He pulled out the Ziploc sandwich bag he’d brought along. As he went to drop the toe inside, he felt it slip from his fingers.

“Fuck!” He checked the bag. No, it hadn’t fallen in there. That meant it was on the floor. Christ, he had to find it.

Paulie dropped to his knees and began flashing the light along the floor. Great… the carpet was beige… and thick—just his luck.

Easiest thing to do would be to just cut off the other toe and forget about this one. But sure as hell someone would find it tomorrow and want to know where it came from. And when they found out he’d bet his ass the papers and the TV news would start shouting about someone chopping off little kids’ toes, and then for sure Mac would come gunning for him.

Nope. Had to find this one.

At least he was below window level where the penlight wouldn’t be seen from the street. But where was the goddamn thing?

He didn’t know how long he was down there on the floor, kneeling, crouching, crawling, lying flat on his belly, shining the light at all different angles—seemed like forever—until he spotted this slightly paler lump nestled in the carpet fibers four feet from the coffin. Was that—?

Yes. He almost sobbed with relief. How the hell did it get over there? Damn thing must have bounced and rolled. Who cared? He had it and he wasn’t losing it. Still lying on the floor, he carefully sealed the toe in the baggie and stuffed that deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

Then he rose and closed and latched the lower half of Eddie’s coffin.

“Thanks, buddy. You’ve been a real—” The words choked in his throat.

Outside the window sitting in the parking lot…

A car.

Christ! Where’d that come from? Must have pulled in while he was on the floor. But who—?

Out in the hall, he heard the faint clack of a dead bolt snapping open. He made like a statue and listened. The rear door swung open with a creak. He heard the alarm panel begin to beep, then shut off as someone punched in the security code. He heard someone humming—a guy.

MacDougal? Yeah. The car outside was a Riv, just like he’d seen MacDougal driving. As a light came on down the hall, Paulie crouched behind the coffin, but instead of coming this way, MacDougal headed downstairs.

At first Paulie cursed—that was his way out. He was stuck here until MacDougal left, and who knew how long that would be?

All right, he thought. I know the who. What’s the why?

Only one reason he could figure for MacDougal to come back at this hour and head downstairs: He had to be embalming the babe on the table.

Shit, that could take hours, and Paulie didn’t exactly have all night.

Mac wanted a call when the persuader was delivered. He didn’t get that call soon, he’d start getting antsy… might decide to pay the package a personal visit.

Then Paulie realized something: The alarm was off. He could sneak out the rear door—walk instead of crawl. He allowed himself a smile. When someone hands you a lemon, make lemonade.

He stepped out into the hall and headed toward the rear, moving carefully, hugging the wall where the flooring was less likely to creak.

But as he passed the security panel he stopped and suppressed a groan. The indicator light was red—MacDougal had rearmed the system.

Okay. Only one thing to do. If MacDougal was in that back room doing whatever it was undertakers did to “beloveds,” he’d probably never hear Paulie sneak downstairs and slip out the bathroom window. A risky move but doable—if you had the balls.

He had to get out of here.

He headed downstairs, taking every step as carefully as he could. The carpeting helped. When he reached bottom he peeked into the lounge and found it empty.

Excellent.

The door to the private room was half open and he heard MacDougal’s voice coming from inside, talking now instead of humming.

Even better. Paulie’s worst-case scenario on his way down the stairs had been sneaking into the bathroom and finding MacDougal taking a dump.

He skittered over to the bathroom door and was easing it open when he heard MacDougal’s voice change. He was groaning now, making weird noises. Paulie knew he should stay on course but he had to see what was going on.

He crept to the private door, put his nose against its outer surface, then eased his head to the side until he could peek around the edge.

At the far end of the room, MacDougal’s fat naked body was bobbing atop the dead girl on the embalming table. Fascinated and repulsed, Paulie watched for a few seconds, then tore himself away. The growling animal noises coming from MacDougal now were the perfect cover for his escape.

Shaking his head, Paulie headed back to the bathroom. Weirdos—the world was full of them, man.

13

Poppy heard the garage door go up. She peeked out and saw the panel truck pulling in.

Finally! Jesus he’d been gone so long she thought something had happened to him. The extra time could only mean one thing: trouble. At least now she knew he hadn’t got caught. But what if he hadn’t been able to get that toe? He had to have it. She couldn’t think of any other way out of this mess.

She could like barely breathe as she waited for him to come through the door. And when he did she totally jumped on him.

“Did you get it? Please say yes. Please!”

He gave her this innocent look. “Get what? Was I supposed to get something?”

“Paulie! Don’t do this to me!”

Finally he smiled. “Of course I got it.”

She sagged against him. “Oh, thank God! I was so worried.”

“Nothing to it. Want to see?”

“No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“Maybe you better take a look.” She backed up a step and looked at him.

“Why? Don’t tell me the dead kid was black or something.”

“Nah. White as the package. But there’s something missing, something we’ll need if we’re gonna pull this off.”

“What’s that?”

“Blood. The persuader ain’t gonna be too persuasive if we send it like it is. We need to smear some fresh blood around the edge.” Poppy swallowed. He was right. She hadn’t thought about that.

“Okay. We can use some of mine. I’ll…” He was shaking his head slowly.

“What if dear old dad gets the blood typed, just to be sure, it’s his kid’s? We can’t risk that. We need hers.”

“Uh-uh,” she said, backing up another step. “No way.”

“Poppy,” he said slowly. “I went to hell and back to save your little friend’s toe. All we need to make this work—to really get away with it—is a few drops of her blood. A pin prick, f’chrissake. Otherwise, you want to be responsible for what happens when Mac shows up with the news that the package’s father says it ain’t his kid’s toe?”

He had a point—a very scary point. She hated it, but it was the only way. A little stick was like a small price to pay to save a whole toe.

She sighed. “All right. But let me talk to her first.” She was pretty sure she could make Katie understand. They’d got pretty tight tonight. What did the guys call it? Bonding? Yeah. That was it. Katie and me bonded pretty good tonight.