First Thrills - Lee Child [51]
“With eternal thanks to J. M.”
“But I know it can’t be you. Nobody’d thank you for shit, son. And if they did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be eternal.”
The partner dropped the book on Malloy’s desk and sat down in his chair, pulled out his phone, and called one of their snitches.
Malloy read a few more of the poems and then tossed the volume on the dusty bookshelf behind his desk.
Then he, too, grabbed his phone and placed a call to the forensic lab to ask about some test results. As he waited on hold he reflected that, true, Prescott’s poems weren’t bad at all. The man did have some skill.
But, deep down, Jimmy Malloy had to admit to himself that, given his choice? He’d rather read a Jacob Sharpe novel any day.
*
A former journalist, folksinger, and attorney, JEFFERY DEAVER is an international number-one bestselling author. His novels have appeared on bestseller lists around the world, including The New York Times, The Times of London, Italy’s Corriere della Sera, The Sydney Morning Herald, and the Los Angeles Times. His The Bodies Left Behind was named Novel of the Year by the International Thriller Writers Association, and his Lincoln Rhyme thriller The Broken Window was also nominated for that prize. He’s been nominated for six Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America, an Anthony Award, and a Gumshoe Award. He was recently short-listed for the ITV3 Crime Thriller Award for Best International Author.
His book A Maiden’s Grave was made into an HBO movie starring James Garner and Marlee Matlin, and his novel The Bone
Collector was a feature release from Universal Pictures, starring Denzel Washington and Angelina Jolie. His most recent books are Roadside Crosses, The Bodies Left Behind, The Broken Window, The Sleeping Doll, and More Twisted: Collected Stories, Vol. II. And, yes, the rumors are true: he did appear as a corrupt reporter on his favorite soap opera, As the World Turns. Readers can visit his website at www.jefferydeaver.com.
JOHN LUTZ and LISE S. BAKER
In the dimness of the depths, Rob McKenzie felt a tug at his air hose. Turning, he couldn’t believe his eyes. A giant hundred-pound squid was doing the dance of death with him at sixty feet below. Then, as if in ghostly display, another fifty squid circled behind their comrade.
Red Devils. Rob recalled reading about this phenomenon. But he had never seen anything like this, right off the coral reef of Key Largo. It had something to do with global warming, climate imbalance, and the increasing number of tropical storms and hurricanes.
Well, this is sure proof, he thought. He wouldn’t have to write his local politician, since he was the Keys’ congressman.
The squid nudged him again, this time tapping on his face mask. Rob felt a thrill course through his body. It was a will-I-survive moment and possibly the diving experience of a lifetime.
Maybe the end of a lifetime. For a split second he thought about the good times with Mira, and the bad times. The better times with—
A ripple of bubbles, one final push, and the entire school of squid was gone.
Rob shook his head in disbelief, the adrenaline still pumping. This was going to be a great story to tell at work next week. He didn’t want to head for the surface yet, but knew he should. Mira, his wife, had been increasingly irritated with his ocean forays lately. Had she clued into the fact that his midnight swims had become something more?
Engrossed in thought, Rob failed to notice he now had another visitor. This time it was in human form. Another diver, armed with a razor-sharp fish- gutting knife, was swimming up behind him. And yet another form swam behind that diver.
Mira McKenzie had just driven in from the deserted boat house out on Shell Road. Sometimes she went there to think, other times for assignations with her pool boy. Fighting fire with fire regarding her failed marriage hadn’t worked. It had only served to make her feel bitter and cheap. Now she climbed the stairs to the third floor of a faded pink-stucco office building a block off Highway One. She was