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  “Will you find another case connected to Amsterdam?”

  “Probably. I’ll try.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Then she surprised me again by taking my face in her hands and kissing me long and deep. When we stopped, the smiles on our faces said it all.

  That was it. There was nothing I could say that would top that kiss. The last call for boarding came over the speaker. Magda joined Marie and they got on the plane.

  I turned to Steph, who was grinning at me. I said, “We’re just friends.” I winked and started walking. I could hear Steph snicker as she followed.

  Chapter 105

  THAT EVENING, I was trying to figure out my life. It had been hard watching Marie leave. But I knew I’d see her again soon.

  My home life had improved. Sure, I still took a step close to my sister to smell her breath for alcohol every evening when I came home, but my mom had started taking a couple of new prescriptions, and her condition had improved. She was much more in the moment and called me by my real name most of the time.

  I finished eating a meat loaf my mom had made as we chatted about her hobbies. Mom was quite animated for a change. Then the conversation turned to my romantic life, like it always seemed to.

  My mom said, “Are you going to see that lovely girl Marie again?”

  “I hope so. You know she had to go back to Amsterdam.”

  “Too bad. She was smart and beautiful. That’s a combination that’s hard to find anywhere.” She looked over at my sister, who was in the kitchen, and then back at me and added, “Except in this family.”

  I laughed. I appreciated my mother’s keen sense of humor, these precious times when she was lucid and in the moment. I said, “Did you do anything interesting today?”

  “I played piano for Chuck.”

  Oh no! My heart sank. I cut my eyes over to my sister in the kitchen. We’d lost her again. I didn’t understand the broad smile Lila had on her face.

  My mom said, “Then Chuck showed me some stretches and sat with me until Lila got home from work.”

  Lila was still smiling. I excused myself from the table and stepped into the kitchen. “What’s with the grin? You look like the Cheshire cat.”

  Lila giggled and said, “I’ve been waiting for this conversation for a couple of days.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The nursing company has been sending a new aide over in the afternoons, a young guy named Chuck.” She laughed.

  I mumbled, “‘The only thing I know is that I know nothing.’”

  Lila said, “Jean-Paul Sartre?”

  “Socrates, but at least you’re playing the game now.” I smiled.

  “After years of your quotes, I had to pick up some of it. I even quoted Plato on the playground at school the other day.”

  “Oh yeah? What quote?”

  “Something like ‘You can discover more about a person in play than conversation.’”

  “Close enough. I’m impressed.” For the first time I noticed Lila was dressed up. “What’re you up to tonight?”

  “Going out with some friends. I’ll save you the trouble of spying on me—it’s three girls, you know them all, we’re not going to any of the clubs you told me to stay away from, and I have to work tomorrow so I won’t be drinking much. Happy?”

  “Not as happy as I’d be if I could direct your entire life, but it’s a start.”

  My sister kissed me on the cheek, then kissed my mom good night. When she got to the door, she turned and said, “You’re being surprisingly reasonable about this.”

  “You’re an adult. I trust you. Just use your head.” I wasn’t worried, although I couldn’t help but touch the phone in my pocket. The tracker Chill had put on her car was still there. I didn’t intend to use the tracker. Unless I had to.

  I did more than enjoy the quiet evening with my mother. I appreciated it. She was interested in what I was working on and what the next steps in my career were going to be. It wasn’t until I talked to her about the task force that I realized how much I wanted to stay on it. It was where I was meant to be.

  I had one more item to take care of on our human-smuggling case. It was something I was looking forward to. Nothing I would bother my mom with, but the idea of it made me smile.

  Chapter 106

  IT WAS EIGHT fifteen in the evening, and I had timed our arrival perfectly. Steph and I were dressed in professional clothes, nothing flashy. This ballroom at the Fontainebleau in Miami Beach held two hundred of the area’s wealthiest and best-connected residents. Rich people liked to show off their clothes and be seen at charity and award events like this one. Even though everyone knew it was all bullshit.

  I slipped in the rear door with Steph Hall. A Miami Beach lieutenant, wearing his dress uniform, did a double take when he saw me. He got up from his table in the back and came over.

  The tall lieutenant, who was a little older than me, said in a low voice, “Anti, what brings you here to civilization?”

  “Business. What’s going on with you, Sauce?”

  “Usual.” He looked up at the stage, where Roman Rostoff was behind a podium delivering his prepared comments in reasonably good English at a slow clip. “Some people don’t look too closely at people’s backgrounds when they give out awards.”

  I turned and said, “Steph Hall, this is Lieutenant William Stein. Sauce, this is my partner at the FBI task force.”

  The lieutenant said, “The task force that brought Miami-style violence to South Beach last week?”

  I took a little bow and said, “The same.”

  We all chuckled.

  Steph said, “How’d you get the nickname ‘Sauce’?”

  The good-looking lieutenant gave a charming chortle and said, “That’s a secret you have to learn over time.” Then the lieutenant realized my business might have to do with Roman Rostoff. “Anti, are you here to stir up shit?”

  I just smiled.

  He glanced at the stage again and said, “Anything you can do to that ass-wipe is good for all of us. I’ll just pretend I never saw you. I’ve got three more years before I can pull the plug. I don’t want to answer any uncomfortable questions about why I let you roam through here.”

  “You got it, Sauce.”

  Steph and I were careful not to be obtrusive as we walked along the side of the cavernous ballroom.

  At the front of the room, I stepped behind some partitions. They hid me from the audience, but I could see the entire stage. I reached in my coat pocket and pulled out some papers. That’s when a tall young guy with a ponytail, the one who’d run with Billy the Blade, stepped right in front of me. The last time I’d seen him, he’d made veiled threats about my sister, and I’d crushed his testicles in my hand. It looked like he thought he was going to get some revenge.

  I stared at the tattoos going up his neck and could have sworn he had another bud on the end of the tattooed vine that spread onto his cheek.

  I said, “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

  He growled, “Tibor.”

  “Right, sorry. So, asshole, want to get out of my way? I have business with your boss. Official business.”

  “And it’s my business to keep my employer safe,” Tibor said.

  “‘Fortune truly helps those who are of good judgment.’”

  “What?” He screwed up his face in a way that made me smile.

  “A man named Euripides said that about four hundred years before Christ was born, and yet it applies to you tonight. Use good judgment and step out of the way.”

  “Or else what?”

  “My cold-blooded partner will deal with you.” I liked the look on his face as Steph came up and put the stun gun on his bare neck.

  I said, “Move, and she zaps you with thirty thousand volts.” I stood and enjoyed his silence. I needed to enjoy more things in life. This was a good start.

  I stepped around him as Steph ordered him to lie on the ground. She took the gun from his holster.
r />   I strutted right across the stage in front of everyone. Roman Rostoff was forced to stop midsentence. He stared at me. I enjoyed the way he looked past me to see how I’d gotten by his bodyguard.

  I gave him a smile and a wink as I joined him at the podium and patted him on the back like I was proud of him. The people in the audience had no idea what was going on. They just stared at the big guy who couldn’t afford a designer suit.

  I handed the sheaf of papers to Rostoff.

  He looked at me and muttered, “What?”

  I made sure to speak clearly so that the microphone would pick up everything. “This is a federal subpoena for records related to all of your businesses and bank accounts.” I stood for a moment while he just held the papers and stared at me. “For a change, there are plenty of witnesses to the service of this subpoena. The subpoena requires you to personally appear at the FBI office with the records requested.”

  Everyone in the entire room was silent. Including Rostoff.

  I leaned into the microphone and said, “That’s right. Your Humanitarian of the Year is being investigated for money laundering, human trafficking, and his role in the shootout on Miami Beach last week. Also for about a thousand business violations relating to tax fraud and licensing issues.” I let that hang in the silent room for about five seconds, then said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  I stepped off the stage and headed toward the exit. Stephanie Hall joined me, allowing Tibor, the bodyguard, to stand up. She dropped his pistol in a garbage can as we walked out the door.

  Yeah, I was going to enjoy that one for a very long time.

  Epilogue

  Amsterdam

  JANINE, ONE OF Hanna Greete’s former assistants, sat at a desk in a small office in Amsterdam. The cramped office in a warehouse wasn’t nearly as nice as the apartment they’d worked out of when Hanna was in charge. But Hanna was in jail in the United States now, and Albert was dead.

  Janine had made the most of the opportunity. She knew all of Hanna’s contacts. She and her sister, Tasi, simply moved to Oostpoort, away from the city center and tourists. Janine had kept the business going, albeit on a much smaller scale. But if she kept expenses down and only had to worry about Tasi and herself, she could make a fine living.

  She doubted the police paid much attention to small operations like hers. And that detective with the national police, Marie Meijer, was probably so happy to have caught Hanna that she’d taken a vacation.

  Since Janine had passed so much information on to Marie, the police had dropped fraud charges against her after she’d been arrested in Zaadam. Janine’s information had led to Hanna’s arrest. Now she was taking over Hanna’s former life.

  Sitting in the small office still made Janine feel like a queen. She answered her ringing phone and heard the voice of Bertram Hellot; he owned an apartment building that housed girls she was planning to move to the U.S. He told her that one of the girls had gone out and not come back. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Janine didn’t mince words. “Find that girl by tonight or I’ll have Max cut off your balls and I’ll wear them as a necklace. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for her right now.”

  Janine smiled at the former gang member’s frantic tone. As it turned out, she had learned a lot more from Hanna than she had realized. Now she understood why Hanna had enjoyed bossing people around.

  A knock on the thick wooden door startled her. No doubt the landlord looking for rent, as it was the beginning of the month. Sometimes, when she was short on cash, Janine would send her sister to answer the door. Tasi would flirt with the landlord to distract him. Tasi was there in the office, but today Janine had the cash.

  She opened the door with a smile. It faded instantly when she saw Marie Meijer standing there with four uniformed police officers.

  The detective with the national police nudged Janine back and barged into the office.

  Marie said, “Did you really think the information you gave me on Hanna’s operation granted you immunity for all crimes? Even after we dropped your cheap check-fraud charge?”

  Janine said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marie smiled. Her drooping eyelid lifted up ever so slightly. “That sounds convincing, except that we found your safe house in Diemen. Bertram Hellot has been working with us.”

  Janine said, “But I helped you!”

  Marie said, “To avoid jail. I never agreed to let you ruin more lives by continuing to traffic in people.”

  Janine thought about that, then said, “What do you want?”

  “Do you know Emile Rostoff?”

  “No. Not personally.”

  Marie nodded. “Too bad. That was your only chance.” She turned to a uniformed officer and said, “Take them both.”

  Janine started to cry as she and Tasi were handcuffed and led out of the office.

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  About the Authors

  JAMES PATTERSON is the world’s bestselling author and most trusted storyteller. He has created many enduring fictional characters and series, including Alex Cross, the Women’s Murder Club, Michael Bennett, Maximum Ride, Middle School, and I Funny. Among his notable literary collaborations are The President Is Missing, with President Bill Clinton, and the Max Einstein series, produced in partnership with the Albert Einstein estate. Patterson’s writing career is characterized by a single mission: to prove that there is no such thing as a person who “doesn’t like to read,” only people who haven’t found the right book. He’s given over three million books to schoolkids and the military, donated more than seventy million dollars to support education, and endowed over five thousand college scholarships for teachers. The National Book Foundation recently presented Patterson with the Literarian Award for Outstanding Service to the American Literary Community, and he is also the recipient of an Edgar Award and six Emmy Awards. He lives in Florida with his family.

  JAMES O. BORN is an award-winning crime and science-fiction novelist as well as a career law enforcement agent. A native Floridian, he still lives in the Sunshine State.

  Detective Michael Bennett's facing the most high-stakes case of his career—saving his son's life.

  Turn the page for an excerpt from Blindside.

  I DID EVERYTHING I could to distract Lucille Evans from noticing the bloody footprint. A responding patrol officer had tracked the blood into the hallway. One look at the scene inside and the veteran needed to run into the street. I didn’t blame him one bit.

  The forensics people were in the small, two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of this building on 146th Street near Willis Avenue in the Bronx. The scene was so horrendous that the local detectives had called me to help even though it wasn’t technically considered part of Manhattan North Homicide’s usual territory. Two of the local detectives had lost it. It happens. It’s happened to me over the years. I lost it once at the scene of a murdered girl. Her stepfather had bashed her head in for crying because she was hungry. She reminded me of my own Shawna, staring up through blood splatters. When I heard her stepfather in the other room, talking with detectives, I snapped. It almost felt like another being possessed me. I burst into the room, ready to kill. Only the fact that my partner at the time, Gail Nodding, was as tough as nails and shoved me back out the door had kept me from killing the creep.

  Now I considered this bloody scene. Who wouldn’t be affected by the sight of two bodies with bullet wounds in their heads? Large-caliber wounds. Not the usual .38s or 9mms used in the city. The bodies frozen in time. A mother trying to shield her little girl. I wanted to bolt home and hug my own children. But I had work to do.

  I had my hands full with the sixty-five-year-old woman who merely wanted to say good-bye to her daughter and granddaughter.

  Mrs. Evans tried to push past me to open t
he simple wooden door with the number 9 hanging upside down. The threadbare industrial carpet didn’t give my feet much traction. My semi-dress Skechers were more for walking comfort than for wrestling.

  Mrs. Evans said, “Let me pass, young man. I have to see my babies.” She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t hysterical. She was determined.

  So was I.

  I said, “Ma’am, I’m not in charge. But I do have kids. I know loss. You don’t want what you see inside that apartment to be your final memory of your daughter and granddaughter. Please, I swear to God, you’ll get your chance to say good-bye.”

  She stared me down as hard as any drug dealer ever had. But I was resolute. I’d already seen the horror behind the door. I wasn’t about to let this elegant, retired teacher see it, too. Her daughter, still in her nurse’s uniform from the Bronx-Lebanon Hospital. The left side of her face missing from a single, devastating gunshot. Lying over her daughter. A nine-year-old with a hole in the side of her head. This time, too, the girl reminded me of my Shawna.

  The whole scene had shaken me to the core. Never believe a cop when he or she tells you they’ve seen it all. Nobody ever sees it all.

  Mrs. Evans cracked. Tears started to flow. It’d finally hit her with full force. Two of her greatest treasures had been taken from her. Her watery eyes looked up at me again. She simply asked, “Why?”

  She started to weep. I put a tentative arm around her. She fell into me and I hugged her. I remembered how I’d felt when Maeve, my wife, died. That was a slow death from cancer. It still tore me to pieces.

  This poor woman had been blindsided.

  I eased her onto one of the cheap plastic chairs a detective had set up in the apartment’s hallway. A little African American girl peeked out of one of the doorways down the hall. The light at the end of the hall near the stairs flickered.