Worst Case - James Patterson [32]
“Done,” Emily said, feeling a lightness in her heart that was sorely needed. “You’re the best uncle who ever lived, Tom.”
“Don’t forget the best brother,” he said. “Stay safe.”
As she hung up, she noticed that someone had left a message. Listening, she heard Mike’s voice, and she called him back.
“What now?” she said when he picked up.
“Nothing,” Bennett said. “I just wanted to let you know that there haven’t been any kidnappings in the past half hour.”
She thought of him. Their lunch, the wonderful dinner with his family. She sat staring at the utter loneliness of her room, her life. She hadn’t even thought of getting involved with anyone since her husband had abandoned ship. The more time she spent with Mike, though, the more she was starting to consider the possibility.
“Where are you now, Mike?” she discovered herself saying.
What the hell was she doing!
“I can’t hear you. One of these kids is screaming bloody murder. Hang on. There. I’m in the kitchen now. What did you say?”
Emily thought about it. She had to stop. A cop? In another city? How the hell would that work?
“Nothing,” she said. “See you in the morning, Mike.”
Chapter 34
I STOOD THERE in my kitchen, staring at my cell phone.
There had been a moment there between us, some kind of hovering opportunity, but goddammit, I’d missed it somehow.
Still, it was nice just hearing her voice. Not as nice as seeing her face, but almost. She was a good cop, good for a laugh, and good-looking. All good, in my book. I felt like we’d known each other for two years instead of three days.
My phone rang while I was still standing there, pining like one of my love-struck tweens. Back to reality, Casanova, I thought.
It was my boss, Carol Fleming.
“Mike, I just heard some City Hall flack came by the task force for a copy of all your reports. You have any idea what the deputy mayor would want with them?”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “we banged heads with Hottinger when the Dunning kid was snatched. She’s probably just trying to make trouble for me, boss. Looking for something to jam me up.”
“That anorexic bitch can pound sand,” my boss said angrily. “Internal police records are strictly confidential, and if she wants information, it’ll come from me personally. This case couldn’t be run more professionally. Don’t you worry about her or anyone else as long as I’m around. Get some sleep, Bennett.”
Wow, I thought after I hung up. A boss who had confidence in me and who was willing to stick her neck out to protect me. That was a nice switch.
But about that sleep, I thought, walking out of the kitchen and staring at the wreckage that used to be my dining room table.
There were beakers, plastic tubing, stopwatches, food dye. Enough poster board to build a light aircraft.
Yep, it was that dreaded time of year again. Holy Name’s annual science fair.
Six of my ten kids were furiously finishing their projects. Jane was testing the soil in Riverside Park. Eddie was investigating the geometry of shadows. Brian was doing something on television watching and brainpower. Or was he just watching television instead of getting his work done? I wasn’t exactly sure.
Even my five-year-old, Chrissy, had been enslaved by the science police. They had her making a stethoscope out of toilet tissue tubes. The Manhattan Project had taken less work.
I reached out as a streak of tinfoil went past my head.
“Is this ball yours, Trent?” I said, handing it back to him.
“That’s not a ball, Dad,” I was informed with a groan. “That’s Jupiter.”
After I’d gotten in from work, I’d been immediately dispatched to our local Staples for some last-minute items. I hadn’t seen that many crazed-looking adults since April 15 at the post office. Didn’t the guidelines say that the students were to put together their own experiments? Yeah, right.
Ten minutes before midnight, I tucked in the