enthusiasm for life and her optimism had been contagious.

But now Nicole was gone, and he had to be as strong as his wife. For Leah’s sake.

“Is there anything in that bag that is going to melt?” The eight-year-old asked, once again filling the shoes of the adult in their life.

He chuckled and ruffled her short hair as he got up. “Yes, there is.”

“Popsicles?” she asked brightly, a child again.

He nodded. “Popsicles.”

As Leah’s kidney functions were dropping almost daily, she was having difficulty with urination. As a result, she couldn’t drink like healthy children. Chewing ice cubes was one-way David got liquids into her. Popsicles were a treat that they splurged on every now and then.

In the adjoining kitchen, he opened a drawer and shoved the delinquent notices from the counter into it. He’d go through them when Leah was sleeping.

“Tell your father about the phone call.”

David and Leah both stared at the nurse, surprised that she had spoken.

“What phone call?”

“I’m sorry, Dad, I know you always tell me not to answer it and let the machine pick up. But the phone was right here, and I picked it up without thinking.” She held up the phone that was lying on the bed.

David didn’t even answer the calls himself. These days every one of them was from some collection agency. He definitely didn’t want to expose his daughter to their practiced rudeness.

“That’s fine, honey,” he said. He picked up another handset from the counter in the kitchen and checked the ID on the last incoming call. It showed as unknown.

“The man didn’t leave a name or phone number. But I told him that you’d be back in half an hour, and he said he’ll call again.”

David made a mental note to make sure the call went directly to his answering machine. Whenever possible, he avoided speaking with creditors when Leah was awake. He went back to putting away the groceries. The box of popsicles looked lost in the spacious empty freezer.

“He said the call was about a job offer.”

A jolt ran through David. He turned to his daughter.

“A job offer?” he repeated.

A job offer.

Four years ago, David had been the CFO of a hot, new international banking consortium. Heady stuff. A guest interview with Lou Dobbs. Even a glowing article in the Wall Street Journal about the management team. Good things never seem to last, though, David thought. Not in his life.

The title, the paycheck, the perks, the future had all come crashing down on him when his boss had embezzled a hundred and eighty million dollars before disappearing—but not before arranging everything to look as if David was behind it all. He was to be the fall guy. Caught in the act, it appeared.

After months of spending his own money on lawyers, David had been lucky to walk away free, but that had been the end of any possibility of working in finance. Now he didn’t have enough to cover all his family’s monthly expenses, never mind Leah’s medical bills.

“Is that what he said?”

Leah shrugged. “I think so.”

David tried to remember who might still be looking at his resume. It didn’t matter. People make mistakes. All they had to do was Google him, and that resume would go in the round file. There was still enough inaccurate information out there to bury him twice over.

The phone rang. He looked at the display. Unknown.

“I told you he’d call back,” Leah said, giving him the thumbs-up as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Already knowing the end result of this call, he answered the phone anyway. No sense leaving the poor guy hanging.

CHAPTERFOUR

FEAR

Greenwich, Connecticut

Kei Galvin couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sit for more than a few minutes at a time. She was restless, worried, a total mess.

The African violet on the coffee table lay dead, their vibrant purple flowers only a memory against the drooping green leaves. She couldn’t bring herself to touch them. She hadn’t checked the greenhouse for two days. The spring bulbs she’d started there in pots three weeks ago needed watering, but she couldn’t rouse herself to spend time on them. She’d stopped taking her morning walk with her neighbor. She’d missed two doctor’s appointments yesterday. She couldn’t focus.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” she told her husband when he came back into their sitting room, carrying a cup of tea for her.

“I didn’t know we’ve been waiting.”

At any other time, she would have appreciated his sense of humor. But not now. “He hasn’t gone back to his hotel room. He doesn’t answer his cell phone. He hasn’t called.”

“We don’t know if he’s gone back to his room or not. The two different desk people I spoke to on the phone just didn’t know. We only know that at the time of our calls, he hasn’t been there,” Steven said reasonably. “And you know how it goes with the cell phone. He’s not in New York City, with reception everywhere he goes. He’s twenty-three years old, sweetheart. We don’t have to hear from him every day. You have to⁠—”

She whirled to face her husband. “Don’t do this to me. I know my child. He knows me. He knows when I’m worried about him, and it doesn’t matter where he’s traveling or what time it is. He always calls or emails or somehow lets me know he’s okay.”

“And he will this time, too,” Steven said softly. He put the cup down on the coffee table and placed both hands on Kei’s shoulders, pushing her to sit down. “It’s only been four days since he called.”

“Eight days since I spoke to him,” Kei corrected.

“Four days ago…he left a message.”

She was back on her feet again, resuming her pacing. “Do we know anyone in Istanbul?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You have to know someone. Your company⁠—”

“I sold my business, honey. It’s been two years. I don’t have the contacts I used to have.”

“Did you have offices in Turkey?”

Steven ran a hand through his hair. Her mind ran on one track. She wouldn’t hear reason. Waiting was out of the question. They’d been married nearly thirty years. He knew Kei better than she knew herself. She was all love, emotions, affection. Kei wouldn’t rest until they heard from Nathan. This had been the way their marriage had gone since the day Nathan was born. Their son always came first. Steven didn’t begrudge him that, of course. He was certainly not neglected. And Nathan was their only child. For all the years that Steven had been building his company and living and breathing the air that was trapped inside those concrete walls, Kei had played the part of both parents. There was no denying it, the result was a bond between Kei and Nathan that ran deeper than the father-son relationship Steven had with him.

“Please, Steven.” She took his hand. “Believe me…or just humor me. But do something. Get me some news of him. I know you can. Please, love.”

Steven looked at Kei’s teary eyes and gathered her in his arms. They’d become so much closer since he’d sold his company. They’d rediscovered what it was that had brought them together in the first place. More than best friends, they were soul mates. He loved her more than ever. He appreciated who she was.

“Okay, my love. I’ll find that monster today. You’ll hear his voice. I promise you.”

CHAPTERFIVE

STIGMA

Boston

For the hundredth time, Jay Alexei scraped his knuckle on the sharp edge of the narrow mailbox.

“Dammit,” he muttered, looking at the piece of hanging skin.

Shaking his head at the row of chrome-colored mailboxes, he carefully slid his hand back in and tugged at the manila envelope, trying to free it. Apartment building mailboxes suck, he thought as the corner of the envelope tore. The letter carrier had shoved the envelope all the way to the back, with all kinds of junk mail stuffed in front of it. That didn’t help, of course.

He’d rented the studio apartment on the fifth floor of this building in South Boston last September. That had been right after he and Padma had decided to go to the courthouse in Pawtucket and get married. Neither of their parents had shown up for the wedding. She’d been eighteen and already four months pregnant. They’d moved up to Boston right after that, and he’d gotten a job in a warehouse six blocks away.

The place wasn’t great, but it was convenient. For now, at least.

It’d been a hard four months for Padma, though, living here. For him, it wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t pregnant.

No, this was a lot better than Jay had seen in the past. Jail, for instance. That had been no picnic.

Until hooking up with him, Padma had never had to worry about heat or phone bills or where they were going to get the money to pay this month’s rent. She’d been the only child. Just as her name denoted, Padma had been the lotus, the goddess Lakshmi, in her parents’ eyes. They were first generation immigrants from Mohali, India. Her father had come to this country for an engineering degree, gone back, married, and then returned to Rhode Island to stay. Her mother had spent her life taking Padma to piano lessons and ballet and all kinds of other extra-curricular activities. They adored and spoiled her. That is, until she’d gotten knocked up by Jay. Then, she’d been given a choice. Lose the baby and forget Jay. Or stay with him and they’d disown her.

Luckily for him, she’d taken Door Number Two.

Deciding he needed to use two hands, Jay put the open box containing the computer on the floor to get a better grip on everything that was stuffed in the mail box.

The thing that twisted his heart day in and day out, however, was that she never complained. Sick as a dog during the whole pregnancy, she always had a smile for him. It didn’t matter that her bathroom back home had been bigger than the entire apartment they were renting. She greeted him every night as if she were welcoming the king to his castle. And every morning, she sent him away, telling him that she was the happiest woman in the world.

He didn’t deserve her.

The envelope came out with more junk, and he threw the ads and flyers into a trash can next to the door. He stared at the manila envelope and smiled bitterly at the word Mr. printed before his name. He checked the sender. It was from his old high school back in Rhode Island. He tore it open. It was his high school diploma.

“So, I get a piece of paper after all.” He shoved the diploma inside the computer box and picked it up.

Jay had skipped the graduation last June. There had been no point in going. At the time, he’d been a month away from turning twenty-one. He’d been too old to go to classes during the day, but the night classes had given him enough credits. Granted, the kids all knew him. He was famous in town, but everyone was too afraid of him or too embarrassed to say anything about his jail time. No, there’d been no point in going. It wasn’t as if anyone in his family was going to be there, celebrating with him. That night, Jay and Padma had taken off for Newport to celebrate on their own. They’d spent the night huddled up in a blanket on the beach.

He slid his key into the metal inner door of the apartment building. If he knew then what he knew now, he wouldn’t have bothered to go back for this stupid degree after getting out of jail. He’d thought it would be more meaningful than just getting a GED while he was in the slammer. But this piece of paper hadn’t made a bit of difference. No one wanted to talk to him. No colleges had been standing in line. It didn’t matter that he’d scored perfect on his SATs in seventh grade and how, from the time he’d been four feet tall, the gifted teachers in the public schools drooled all over him. They called him a prodigy, a genius. He had a photographic memory. He was getting letters from MIT and Johns Hopkins when he was still in middle school. Now, he couldn’t even get a job as a techie at a local computer store.

He couldn’t make a decent living to support his wife and baby that was on the way.

Jay took a breather on the third-floor landing. He didn’t know how Padma handled these steps every day. She worked four hours a day at a deli around the corner. When they’d first moved in, she was doing eight hours a day. But she couldn’t spend so much time on her feet. In fact, the doctor at the free clinic they’d gone to last week together told her that she should stop working entirely until after the baby was born. She hadn’t gained enough weight, and there were times when Jay thought the little bundle in Padma’s stomach weighed almost as much as the rest of her. Even so, Padma wasn’t hearing what she was being told.

As he stood there, that flash of heat washed through him, just as it did every time, he thought too much about their situation. They had a baby coming. How in God’s name were they going to pay for it all?

Jay switched the box from one arm to the other and started up toward the fourth-floor landing. Odd jobs. Keep working. Keep scratching for every penny.

The computer under his arm belonged to one of the guys he worked with. He’d been having trouble with the thing, so Jay had offered to fix it up for fifty bucks. There were other jobs he’d done at work for free, but it was time to start charging. People he worked with knew he was good at this stuff.

Even though this was the first paying job, Jay hoped that maybe the word going around would get him other jobs like this. He had to make more money. There was so much that he wanted to do…no, needed to do…for Padma.

Just last night, the two of them had gone shopping for a crib for their baby. They went to the Goodwill store. The only problem was that they didn’t have any cribs available. They should check back again next week. Padma hadn’t complained, but he could look at her and see right into her soul. She was sad, disappointed.

As he plodded up the last remaining steps, he wondered for the thousandth time whether he was staying on the right side of the fence for nothing. For every guy in the pen, he knew there were a hundred on the outside…making it.

Jay had made one mistake in high school. Other kids made them all the time. But he was much smarter than other kids. So, of course, his crime had been that much more serious. The punishment more devastating. Well, he’d paid. He was still paying.

In spite of it all, he didn’t want to be Padma’s one mistake, even though her parents were certain he was.

At the top of the steps, he stopped and looked at the number on that pale green door to their apartment. Just thinking of her on the other side sent a burst of energy through him. That was all he needed. She was all he needed.

Still, as he fished in his pocket for the key, he wished he was carrying a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolate instead of a busted computer.

At that moment the door opened. Padma, phone cradled against one ear, motioned excitedly to him to come in.

Jay was surprised. No one called them. They didn’t have any friends. They only had the phone since that was his way of getting onto the Internet. He spent a lot of time on that. Also, having the phone gave him the peace of mind that she could call him at work if there was an emergency. She gestured that the call was for him.

Jay walked in, gently laying the box down inside the door.

“Hold on. You can talk to him yourself. He just walked in. Okay, thanks.” She covered the mouthpiece and held out the phone to him.

He took it out of her hand and tossed it onto their sofa. She looked pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her face had lost its sweet roundness, growing more drawn all the time. Every day, she looked as if she was shifting weight from her own body to the body growing in her rapidly expanding belly. He kissed her, ignoring the look of shock in her face at his cavalier treatment of the phone.

The phone was immediately forgotten, and Padma nestled into his arms, pressing her face against his chest.

“Group hug,” she said, smiling as she placed his hand against her hard stomach.

“I missed you,” he whispered against her silky hair. “Both of you.”

“We missed you, too.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. She motioned to the handset on the sofa. “I think you might want to talk to him.”

“Who is it?” Jay asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But you think I should talk to him,” he said with a chuckle.

She shrugged. “It’s a guy. He sounds pretty nice. He knew we’re expecting our first baby. He said he was calling with news of an employment opportunity.”

“An employment opportunity?” he repeated, curious. The people he knew these days talked about jobs, not employment opportunities. Usually, they meant heavy labor type work. Somebody moving or buying something and needing an extra hand to take it somewhere. Well, the people he was working for at the warehouse knew Padma was pregnant. Jay suspected that this person had been referred by them.

She shrugged again and looked up at him in that cute way that made her look like an imp. “I didn’t make it up. That’s what he said.”

A dozen things ran through Jay’s mind as he went over and picked up the phone. He’d stuck a resume up on a Monster job board and on Craig’s List last summer…just to test the waters. Nothing serious had come out of it. He tried not to build his hopes up.

“Hello. Can I help you?” he asked.

“Mr. Alexei?”

Mister! This was the second time today. Jeez, they’d be calling him sir next.

“Yes?”

“I’m calling on behalf of a client. We’d like to set up an interview with you, sir.”

Okay, what the hell was going on?

Padma was standing so close, trying to hear what was going on, that Jay figured the guy could probably hear her breathing into the phone. Jay gently pushed her down on the sofa. He knew it would take her at least ten minutes to find her balance and get up again.

“Who’s your client, if I may ask?” Jay asked.

“A private computer firm. You wouldn’t know the name.”

For the first time, Jay’s attention zeroed in on the caller. In two and a half years in jail, he’d met plenty of guys running scams. They sounded just like this guy. “Okay. Well, what kind of a…job…is it that your employer wants to interview me for.”

“It is for a programmer position.”

“A programmer,” he repeated, not believing his ears. Now he knew it couldn’t be legit. The resume he’d posted online was clear that he only had a high school degree. What legit company would want an entry level programmer that had no degree or real work experience?

“That’s right. I can tell you that the position comes with a standard benefits package that will cover you and your family. I am also permitted to tell you that the annual salary is in the $150,000 to $180,000 range, with additional bonus incentives. This position requires relocation, but my employer will take care of the moving costs and all the smaller details. Would this kind of arrangement interest you, Mr. Alexei?”

Jay sank down next to Padma on the sofa. He couldn’t catch his breath for a couple of seconds. Legit or not, this was music to his ears.

“Are you there, sir?”

He cleared his throat. “I am. I am. Are you sure you have the right person?”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite certain of that.”

“Mr…What was your name again?”

“My apologies, Mr. Alexei,” he said from the other end. “I never introduced myself to you. My name is Mr. Diarte. Hank Diarte.”

“Mr. Diarte,” Jay started. “I have to tell you I think you must be mistaken about whoever it is you think I am. You do realize that I only have a high school education, and I⁠—”

“I know more about you than you think, Mr. Alexei.” Jay could hear a touch of European accent in the guy’s voice. “Your name is Jay Alexei. Twenty-one years of age. Birthday? July 21. Born in Providence Women and Infants Hospital at 2:47 a.m. Your mother has been a music teacher at the Saint Cecilia School in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, for the past twenty-three years. A devout Catholic. Your father was a computer technician. He has been unemployed for the past three years. He has a problem with alcohol, I’m sorry to say. Your parents are presently separated, and you’re not on speaking terms with either of them. No siblings. Do I have the right Jay Alexei?”

Jay leaned back. This wasn’t exactly Google material. Padma snuggled next to him, looking curiously up into his face. “Keep going.”

“My client believes you are an exceptionally bright young man. ‘A genius with computers,’ were his exact words, sir. To date, you are the only person who has ever been able to hack into NASA’s central mainframe. And at the time you did it, you were only seventeen. You served two and half years in the Federal Correctional Institution in Otisville, New York.”

“Look, I only poked my head into their site and looked around. No damage was done. No data was stolen. I made that mistake once, and I paid the price,” Jay said thinly, planting his elbows on his knees. “I’m not interested in going that route again.”

“Yes, sir. My client, Mr. Lyons, understands that entirely. He⁠—”

“I have a family of my own now.”

“My client knows that, sir. You need not have any fear on that account. You should know that Mr. Lyons is a man who believes in second chances. He also believes in his ability to find exceptional, albeit unconventional, alent.”

“Go on.”

“He knows that you are lacking in a few formal programming skills. Two and a half years is a long time to be out of the field. Still, if you decide to take the interview and you are offered the job, then my client will make every arrangement to provide any necessary training. Mr. Lyons is offering you something you will be hard pressed to find elsewhere, Mr. Alexei. He is offering you a fresh start.”

Jay looked at Padma. She’d been listening to most of the conversation since he sat down. She was pressed up against him. She looked as wary of the whole thing as he was.

“What do you say, Mr. Alexei? Would you like to schedule an interview?”

Just as he started to answer, Jay felt a sharp kick from the baby against his side.

“Yes, Mr. Diarte” Jay said, having come to a decision. “I’ll talk to you.”