Ten minutes to noon, Matthews’s door opened. “Steadman.”
Jon stood, ignoring Craig’s smirk. He mentally reviewed his defense one more time.
Inside Matthews's office, Jon took a seat on the old sofa across from his boss.
Matthews said, “I’ve put my place on the market.”
At first Jon was confused. He was primed for battle and thrown off by the personal nature of his boss’s opening line. Apparently he was being given clemency. He needed to quickly recalibrate. “Oh?”
Eyes downcast, Matthews said, “Too many memories. Every room—the kitchen, bedroom, even the bathroom. It’s too much.”
“Where will you go?”
Matthews said, “Not sure yet. I need to stay in the city for the job. Maybe I’ll move closer to work. Erica had a sizeable life insurance policy. I could use some of it and put a down payment on a loft in Soho.”
“That must be some policy.”
Matthews nodded. “She was savvy with money.”
“You were lucky to have her.”
Offering a tentative, somber smile, Matthews said, “That’s for damn sure.”
***
Isle of Palms, South Carolina
Terry stood at the kitchen sink washing a caked-on dish, then handed it to Gabe to dry.
“The shakshuka was delicious,” Gabe said.
Terry had cooked the egg and tomato dish knowing it was one of her fiancé’s favorites.
Gabe poured two glasses of Chardonnay, took her hand and led her through the French doors to the second-story rear veranda. The natural beauty of the island was soothing. Gabe stretched out on the cushioned wicker sofa, putting his legs on Terry’s lap and drank back his wine. “What do you think about getting married here?”
Terry looked behind her into the home. The place was designed for upscale comfort. Tastefully decorated in pale colors, the focus on the expansive windows looking out on the Atlantic.
“It’s beautiful. Serene.”
Gabe jumped up, grabbed his phone, nearly knocking the glass out of Terry’s hand. “Great, I’ll let my parents know it’s a go!”
“Wait, what? I didn’t say I want to get married here, Gabe.”
His face fell. “So, you don’t want to get married here?”
Something inside Terry broke. “Everyone is placing demands on me. As if I don't have a say in
my life anymore.”
Gabe took a step back, his brows furrowed. “Is that how you feel? Like I'm controlling you somehow?”
Terry shook her head in frustration. “I don't know!” She didn’t intend to shout.
Gabe fell back into the chair across from the sofa. “I'm sure you're under a great deal of pressure.”
“You have no idea. I thought this . . . job . . . would be quick and we could get back to Israel.”
“Terry, sweetheart, I needed to come back to the States anyway. My life is here. My parents, my job. My friends.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. “Your life? I was under the impression we were building a life together.”
“That came out wrong—”
“Are you saying you have no intention of going back to Israel with me?”
Gabe shook his head. “That's not what I mean. What I'm saying is we need to discuss it. It's not an open and shut case. We both have lives in different places.”
“Gabriel, you know I am responsible for a prestigious genetics lab in Haifa. It's not something I can do from the States.”
“I do understand and while my job may not be as impactful as yours, I work for my uncle and love it.”
Terry’s eyes left Gabe’s. “How did we never discuss this before?”
“Would it have mattered?”
“I don't know,” Terry whispered.
“Does that mean if we’d discussed this sooner, we wouldn't be together now?”
Terry was torn between tears and shouts. “I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.”
“Anything? What are you saying?”
“I can't think straight. Maybe we're going too fast. Maybe we need to wait with the wedding.” The words just seemed to fly out of her.
Gabe’s face registered his devastation. “I can't believe you're saying this. We love each other.” He approached her, his arms open wide, his eyes beckoning.
Terry took a step back. “I can't think straight,” she repeated. “I need to get out of here.”
“Should I join you?”
She shook her head. “I need to be alone. Have time to think.”
Before Gabe could respond, Terry walked out, the front door closing quietly behind her.
***
Los Angeles
Theo slept in the basement. Neither he nor Nic was willing to be away from Lizzy. And if either moved out of the house, it would be traumatic for her. What started out as a need to provide stability for Lizzy with family dinners, school updates and birthday parties, in time turned into a slow coming together. When Theo suggested marriage counseling, Nicole simply nodded. He hoped one day he could reunite with Abigail, introduce her to Nicole. For now, they had scheduled their first therapy session.
The relationship with his son was significantly more tenuous. Franklin’s sentencing was coming up in a few months. The charges were multiplying with each claim of privacy infringement and wrongful termination. Class action lawsuits were being filed against Oakley’s clients, most in the process of declaring bankruptcy.
In the interim, Franklin was convalescing in the medical unit of Vacaville Prison, north of San Francisco. Luanne Parker went ahead with her exclusive story, while the public was still interested. One day, if Oakley decided to talk, she’d run a follow-up piece. The LA Times story headlined, Paraplegic Hacker Plays God, had taken on a life of its own, getting picked up by various news outlets around the world. Finding an unbiased jury would be near impossible. As yet, no hard evidence was found to prove Oakley was responsible for the contract killings of Jason Wang and Peter Cromwell, or the attacks on Ed Hernandez, and Luanne. The added murder and assault charges would allow prosecutors to push for a life sentence. Without them, the lawyerly pundits estimated a ten-to-fifteen-year sentence.
On Nic’s coaxing, Theo began writing letters to the prison address. He was humbled by his wife’s heart. Emails were not permitted and many of the envelopes were returned unopened for even the most minor infringement—colored stationery or an address label. Theo hoped at least some of the letters had made it into Franklin’s hands, and that he was reading them.
Given all that had transpired—their decades-long estrangement and Franklin’s abhorrent vengeful acts—Theo didn’t know if they would ever truly reconcile. Yet, he took the first steps anyway, knowing that’s what a devoted parent does.
***
Nassau, the Bahamas
The hundred-foot yacht was docked beside other vessels of the rich and famous. CEOs and politicians preferred this marina. The water was translucent, schools of fish visible even from the vessel’s bridge. Gerard took a sip of his Mai Tai, considering how many jobs he’d need to take on in order to purchase the boat. Davis’s two million would only get him so far.
Gerard entered the oak-paneled cabin and lifted the newspaper off the brown leather chair. He preferred the hard copy paper to the online format. His aversion to technology had proven good foresight and he would use it only when necessary. He sat, letting out a satisfied sigh and re-read the article on Oakley.
The spontaneity of the Davis job had been a thrill—changing course midway, throwing everyone off kilter. It had made things more interesting, and in his estimate much harder to get caught. Though to his credit, Steadman came pretty darn close.
The guy got what he deserved. Gerard had followed Oakley’s courtroom saga and would be there when he got out. Whenever that would be. He was a patient man.
Gerard flashed back to the Fed’s determined face filling his binoculars. Perhaps Steadman was the perfect adversary. As he placed his pen d
own, Gerard made a decision. He and Special Agent Jon Steadman would meet again.
Chapter 62
Isle of Palms, South Carolina
Terry walked along the seashore, staring out at the white-capped waves, her thoughts a tangled mess. How had things turned around so drastically in the last couple of weeks? She loved Gabe and he loved her. Yet somehow, they’d allowed a substantial wedge to come between them.
The wind picked up, carrying with it the salty scents of the ocean. Terry sat down in the sand, pulled off her sandals and dug her toes into the cool granules. It was dusk and the lights of the beach homes allowed her a glimpse of strangers’ lives. People preparing dinner. Laughing together. Being on the outside looking in was one of the loneliest feelings Terry ever had.
How will we get past this? The issue was not the wedding; it was the bigger picture of what their lives would be. If she was honest with herself, there were things they’d been ignoring all along. Gabe had grown up in the United States with American family and friends. Though Terry had spent some of her childhood in Boston, she was a true sabra. It wasn't fair to ask Gabe, the man she loved, to pick up his life and move across the globe to a land where he didn't speak the language or have a job. Or family.
Terry dropped her head in her hands, allowing the tide of sorrow to wash over her. By the time she looked up, the sky had darkened. In the distance through her tears, she saw a figure silhouetted against the horizon walking in the rolling surf toward her. Perhaps someone else weighed down by life’s burdens.
Not wanting her anguish on display, Terry rested her head on her knees listening to the soothing sounds of the sea. She would wait a few minutes till the person passed by, then head back to the house to face the music with Gabe. Whatever that would entail.
“Are you all right?” The words were carried on the breeze.
Terry lifted her head. Slowly, the figure became larger, clearer. A woman.
“You look . . . lost,” the woman said.
Terry wiped her face with her hands and stood up. In the dim lighting it was hard to make out the woman’s features. Terry stepped closer, squinting in the darkness. Now mere feet away, the moon drifted past its cloud cover. Terry met the eyes of a seventy-something-year-old woman with white, neatly styled hair brightened by the light of the moon.
“Hello again, Doctor Lavi.”
Terry's heart skipped a beat. “The White Knight.”
A growing smile slowly spread to the woman’s intelligent eyes. “Yes, my dear. I’ve recently made a spectacular acquisition. A software you may already be familiar with.” She extended her hand in greeting. “Perhaps it’s time you and I had a proper chat.”
Terry swallowed hard and took the offered hand of Charlotte Colbert.
Chapter 63
New York City
“Randy, wait up!” Jon watched the five-year-old skip ahead of him, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It made his heart leap. There were times the boy’s face turned sad, his eyes somewhere else entirely. Jon understood. He’d been there. Even now, all these years later he was still there. But Jon also knew that like himself, Randy had loving grandparents. He would grow up knowing he was someone’s pride and joy.
The trip to the toy store was a special birthday treat. Jon told Randy he could pick two things as long as they added up to no more than twenty dollars. He delighted in the boy’s intensity as he painstakingly calculated which items he could get, asking for help with the math. In the end, he chose a Tonka truck and an old-fashioned model airplane set after Jon told him he’d help him build it.
The day was glorious. Randy now stood, hands on his hips. He was growing by leaps and bounds. Jon had taken to calling him, “Little Man.”
“C’mon, you old or something?” While he still confused some sounds, Randy’s speech had taken off, the pendulum swinging to the other end. He was a chatterbox. Carrie would be overjoyed. Her mom—Abuela—credited Jon. The spinning and repetitive hand motions persisted, particularly when Randy was under stress. Jon was hopeful that with continued therapy, those behaviors would diminish over time.
Jon escorted Randy to the fourth-floor apartment, and hugged him. Ten minutes later, Jon left with a sense of tranquility and a care package that would feed him for a week.
***
Jon ran down the stairs. No point in taking the elevator when he was heading out for a jog anyway. It was a perfect Sunday morning, the December temperature hovering near fifty degrees, optimal for his planned two miles. The day began with a high-octane cup of coffee while reading the second of a two-part exposé on the consequences of technology without morality. He took pride seeing Luanne’s name in the byline. The dated black-and-white photo showed off her short spiky hair and up-the-ear piercings. He laughed at her guts. She was going to make a dent in the rapidly changing world of journalism.
Jon was glad to finally break in his new running shoes. Despite his bad leg, he’d grown to love jogging as much as he had before his injury. Runner’s high was a real thing, and he’d learned exercise had the power to stave off his symptoms. He hadn’t needed a pill in days. Maybe next time he’d invite Matthews to join him on a run in Battery Park. The man was a bundle of nerves.
Jon exited his building, the weekend offering a reprieve from the city’s ever-present commotion. He placed his earbuds in his ears, turned on his playlist and stretched his legs using the curb’s fire hydrant for stability. A woman walked past, stopping at his building. Jon watched as she found the intercom pad beside the locked door, dragged her finger down the list of tenants, stopping midway. She pressed the buzzer. Then again. No one responded. “Damn!” she said.
Jon took out an earbud, said, “Who are you looking for?”
The woman was near thirty, svelte, dressed in a belted black peacoat, well-fitting jeans and expensive sneakers. She lowered her Ray-Bans, meeting Jon’s eyes, and pursed her lips. “What’s it to you?”
Jon made a face. “No good deed,” and turned away.
From behind, he heard her say, “I’m looking for Jon Steadman. You know him?”
Facing her once again, he took a closer look. The woman now had her jaw jutted, as if raring for a fight. Tell her you never heard of him. “You’re talking to him.”She eyed him up and down. “You’re Jon Steadman?”
“What’s it to you?” he mimicked.
A glimmer of a devious smile. “Touché . . . and sorry. I’m under a lot of stress. It’s taken me a while to find you.”
“Apology mostly accepted. I’ve been out of town. Why are you looking for me?”
“It’s sort of complicated. Can we go inside and talk?”
“No. First of all I’m about to go on a run. And second of all, maybe you’re not from around here, but New Yorkers don’t invite strangers into their homes. Either tell me what you want or I’ll see ya around.
She appeared to be debating internally, then stopped, took a breath, her eyes momentarily darting around with what Jon thought was . . . trepidation. “Have it your way.” Then, “Carrie sent me.
Jon froze, a shot of adrenaline running through him. “Carrie?”
“Carrie Santiago.”
“This some sort of joke?”
The woman shook her head solemnly. “Carrie was my best friend growing up. Our dads
were in the military together. Same unit. As kids, we moved around from country to country. Sort of shared a weird childhood. I spoke with her shortly before she . . . .” She frowned, seemingly holding back emotion. “. . . before she died. She told me to contact you for help if I got in over my head. As much as I hate to admit it, I am. Way over.”
Still reeling from the mention of his dead partner, Jon remained silent, took out his key and unlocked the building door. “Come on. Let’s go talk.” He held the door open for her.
The woman walked inside, removing her sunglasses.
“Why the change of heart?”
“Any friend of Carrie’s is a friend of mine.”
; When they were inside his apartment, Jon gestured to the sofa. The woman sat. He made two mugs of chamomile tea and handed one to her. “Now, tell me what this is about.”
The woman lifted the mug, blew the steam off the top, and told him.
The End
***
Want to know what happens next? Keep reading about Jon's adventures in Duplicity.
Acknowledgement
It takes a village to bring a book to fruition. Vengeance is no exception. Heartfelt thanks go to my alpha and beta readers whose input made this book a cleaner, tighter version of the one I gave them. Kudos to Glenn Bochner, Ken Germain, Wes Higaki, Sossie Brown, Marcia Schwartz, Elana Joffe-Cohen, Shoshana Steinmetz, Miriam Gluck-Greenman, and the sharp-eyed Karen Sheff.
Much appreciation to the bookshops and libraries supporting my work. A special shoutout to Marx Hot Bagels, where the best sandwiches in the Midwest are served.
I’m humbled by how much my readership has grown since Spree launched last summer. It’s been a remarkable and thrilling ride so far, and I’m grateful for each and every one of you.
As always, love and thanks to my dear family and friends for all your encouragement throughout this obsessive journey of mine. It means the world to me.
About The Author
Nellie Neeman
Nellie is an avid traveler, swimmer, and hiker who uses her own adventures as inspiration for her stories. She currently resides in Cincinnati and Jerusalem with her husband and Lexi, the wacky Labradoodle. Learn more at www.nellieneeman.com
Books By This Author
Spree: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 1)
He barely survived a killing spree. Now he’s on a mission to prevent the deadliest attack in U.S. history . . .
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 31
