Tossing off her sweatshirt, Nikki ran for the pool. The water curled over her body, silky like one of her mom’s costumes, much warmer than the air. She dove. Toward the bottom, directly below the pool light, groping, she finally felt a plastic ring in the wall, just big enough to slide the tip of her finger underneath. Twisting the ring back and forth, pulling, she discovered the hiding place worked just like a drawer. Chlorine stung her eyes as she reached through the milky light, pulled out the heavy box, pushed the empty drawer closed, and shot to the surface, gulping air, trying to see through the strings of her hair.
She pulled herself out of the deep end. Holding the box, she started to run for the boat. A phone rang inside the house. Good, more to keep him busy. She got as far as the gate before she remembered. Her goddamn sweatshirt! She’d left it by the pool! Stuffing the box under the waistband of her drenched sweatpants, she ran back toward the house, staying close to the wall and away from the windows, really cold now, soaking wet. Where had she thrown it?
Through the glass, she saw Uncle Bill talking on the phone in the study, sounding happy in there, way different than when he had mumbled by the pool. With relief she realized he had no clue she was right outside lurking around in the night, watching him. Unable to resist, Nikki came a little closer and peered in.
He held the cordless phone to his ear with one hand and the towel around his waist with the other. He was smiling, talking, saying ‘‘How’s it going?’’ and ‘‘Gee, that’s great.’’ In that instant, Nikki felt the sweet rush of victory. She had done it, stolen it from under his nose. She was certain now she had what she had come to get.
Just as she was turning away, a change in her uncle’s expression brought her back to the glass. His face sagged, melting downward. His mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged. Like someone blinded by a bright light, he groped around as if hunting for some stable thing to keep him from falling down. He staggered, then fell against the desk.
‘‘No! Please God, no!’’ he shouted over and over, first into the phone, then, pressing a hand against the mouthpiece, away from it.
She watched him stare into the receiver, then drop the phone to the ground. He collapsed onto the floor and curled up and cried like a baby. Now all she could see was the back of his neck, his muscles ropy and tense as a noose. She could hear the heaving sobs.
A shadow ran in and bent toward him. Someone else was there! Well, of course someone else was there. The doorbell had rung, hadn’t it! She caught a glimpse, gasped, and slammed herself back against the cabin. A large splinter pierced the skin of her palm, but she didn’t feel it, even when blood began to flow onto the wood of the house.
Her pocket sagging with his treasure, her sweatshirt forgotten, she pressed back against the wall, paralyzed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Perri O’Shaughnessy is the pen name for two sisters, Pamela and Mary O’Shaughnessy, who live in Hawaii and California, respectively. Pamela graduated from Harvard Law School and was a trial lawyer for sixteen years. Mary is a former editor and writer for multimedia projects. They have jointly written
Motion to
Suppress, Invasion of Privacy, Obstruction of Justice,
and
Breach of Promise,
as well as their upcoming Nina Reilly novel,
Move to Strike.
Readers can contact Perri O’Shaughnessy at [email protected].
ALSO BY PERRI O’SHAUGHNESSY
Motion to Suppress
Invasion of Privacy
Obstruction of Justice
Breach of Promise
Move to Strike
Writ of Execution
Unfit to Practice
Presumption of Death
Published by
Bantam Dell Publishing Group
a division of
Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by Mary O’Shaughnessy and Pamela O’Shaughnessy
Map illustration by Hadel Studio
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
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For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, N.Y.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-42277-4
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