Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
forty-seven
forty-eight
Teaser chapter
“BORN IS THE REAL THING.”—Elmore Leonard
“JAMES O. BORN IS THE FUTURE
OF CRIME FICTION.”—Ken Bruen
“Born pulls in readers from the first page with riveting action scenes, authentic characters, and a realistic plot . . . Born writes with authority, creating realistic police scenes rich with details on procedure. It’s that insider knowledge that has helped Born establish himself at the top of the South Florida crime genre.”—The Miami Herald
“Impressive . . . Few authors can write with such sure-handed confidence . . . Born is the best thing to happen to Florida crime writing since Elmore Leonard hit the Sunshine State.”—Chicago Sun Tiimes
“Born has a gift for dialogue that is simultaneously funny and reveals character . . . There’s a sense of discovery about reading Born; his natural ear and eye are accompanied by a growing expertise with the carpentry of the genre novel . . . Escape Clause is tough and tight.”
—The Palm Beach Post
“Born proves he owns the Florida police procedural . . . Plenty of intrigue and tense scenes . . . Escape Clause proves Born’s storytelling skills and affirms his niche in the Florida mystery genre.”—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“Authenticity and authority are not issues that Born has to worry about . . . With Born’s knowledge of police procedures and his talent for drawing genuine characters, including the refreshingly humble protagonist, Born has planted the seeds for a long-lasting and promising series of crime fiction.” —Library Journal
“There are more than enough plot twists, tense standoffs, and authentic details to keep things interesting.”
—Booklist
“A strong, colorful cast.”—Kirkus Reviews
Praise for
shock wave
“Born owns not only the know-how to spin a good story, but also has the stylistic chops to back it up. By turns funny and suspenseful . . . An entertaining combination of a police procedural and a comedic romp that will have readers laughing on the edges of their seats . . . Step aside, Carl Hiaasen . . . there’s a new sheriff in town.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Shock Wave even surpasses Born’s excellent debut, Walking Money, by putting the author firmly in the territory owned by Elmore Leonard and Donald Westlake . . . Once again, Born excels at blending the police procedural with the caper novel.”—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“Born’s latest novel bombards us with a constant blitz of Die Hard action and some good laughs, too . . . Readers will be riveted.”—The Miami Herald
“With its tempo clicking like a timer on an explosive, Shock Wave makes for one compelling read . . . A blast on every level.”—January Magazine
“Born masterfully combines dark humor and suspense in his explosively creative crime novel. The combination of fast pacing, strong characterization, and a vividly cinematic ending makes this a tough book to put down.”
—Lansing (MI ) State Journal
“Edge-of-your-seat action and suspense, an intriguing game of cat and mouse, and occasional passages of laugh-out-loud humor . . . This guy is the real deal.”
—Mystery Ink
“Tough as bulletproof glass . . . top thrillwork, with a Jerry Bruckheimer ending, much welcome humor, and the Bureau as Born’s tackling dummy.”—Kirkus Reviews
Praise for
walking money
“Only a cop could know this stuff—only a natural writer could put it down in a novel that’s so smart and suspenseful. Jim Born is a new star.”—W. E. B. Griffin
“Jim Born is the real thing: a South Florida lawman with an authentic sound that puts you at the scene. Walking Money is a winner.”—Elmore Leonard
“This is real cop stuff, filled with the kind of characters you find only in Florida. A terrific debut.”—John Sandford
“Briskly paced . . . a first rate hero . . . Walking Money soars as Born mixes believable characters, a fast-moving story, crisp dialogue, and a nice blend of humor.”
—Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel
“As lean, hot, and fast as a Gulf Stream muscle boat.”
—Randy Wayne White
“A riveting, serpentine tale of crooked cops, police politics, and a $1.5 million bag of money juggled from one pair of dishonest hands to another.” —Publishers Weekly
“A slam-bang story of human greed and betrayal.”
—The Vancouver Sun
“He knows Miami: the neighborhoods, the language, the culture of the diverse population. And [he] knows cops—their gallows humor, their politically incorrect statements, and their sometimes gruff manner.” —The Miami Herald
Also by James O. Born
WALKING MONEY
SHOCK WAVE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
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(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2006 by James O. Born.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in
any printed or electronic form without
permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of
the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
eISBN : 978-0-425-21454-1
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
THIS ONE IS FOR NEIL NYREN.
FOR OBVIOUS REASONS.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my fine agent, Peter Rubie.
To Tony Mead, the operations officer for the Palm Beach County Medical Examiner, for his guidance about medical matters.
To Steve Barborini, Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. One of the best agents in the most effective Federal agency in the country. For help with several books and years of keeping me in line.
And to all the cops who have supported my efforts in my new career. These books are for every cop who ever wanted to say or do something just to annoy the criminals.
one
Bill Tasker took his daughter’s hand as they crossed the parking lot heading into the Bank of Florida branch in Kendall, just south of the city of Miami. The blond eight-year-old saw a license tag from Quebec on a rust-riddled Nissan pickup truck and turned to her father and asked, “What’s that mean?”
“Je me souviens?”
“Yeah, what is it?” Her blue eyes wide.
“French.”
“But, what’s it mean?”
“Not sure, sweetheart, but I think it means, ‘I brake for no apparent reason.’ ”
She gave him one of her looks.
“Or it means, ‘I drive slow in the left lane.’ ”
She kept her look until he laughed and then asked him again, “What’s it really mean?”
“I think it means, ‘I remember.’ ”
“Remember what?”
Tasker shrugged. “I dunno, baby. Maybe they should remember not to start a war with the English.”
She gave him another look, but seemed satisfied with the answer as they pushed open the tall, glass front door and walked inside.
The smell of banks bugged him—that fake, clean, antiseptic odor. Just like the fake nice furniture—the expensive-looking veneer pasted over cheap pressboard designed to be replaced every few years when the constant swarm of people turned it black with dirt. After a couple of minutes, his biggest concern was that Emily would damage some of it. When they were fifteen people back in line, she had dropped to the floor to do a full split. Now that they were ten people back, she was leaning on a stool with one hand and lifting her whole body off the ground in short bursts.
“Look, Daddy,” she said, as her entire body floated off the ground, muscles straining, balancing on her left hand.
Bill Tasker smiled and said, “That gymnastics class is paying off.”
An older Latin man next to Tasker said, “That is a real talent.” He was sincere and Tasker had to admit he was proud of the athletic ability of his youngest daughter.
She lowered herself with control and stepped back to her father in line. “What are all those stars for?” she said, pointing at a large poster.
Tasker said, “Those are asterisks. They mean free checking costs six bucks a month, and four percent interest on a CD is really two and a half.”
She looked at him in confusion.
He smiled and said, “It just means that when the big letters say something, you have to read what’s at the bottom of the page, too.”
She shrugged, just happy to have a few minutes with her dad. He felt the same way. He saw her and her sister, Kelly, at least once a week even though they lived with their mother seventy miles north in West Palm Beach. They stayed with him in his town house every other weekend, and then he visited one or two nights a week for dinner. Their mother seemed to appreciate the visits as much as the girls.
Today was an extra weekday—a teacher’s planning day in Palm Beach County. Tasker had taken a rare day off from work just to spend with them, directly addressing his ex-wife’s contention that he focused more on work as an agent with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement than on the girls and her. A belief that was, unfortunately, built entirely on fact. Police work, especially investigations, required an alarming amount of time. FDLE tended to get involved in the biggest of cases and there often wasn’t time to just take off and see your family. As he and the girls grew older, he realized what a mistake that was.
He could watch either of his girls all day long. Granted, Kelly, the oldest, had a much more refined streak and mature attitude, but he thought of her as perfect. Emily was almost like the son he never had. He took in a deep breath of recycled air, appreciating the fact that he had a day with them he had not expected.
Emily playfully started to pull on his arm and climb off the ground, but he stopped her. He hated to admit it but the toll of the last six months had caught up to him. Among his other injuries during a hunt for a fugitive, he had torn the ligaments in his left shoulder. The fugitive, Daniel Wells, had been wanted for the bombing of a cruise ship. Tasker had allowed him to slip through his fingers once and, determined to catch him, had made an ill-advised leap into the back of Wells’ speeding pickup truck. He felt the result of his exit from the moving truck every day. The new scar on his forehead didn’t bother him, but chronic pain was starting to mount up. He still hadn’t started back to practice with the Special Operations Team.
Tasker and his daughter exchanged small talk and played games until they were near the front of the line. He had allowed the day off and the attention of his daughter to relax him more than he’d been in months.
Out of nowhere, Emily said, “That lady is pretty. Would she be fun to go out with?”
Tasker’s eyes followed her finger to a petite Latina with layers of lustrous light brown hair and dark, intelligent eyes. She was cheerfully directing the tellers as she calmed the impatient crowd. Tasker noted that she had a touch too much makeup, then caught himself. That picky attitude might explain why he’d been celibate for almost six months. He had to admit he’d been lonely, due to this shit-heel, critical attitude and the fact that he was still hung up on his ex-wife.
“Why would you ask that, beautiful?”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Mom goes out with Nicky sometimes. Kelly and me want you to be happy, too.”
He ruffled her hair and smiled. “I am happy. You guys make me happy.”
“But she’d make you happy, too, wouldn’t she?”
Tasker looked back at the vivacious, radiant bank manager with the extra eyeliner. “I’m sure she’s a nice person.”
“Will you ask her out?”
“Let’s see when we get up there.”
“So you might?”
He smiled and let out a little laugh. Before he could answer, though, a blast of warm, humid South Florida air hit him as the front door swung open. He looked up and . . . couldn’t pinpoint the feeling exactly, but his hand almost instinctively came to rest on the small, green belly bag that concealed his off-duty Sig P-230 automatic. Two men in their early twenties stood next to the door, talking. Tasker scanned them from their ratty Keds to the grubby University of Miami ball caps on their heads.
They looked up at the security cameras and then up and down the row of tellers. They never even looked at the customers. Tasker knew what they were up to. The only question was whether they had the balls to go through with it right now.
Every instinct told h
im to draw now and preempt what was coming, but Emily’s presence at his side slowed him, as did the other innocent bystanders. Unless there was an immediate threat to someone’s life he shouldn’t worry about a bank losing money. Besides, maybe these guys were just workmen assessing a painting job. Oh please, he was thinking like an attorney now.
His heart rate picked up as he watched the two men, dressed in jeans with unbuttoned shirts over T-shirts, separate, one staying near the front door, the other heading toward the counter. He noticed the tattoos on the neck of the guy walking toward the counter. The other had both ears and an eyebrow pierced. He wanted to give a good description when the Metro-Dade detectives asked him what he had seen.
He turned to Emily. “Hey, let’s play a little game.”
She immediately lit up.
“You try and hide where I can’t see you, under that table with the marble-looking top.” He pointed to a table in the small loan area twenty feet from the line. “You stay there, out of sight, until I come over and get you.”
Without hesitation, she scurried over to the empty loan area and disappeared under the table.
Tasker took a step to the side, moving out of the line, then started to step forward past the few remaining customers toward the counter and the would-be robber. As he took a step, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Escape Clause Page 1
