She got out of the bed and into a wheelchair. She could walk fine, but it was hospital policy that all patients, no matter what their condition, had to be wheeled out when they were discharged. The orderly wheeled her very slowly so Grandma Ann, next to them, could keep up.

At the hospital doors, Marissa stood and walked next to her grandmother toward where the Town Car was waiting at the curb.

Reporters rushed them. One of the loudest shouted, “Ms. Bloom, how does it feel to be a hero?”

Marissa stopped for a moment, glared at the guy, a little older than her, and said,“I’m not a hero, and my last name isn’t Bloom, it’s Stern. I’m Marissa Stern. You got that?”

They moved on toward the car. Now the reporters were shouting, “Ms. Stern! Ms. Stern! Ms. Stern!”

Marissa helped her grandmother in and then got in after her. As they drove off down Fifth Avenue, she could still hear the reporters screaming.

“I swear to God,” Marissa said, “I better not see the name Marissa Bloom in the papers tomorrow morning.”

Her grandmother, looking away, didn’t say anything.

acknowledgments

For their enormous impact on this novel and my career I’d like to thank Ken Bruen, Bret Easton Ells, Lee Child, Kristian Moliere, Shane McNeil, Charles Ardai, John David Coles, Sandy Starr, Brian DeFlore, Nick Harris, Marc Resnick, Sarah Lumnah, Andy Martin, Matthew Shear, Matthew Baldacci, and everyone at Minotaur Books.