You've Been Warned

by James Patterson; Howard Roughan

  Of all things... a camera.

  “Are you okay, Miss Kristin?” asks Dakota, showing real concern. “Who was that? He looked scary.”

  “Nobody, nothing... Yeah, I’m fine, honey,” I say. “Let’s get going.”

  I want to run but I know I can’t. Not with the kids in tow. So we walk. Nice and easy, as we always do.

  The only difference is that I’m looking back over my shoulder every ten seconds or so, a nervous wreck again.

  Where are you, Ponytail?

  What do you want?

  With me?

  With these kids?

  What’s with the camera?

  Chapter 96

  THERE’S NO SIGN of the Ponytail and his camera now. Not on crowded Fifth Avenue. Not along Madison, not in front of the gates of the Preston Academy. I’ve got one sore and twisted neck to prove it.

  I hug Sean and Dakota again, extra hard. I don’t want to let go. “I’ll see you right here this afternoon. Like always, okay?”

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?” asks Dakota. “Are you sure, Miss Kristin?” She looks worried. About me. It’s sweet.

  “Sure, I’m sure! Never been better,” I boast, forcing a bright smile. “Now, go have a great day!”

  I don’t bother with a wink and neither do the kids. I just don’t have any cuteness in me today.

  They both nod their little heads and scamper off across the tree-lined courtyard, bounding up the stone front steps to the school. So many mornings I’ve stood watching Dakota and Sean from this exact spot.

  I’m about to turn away when I see them stop on the top step and look back. In unison, they wave to me, their smiles curled wide.

  I want to cry, and I almost do. But I just wave in return, fighting back the tears.

  With them safely inside, the tears come. Then I do one more three sixty, searching for the Ponytail.

  Still don’t see him. The bastard. The creep. Is he dead too—like Delmonico?

  Out of nowhere, the song is back in my head. I even catch a word, or I think I do—game? “What is that goddamn song?” I mutter as a couple of passersby stare at me.

  I wipe my eyes dry, then check my watch while reaching for my cell phone. It’s high time I track down that other disappearing man in my life.

  At the very least, Michael’s secretary will be there now to answer my call. And after three rings, she picks up.

  “Michael Turnbull’s office.”

  “Hi, is he there, please?”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “This is Kristin Burns. The Turnbulls’ nanny? Is this Amanda?”

  “Yes, hi, Kristin,” she says. “I take it you’re not at their home, are you?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Turnbull said he tried calling to see if anyone was there. It turns out he left some important papers in his library. I guess he was hoping you or his wife could bring them to him.”

  “I could do that. I’m heading back there now. I just dropped off Dakota and Sean at school.”

  “I’m afraid he already left to get the papers himself. He needs them for a meeting later this morning. If you’re on your way there, I suppose you might see him.”

  Yes! At last, the possibility of a good break. Before Amanda even finishes the sentence, I’ve got my arm raised for a taxi that’s just dropped off some older kids at the school.

  Less than ten minutes later, I’m on the elevator heading up to the penthouse. I’m so relieved I might be seeing Michael that I forget how mad he’s made me these past twenty-four hours. All is forgiven, but now we need to talk, seriously talk.

  I step into the foyer and right away I hear his voice. A little muffled. I think it’s coming from the kitchen. Who’s Michael talking to?

  Chapter 97

  I CAN’T EXACTLY MAKE OUT his words as I tiptoe back through the dining room. It’s definitely Michael, though.

  I press my ear against the swinging door to the kitchen. There’s something different about his voice, a slight echo. And then I realize who he’s talking to.

  The answering machine.

  I push through the door into the empty kitchen and spy the blinking red light. Michael is midsentence in the message he’s leaving, and I listen for a moment to what he’s saying. It’s good-bye, that’s what. He’s about to hang up.

  “I’ll see you later, then, okay, honey? I love you,” he says. “Love you.”

  I dash to the phone, but it’s too late.

  Click.

  He had to be calling from his cell. Is he still on his way here? I immediately start dialing it when my finger stops. Something doesn’t make sense.

  What did he say?

  I love you?... Love you?

  He couldn’t have left the message for me, of course. It had to be for Penley. Is he trying to keep up appearances with her? As cool and clever as Michael can be, I find that hard to believe. He hates her too much right now.

  The answering machine continues to blink, practically begging me to play back the entire message. Go ahead, Kris. Satisfy your curiosity.

  I hesitate only because I’m not supposed to—listen to messages, that is. One of the first things Penley told me when I started the job was that I “needn’t concern myself with the machine.” Translation: keep your nose out of my business!

  So for the past two years, I’ve not once hit the playback button.

  Until now.

  Screw it, what have I got to lose? My job? One way or the other, I don’t think I’ll be the nanny here for much longer. All the more reason to listen to the message. I don’t like how it ended.

  Besides, didn’t Amanda say that Michael had already called earlier? The timing seems strange.

  So I hit the button. “You have one new message,” says the automated voice.

  “Hi, honey, it’s me,” Michael begins. He sounds somber, almost crestfallen.

  Then he absolutely blows my mind.

  Chapter 98

  I CAN’T BREATHE as I listen to Michael’s words. It’s almost as if I’m hearing them one at a time.

  “I’ve obviously been doing a lot of thinking since last night. That was pretty clever, by the way, your bringing me to our favorite restaurant to break the news. God knows how I would’ve reacted if we weren’t in public.

  “Maybe that’s the problem; you know me too well. Because right now, I feel as if I have no idea who you are. Oh, Christ, that sounds like some cheesy movie line, doesn’t it?

  “I know I’m not the easiest guy to be married to, and I know what you told me took guts—and you probably wouldn’t have said anything unless you really do want us to work things out. But the whole thing, I mean, it just came as such a shock.

  “Shit. I don’t want to say something here I’m going to regret, but you’ve got to understand how upset I am. You keep saying that you love me and, yes, I love you, but I don’t know if that’s going to be enough. I guess we’ll have to see.

  “One other thing, though—I’m a little worried about your wanting to end things with this guy in person. What if he doesn’t take the news well? I want to make sure you know what you’re doing. Think about it, Penley. Okay?

  “I don’t know; maybe I’m just being paranoid. Hopefully, you’ll do the same thing you did with me and take him to a restaurant. Jeez, this is too weird. I’m actually giving advice to my wife on how to end her affair.

  “You know what? I’m going to leave the office and head home. It’s not like I’m getting any work done here. In fact, I think I’m going to pick up some ice cream along the way. Chunky Monkey, of course. To hell with the diets, right?

  “So if you hear this message before I get there, hang around, okay? We’ll pig out and do some more talking.

  “I’ll see you later, then, okay, honey? I love you.... Love you.”

  I stand there motionless in the kitchen while my brain goes absolutely haywire.

  I can’t believe Penley would confess to her affair.

>   And I also can’t believe Michael would ever consider forgiving her, let alone discuss staying together. Has he been stringing me along this entire time? Is there a whole plotline going on that I’m not aware of?

  I’m so confused, I don’t know which end is up. It’s all one big hazy cloud. Plus, I think I’m going to be sick. Reaching a hand out to the counter, I try to steady myself. I need to figure this out. Think, Kristin, think!

  It just doesn’t feel right. Michael sounded too meek on the phone.

  Unassuming.

  Docile.

  Harmless.

  Innocent.

  And then it all becomes clear to me.

  Everything does.

  From the beginning right up until Michael’s message.

  Or, should I say, his alibi.

  I turn and rush to the fridge, pulling open the freezer door.

  There, staring back at me, is a brand-new pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Chunky Monkey, of course.

  God is in the details.

  PART 13

  Chapter 99

  “CAN’T YOU GO any faster?”

  The cabbie glares back at me, pissed. “Hey, I’m going as fast as I can, lady!”

  “No, you’re not! And this is a matter of life and death.”

  “What? You’re late for your Pilates class?”

  He’s speeding down Fifth Avenue, probably looking to cut over to Madison. We’re still blocks away from the Fálcon.

  It’s come down to this. I don’t understand anything completely, and yet it all makes sense. Finally. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. It’s up to me. It’s always been up to me. If I don’t get to the hotel in time, something horrible is going to happen.

  I’ve seen it happen.

  And at this very moment, all I can do is wonder. Will I be too late?

  The cab careens around a corner. Now we’re cooking!

  Fuck.

  Traffic! A parking-lot situation.

  The driver skids to a halt behind another cab, a Checker, sandwiched in by a city bus that’s blowing hot smoke.

  “Here!” I say, pushing money through the divider. “Take it. Keep the change!”

  “Hope you make your class, sweetheart.”

  I bolt from the backseat and start running, my heart pounding as fast as my feet are moving. And I’m so scared.

  Why, Michael, why? Don’t throw everything away. Don’t throw us away. Or the kids.

  All I can see in my head are the images from the hotel, what was in my dream and what I captured on film. The procession of gurneys being wheeled out. And then—I think of my other time at the Fálcon. Three years ago with Boston Matthew. Coincidence? I doubt it. But I don’t want to think about it now. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

  Hurry! Just hurry.

  Stay in the moment.

  I hear a siren warbling up ahead, and my heart sinks, my legs actually buckle, and I nearly fall.

  I’m too late. I blew it.

  No—it’s a fire engine heading downtown, a blur of red shooting by a block away on Madison. The blare of the siren trails off, restoring hope. What is with the Fálcon Hotel, anyway?

  I’m almost there. The burn from my legs is moving up to my lungs. It feels like a load of bricks has been dumped on my chest. But I don’t dare stop running. Nothing can make me stop.

  Then, something does.

  Chapter 100

  MY CELL PHONE RINGS.

  Michael! This has to be him!

  I cut sharply to my right on the sidewalk, pulling up alongside a building. Barely able to catch my breath, I answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  It’s not him.

  “Is this Kristin Burns?” I hear. It’s a woman. I don’t recognize the voice, but she sounds upset. Oh man, this is no time for more pranks from the dark side.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Madeline Sturges from Preston Academy. I’ve tried to reach both Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull. To no avail. And you’re listed here as another contact —”

  “What’s wrong?” I interrupt.

  There’s a silence, and I can practically feel the woman’s anxiety through the phone. “It’s Dakota,” she says. “She told a classmate that she needed to go find someone.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “She’s missing from school. We’ve looked everywhere. Dakota’s gone.”

  The phone drops from my hand. Before it hits the sidewalk, I’m sprinting again. Faster than ever.

  Four gurneys.

  Please, God. Don’t let this happen. Not to Dakota. She’s only seven years old.

  How could she know about the Fálcon or that her mother might be there? It doesn’t seem possible.

  Yeah, just like everything else that’s happened so far.

  The pathetic truth is—anything is possible right now.

  Chapter 101

  I’M CLOSE. The corner of the Fálcon is twenty... ten... five feet away. I squeeze my eyes shut, running blind. I can’t bear to look at this.

  But I have to look, don’t I? I feel like I have no free will in this matter.

  Racing around the corner, I brace for the worst shock of my life. The four body bags.

  They aren’t there, thank God. Not yet, at least.

  There’s no crime scene, no throng of onlookers. No Dakota either. Just the bright red awning of the Fálcon, pulling me in with its powerful undertow.

  Seconds later, I burst through the front doors. Don’t let them be in the same room as before! It’s where Michael would surely look first. He knows the number. I told him.

  Dashing through the lobby, I head straight for the elevators, only to see half a dozen people waiting there. Without breaking stride, I turn for the stairs, taking two at a time. I’m leaking buckets of sweat as I climb past the second and third floors.

  Spilling out onto the fourth, I practically hurl myself down the long hallway.

  It’s quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Never has a silence sounded so deadly, so haunting and eerie.

  I pass one door after another until I reach the room Penley and Stephen were in. Their room. I come to a fast stop, and it’s as if I’ve given the pain of running here a chance to catch up. My legs and lungs feel like an inferno.

  I see a “Do Not Disturb” sign that wasn’t there yesterday. Staring at it, I almost don’t notice the other thing that’s different.

  The door’s open.

  Just an inch, not even that. A small sliver of space between the door and the jamb. Slowly, I push my way in.

  It’s no Motel 6. The room is more of a chic apartment. I step into a foyer with black-and-white tile like a chessboard. More games to play? For the first time, I hear something—a voice from around the corner.

  It’s Stephen.

  Is he laughing? Why would he be laughing?

  I take a few more steps forward and realize he isn’t laughing. No, he’s crying. Sobbing is more like it.

  Peeking my head out, I glimpse down the short hallway and I see why.

  Michael has a gun pressed to his forehead.

  Chapter 102

  “PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS,” begs Stephen in a high-pitched whine. “Please, no! Please!” He’s naked, quivering and cowering by the foot of the bed. It’s all I can see in the dim room.

  “Shut up!” barks Michael. “Shut the hell up!”

  It’s happening so fast, and I’m frozen, almost as if I’m stuck in time or I’m watching a dream. That hideous burning smell is back too.

  Michael cocks the gun, his voice seared with rage. “You fucked the wrong woman, and you definitely fucked with the wrong guy,” he says to Stephen. Then —

  PFFTT!

  I see the spurt of blood even before I hear the strange muffled blast.

  The back of Stephen’s head blows out, and the wall behind him is splattered with dark red brain matter. For a second, he remains standing, his eyes open and brimming with terror. A flap of scalp juts out
behind his ear like an open gate. This isn’t a dream, Kris.

  Then Stephen’s body goes limp, as if a puppeteer suddenly released the strings. His arms and legs fold as he melts to the floor, a pool of blood around his head creeping wider and wider. The blood on the floor looks almost black.

  God is in the details, right?

  I begin to scream, just like in my dream.

  Michael whirls around, his arm outstretched, the gun aimed right at me. Watching his gloved trigger finger twitch, I throw out my hands. “NO! MICHAEL! IT’S ME!”

  He squints, seeing that it’s true. It is me.

  “What are you doing here?” he says, lowering the gun.

  I struggle for words, but there aren’t any up to the task. All I can do is slowly walk toward him. I’m not sure if I want to hold him or hit him.

  “Don’t touch anything!” he says. It’s an order.

  Huh?

  “Fingerprints,” he explains. “Ours can’t be here. Don’t touch a thing.”

  He begins twisting a small tube off the gun’s barrel—a silencer, I assume. That’s why the blast wasn’t really much of a blast.

  Then he stops, thinks for a split second, changes his mind. Twist, twist, twist. The silencer stays on.

  That’s the word for this, isn’t it? Twisted.

  I keep moving toward him, my body feeling as if it’s crumbling with each step. Words finally come. “What have you done, Michael?”

  That’s when I look farther into the bedroom and realize—I only knew half of it.

  Michael slaps his hand over my mouth before I can scream again. Keeled over on a desk by the bed is a very naked, very dead Penley, blood still dripping down her chest and leg. An awful lot of blood is pooled on the floor.

  Michael removes the hand from my mouth, raising a finger to his. “Shhh, we don’t have a lot of time,” he says. “We have to leave now. Kristin, we’ll be fine.”

  He’s so cool as he pulls a silk kerchief from his suit pocket and wipes the gun clean. Kneeling down, he places the gun in Stephen’s hand. Then he does something I don’t understand at all. Michael wipes the back of his own hand on Stephen’s fingers, wrist, and forearm.