“Who are you?” Kevin demanded. “How do you know me?”

“Who am I? I am your worst nightmare. I promise you, you’ll agree soon enough. How do I know you? Tsk, tsk, tsk. The fact that you even have to ask justifies everything I have in mind.”

It had to be the boy! God in heaven, save me!Kevin slumped slowly to the floor. This couldn’t be happening. “Oh God—”

“Not God, Kevin. Definitely not God. Now, I want you to listen carefully, because I’m going to give you a lot of information in a short time. Every single bit is critical if you want to survive this little game of ours. Do you understand?”

Kevin’s mind raced through the years, searching for someone who might have sounded like this man, anyone who might have any reason at all to speak to him this way. Anyone but the boy.

“Answer me, you creep!” Slater said.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Yes, you understand what?”

“That I have to listen carefully,” Kevin said.

“Good. From now on you answer me when I ask you a question, and you speak only when I say you speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. There are only three rules to our game. Remember all of them. One, you say nothing to the cops about my riddles or my phone calls until after the time has passed. Then you may tell them all you want. This is personal—having the whole city coming unglued over a little bomb that might go off wouldn’t be useful. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Two, you do exactly what I say, or I promise you will pay. Abundantly clear?”

“Why are you doing—”

“Answer me!”

“Yes!”

“Three, the riddles keep coming until you confess. As soon as you do, I go away. It’s that simple. One, two, three. Get it through your thick skull and we’ll do fine. Understand?”

“Please, if you’ll just tell me what to confess, I’ll confess. Why are you using riddles? Can I confess without solving riddles?”

Slater remained silent for a moment. “The answer to the riddles and the confession are the same. That’s the first clue and that’s the last clue. The next time you try to squeeze something out of me, I’ll walk in there and cut off one of your ears, or something as interesting. What’s the matter, Kevin? You’re the brilliant seminary student. You’re the smart little philosopher. A little riddle scares you?”

The riddles and the confession are the same.So then maybe it wasn’t the boy.

“This isn’t fair—”

“Did I ask you to speak?”

“You asked me a question.”

“Which requires an answer, not a lecture. For that you will pay an extra little price. I’ve decided to kill to help you along with your understanding.”

Kevin was aghast. “You . . . you just decided—”

“Maybe two killings.”

“No, I’m sorry. I won’t speak.”

“Better. And just so we’re clear, you of all people are in no position to talk about being fair. You may have that old fool at the seminary fooled, you may have all the old ladies at that church thinking you’re a sweet, young fellow, but I know you, boy. I know how your mind works and I know what you’re capable of. Guess what? I’m about to let the snake out of his dungeon. Before we’re done here, the world is going to know the whole ugly truth, boy. Open the drawer in front of you.”

The drawer? Kevin stood and looked at the utility drawer beneath the counter. “The drawer?”

“Open it and pull out the cell phone.”

Kevin eased the drawer out. A small silver cell phone sat in the pencil tray. He picked it up.

“From now on you keep this phone with you at all times. It’s set to vibrate—no need to wake up the neighbors every time I call. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to call you on your home phone once the cops bug it. Understand?”

“Yes.”

That Slater had been in Kevin’s house was no longer open to question. What else did Slater know?

“There’s one other little matter that needs our attention before we continue. I have good news for you, Kevin.” Slater’s voice thickened and his breathing grew heavier. “You’re not alone in this. I intend to bring someone else down with you. Her name is Samantha.” Pause. “You do remember Samantha, don’t you? You should; she called you recently.”

“Yes.”

“You like her, don’t you, Kevin?”

“She’s a friend.”

“You don’t have a lot of friends.”

“No.”

“Consider Samantha as my insurance. If you fail me, she dies.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Shut up! Shut up, you foul-mouthed lying punk! Listen carefully. In life he’s your friend, but death is the end. That’s your little bonus riddle for being so dense. You have exactly thirty minutes to solve it or your best friend will indeed go boom.”

“What friend? I thought this was about me! How will you even know if I’ve solved the riddle?”

“Call Samantha. Ask for her help. The two of you can put your stinking heads together and figure it out.”

“I’m not even sure I can reach Samantha. How will you know what I tell her?”

Slater’s deep chuckle filled the phone. “You don’t do what I’m doing without learning the tools of the trade, boy. I have ears and eyes everywhere. Did you know that with the right toys you can understand a man inside a house from over a thousand yards away? Seeing is even easier. The clock is ticking. You’re down to twenty-nine minutes and thirty-two seconds. I suggest you hustle.”

The line clicked.

“Slater?”

Nothing. Kevin shoved the phone into its cradle and looked at his watch. 4:15. There was going to be another explosion in thirty minutes, this time involving his best friend, which made no sense because he had no best friends. In life he’s your friend, but death is the end. No cops.

4

FBI SPECIAL AGENT JENNIFER PETERS hurried down the hall, her pulse hammering with an urgency she hadn’t felt for three months. The Long Beach bomb report had come in several hours ago, but she hadn’t been told. Why? She rounded the corner and shoved the Los Angeles bureau chief’s door open.

Frank Longmont sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t bother looking up at her. He knew, didn’t he? The weasel had purposefully stalled.

“Sir?”

Frank held up his hand. Jennifer crossed her arms while the chief talked on. Only then did she notice two other agents, whom she didn’t recognize, seated at the small conference table to her left. Looked like East Coast stiffs. Their eyes lingered. She turned from them and steadied her breathing.

Her blue business suit had only the smallest of slits up her left leg, but she couldn’t shake the certainty that what was decent, even conservative in her mind, still drew frequent glances from men. Her hair was dark, to her shoulders, and her eyes a soft hazel. She had the kind of face others might spend their lives trying to imitate—symmetrical with soft skin and rich color. There was no disguising her physical beauty. Beauty is a gift,her father used to say. Just don’t flaunt it. A gift. Jennifer had found beauty just as often a handicap. Many people of both genders had difficulty accepting both beauty and excellence from the same person.

To compensate, she tried her best to ignore her appearance and instead focus on excellence. Brains are also a gift,her father used to say. And God had not been stingy. At age thirty, Jennifer Peters was regarded as one of the best forensic psychologists on the West Coast.

But in the end it hadn’t mattered. Her excellence hadn’t saved her brother. Which left her as what? A beautiful woman who was much more interested in being smart than beautiful, but who wasn’t so smart after all. A nothing. A nothing whose failure had killed her brother. And now a nothing who was being ignored by the bureau chief.

Frank set down his phone and turned to the two men at the table. “Excuse us for a moment, gentlemen.”

The two agents exchanged glances, rose, and left. Jennifer waited for the click of the door latch before speaking.