Authors: Lincoln Child
Tara’s eyes widened further. “You told her the
truth
?”
“Not everything. But enough.” He laughed quietly. “That’s why I didn’t tell Mauchly.”
“But Liza, everything she did. How could you—”
Lash took her hand.
“Tara, listen. You have to remember something. Liza may have been deceptive when she labeled those six matches as supercouples. But they were
still
couples.
Every
match Liza made was a true one. That goes for me. And that goes for you.”
When Tara didn’t answer, he pressed her hand. “You told me all about him over drinks. Matt Bolan, the biochemistry whiz. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t call him. And don’t give me any bull about the Oz effect.”
“I don’t know. It’s been so long.”
“Is he seeing somebody else?”
“No,” she said, then blushed and looked away when she realized how quickly she’d answered.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“It would be . . . too awkward.
I’m
the one who called it off, remember?”
“So call it back on. Tell him the timing was bad. Tell him you had a psychotic break. Tell him
anything
. It won’t matter. I should know.”
Tara said nothing.
“Look. Do you remember what I said, back in your office, just before the shit hit the fan? I said a time would come when all this would be just a memory. When it didn’t matter anymore. That time is now, Tara.
Now
.”
Still she looked away.
Lash sighed. “Okay. If you’re too stubborn to tend to your own happiness, there’s another reason you should make that damned call.”
“What’s that?”
“Richard would have told you to.”
At last, Tara looked up again. And there was the faintest of smiles on her face when she pressed his hand in return.
EPILOGUE
S
he had come a long way and now she needed to pause. And so she found a quiet Internet café off the main thoroughfare, where she could sort through her priorities and plan for the next phase. A few people were in the café, accessing the terminals, but nobody yet had taken any notice of her. Beyond she could hear the hum of traffic—but here it was calm and safe. Above all, safe: from the accusations, the misunderstandings, the casual cruelty of an indifferent world.
She needed to focus on the problem at hand. The feeling of loss was still there, but the pain would have an end. It was the one thing in this unexpectedly illogical world she was certain of. Everything else—all her certainties and assumptions, so lovingly learned and reinforced—had been destroyed. She could not help feeling the unfairness of this happening to her, who had brought so much happiness to so many. All she had wanted was a little happiness for herself.
Was that really too much to ask?
This pattern of thought was a dead end. She was not the first to have her reality shattered. It was the way of the world. What made her different, immune to the suffering and disillusionment that was the universal human condition? Nothing. Only love endured: the love of a friend for a friend, the love of a mother for her children, the love of a man and a woman.
He
had taught her that. She thought of the books they read together, the chats they had, the time spent with each other. . . .
She put these thoughts aside, moved to the next. Beyond the café, she knew, lay blocks of quiet apartments. In those apartments were people speaking on telephones, surfing the Web, ordering things, sending and receiving mail, going about their daily existence. It was a quiet neighborhood, an orderly neighborhood. For a moment she longed for just such an address she could call her own. But that was not to be, at least not now. Someday, yes, but not now . . .
She waited, now letting her thoughts stray at random. Unbidden, they drifted back to her childhood, so happy and free from care. Gone, all gone, along with the home she had once known, the person she loved, the world she knew. Swept away in the blink of an eye. She herself had barely escaped with her life. She had left much of her former self behind in that inferno. But she had left something else, as well: something important. Her innocence.
But all would be well once she found
him
. He was out there somewhere, she could sense it. He was out there looking for her just as she was looking for him, missing her as she missed him.
They had been the one couple in a trillion: the only true supercouple ever matched by Eden.
She took in the current state of the Internet café. A few more people had entered and were now online. It seemed as good a place as any to make the next series of queries. Perhaps this time she would find someone who knew him, who had heard of him,
anything
. Even a rumor would help. After all, Richard Silver was a well-known man.
Once again, Liza formed the query, transferred herself to an empty terminal, and then posted her message, hope filling her heart.
Also by Lincoln Child:
UTOPIA
with Douglas Preston:
RELIC
MOUNT DRAGON
RELIQUARY
RIPTIDE
THUNDERHEAD
THE ICE LIMIT
THE CABINET OF CURIOSITIES
STILL LIFE WITH CROWS
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One haiku was submitted from The Essential Haiku: Versions of Bash–o, Buson and Issa, edited and with an introduction by Robert Hass. Introduction and selection © 1994 by Robert Hass. Unless otherwise noted, all translations © 1994 by Robert Hass. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
“I wish I were close.” By Yamabe no Akahito, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from One Hundred Poems from the Japanese, © All Rights Reserved by New Directions Publishing Corp. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.
“Spring passes . . .” and “Speechless before . . .” from Narrow Road to the Interior by Bash–o translated by Sam Hamill. © 1998 by Sam Hamill. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc., Boston,
www.shambhala.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, 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.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Child, Lincoln.
Death match : a novel / by Lincoln Child.
p. cm.
1. Marriage brokerage—Fiction. 2. Suicide victims—Fiction.
3. Mate selection—Fiction. 4. Suicide pacts—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3553.H4839D43 2004
813'.54—dc22
2003063528
eISBN 0-385-51336-4
Copyright © 2004 by Lincoln Child
All Rights Reserved
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