Back when Stone was a combat troop, the boys dealt business cards on their KIAs. Called’m Death Cards. Let the enemy know who they better not fuck with.

Pike touched the picture to make sure it was just right, then came back for the box.

“Okay. We’re done.”

They drove back through paradise along a winding road to the airport. They turned in their rental, then headed to the terminal, all the disks and computer stuff now packed in their bags. It was a small terminal: one low, flat building surrounded by sand, shells, and coconut trees.

Stone said, “I’m gonna grab a smoke. Wanna hang with?”

“Meet you at the gate.”

Stone lit up as Pike disappeared into the terminal. He waited a few moments, then strolled to the end of the building and sat back to enjoy the moment. The sun was pure and bright in the very best way, and the air so clean Jon Stone wanted to stay there forever.

Stone had one of those cell phones you get to call home when you travel abroad. He dialed a U.S. number, then waited for the man to answer.

Stone said, “Over and out. We’re coming home.”

“Thank God. Thank Christ for that. He’s all right?”

“Thanks for asking about me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Pike’s fine. He did what he had to do, just like you knew he would. That boy’s a bulldog.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

“I know, I know.”

Jon thought, Jesus, shut up already! The sonofabitch had been apologizing for months like he felt guilty for turning Pike loose. Jon suspected the man knew what Pike would do and how he would do it from the beginning.

The man was still going on.

“I didn’t know how else to protect that girl. I knew what it took, but I wasn’t up to it. He was.”

“Listen, I gotta get goin’-”

“He’s a good man.”

“Yeah, he is, Mr. Flynn. That’s why he’s Pike.”

“You boys get home safe.”

Stone turned off the phone. He finished his cigarette, enjoying the clean sky and sensuous air until they called for his flight. Then he went inside to find Joe Pike at the gate.

Acknowledgments

Aaron Priest, the Joe Pike of literary agents, put it together and made it happen.

Pat Crais, the most feared copy editor in publishing, picked up my slack with devotion and zeal.

My publishers, Louise Burke and David Rosenthal, inspired me with their support, advocacy, and strength.

My editors, Marysue Rucci and Kevin Smith, provided insights that added dimension and depth, and more than a few laughs. Jon Wood, my UK editor at Orion, must also be acknowledged for his unwavering support under the adverse conditions of last-minute publishing deadlines.

Laura Grafton, my director at Brilliance Audio, contributed enormously.

Clay Fourrier of Dovetail Studio designed and maintains my website at www.robertcrais.com. Carol Topping manages the site and creates our newsletters. Clay and Carol make possible the amazing relationship I have with readers around the world.