Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 1: The Dark Tide, Don’t Look Twice, Relentless

“I do know that, Karen, it’s just that …”

“It’s just that what, Saul? Charlie’s not here. All of a sudden, everybody’s making these innuendos about him. What the hell has my husband done?”

Lennick stood up, dressed in a navy pinstripe suit with gold cuff links at his wrists. He came around the desk in front of Karen and sat back down on a corner of it. “Karen, by any chance did Charlie ever mention any other accounts he might have been managing?”

“Other accounts?”

Lennick nodded. “Completely separate from Harbor. Maybe offshore—the Bahamas or the Cayman Islands, perhaps? Things aren’t governed by the SEC or the U.S. accounting laws down there.” His gaze was measured, serious.

“You’re scaring me a little, Saul. Charlie was a stand-up guy. He didn’t keep things from anyone. Least of all you.”

“I know that, Karen. And I wouldn’t have brought it up. Except …”

She stared. “Except …?”

“Except you found what you found, Karen. The cash, that passport. Which together don’t look exactly stand-up to me.”

Karen tensed. Her thoughts flashed to the face on that screen. Their entire lives together, they had shared pretty much everything. Stuff with the kids, their finances. When they were angry with each other. Even what was going on with the dogs. That was how they did things. It was a matter of trust. Now, in the pit of her stomach, Karen felt this doubt. Chilling her. Over Charlie. It was a feeling she’d never had before.

“Whose money are we talking about, Saul?”

He didn’t answer. He simply pressed his lips together and brushed back his thinning gray hair.

“Whose money?” Karen stared at him directly.

Her husband’s mentor let out a breath. His fingers drummed on the top of his walnut desk like a funeral dirge.

He shrugged. “That’s the trouble, Karen. No one’s exactly sure.”

CHAPTER THIRTY (#ulink_14bf7509-2a29-5c0e-8d2a-b3060e24eed0)

Karen was frantic. The next few days, she barely dragged herself out of bed, not knowing what the hell to do. Samantha was starting to act concerned. It had been almost a week since Karen hadn’t been herself, since she’d seen Charlie on that screen. Her daughter’s eyes reflected that they knew that something wasn’t right. “What’s going on, Mom?”

As much as she wanted to, how could Karen possibly tell her?

That the person she admired most in the world, who had always provided for her and kept her strong, had deceived them in this way. What had Saul said? Setting up accounts. Running money, for people she didn’t know. Offshore?

What kind of people?

All that money, it terrified Karen. What was it for? She began to think that maybe Charlie had committed some kind of crime. Did Charlie ever mention any other accounts he might be managing?

No, she had told him. You know Charlie, he was an honest guy. He fretted over nickels and dimes for his clients.

Had she been kidding herself all these years?

A few more days went by. Karen was driving herself half crazy, thinking about Charlie being out there somewhere, what all this meant. It was late one night. The kids’ lights had long been turned off. Tobey was asleep on her bed. Karen went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself some tea.

Charlie’s photo was on the counter. The one from the memorial: in his white polo shirt and khaki shorts, Topsiders and aviator Ray-Bans. They had always thought it was vintage Charlie, kicking back on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean—a cell phone stapled to his ear.

You knew him, Saul….

Karen picked it up, for the first time restraining an urge to shatter it in anger against the wall. But then the strangest memory came to mind. From deep in the vault of their life together.

Charlie—waving.

It had been the end of a glorious week in the Caribbean, sailing. St. Bart’s. Virgin Gorda. They ended up in Tortola. The kids had to be back to school the following day.

Then, strangely, Charlie announced he needed to stay on. A change of plans. Someone he had to see down there.

Out of the blue?

So he accompanied them to the local airport, the little twelve-seater shuttling them back to San Juan. It had always made Karen a bit nervous to fly those tiny planes. On takeoff and landing, she always held Charlie’s hand. Everyone made a little fun of her….

Why was all this coming back now?

Charlie said good-bye to them at the makeshift gate, more like a glass door leading out onto the tarmac. “You’ll be fine,” he told her with a hug. “I’ll be back up north in two days.” But buckling herself in, in the two-engine plane, Karen felt an inexplicable jolt of fear shoot through her—like she might never see him again. She had thought, Why aren’t you with me, Charlie? a flash of being alone, reaching out for Alex’s hand.

As the plane’s propellers whirred, Karen’s eyes went to the window, and she saw him, on the balcony of the tiny terminal, in his beach shirt and Ray-Bans, his eyes reflecting back the sun.

Waving.

Waving, with his cell phone stapled to his ear, watching the tiny plane pull away.

Offshore, Saul had said to her. The Bahamas or the Cayman Islands.

Now that same fear rippled through Karen, staring at his photo. That she somehow didn’t really know him. Not the way it mattered. His eyes dark now, not reflecting the sun but deeper, unfamiliar—like a cave that led to many chasms. Chasms she had never explored before.

It scared her. Karen put down the photo. She was thinking, He’s out there. Maybe thinking of her now. Maybe wondering, at this very moment, if she knew, if she suspected, felt him. It gave her the chills. What the hell have you done, Charlie?

She knew she couldn’t keep bottling this up forever. She’d go insane. She had to know. Why he had done this. Where he was.

Karen sank down on a stool at the counter. She put her head in her hands. She’d never felt so confused or so isolated.

There was only one place she could think to go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE (#ulink_80927b50-28b7-52a7-96ec-b4e6a13a3695)

Hauck headed back upstairs to his office from the holding cells down in the basement. He and Freddy Muñoz had just taken a statement from a scared Latino kid who was part of this group from up in Norwalk who had been heisting fancy cars from backcountry Greenwich homes, a statement that could now blow the case wide open. Joe Horner, a detective from the Norwalk police department, was holding on the phone for him.

As Hauck turned in from the hallway, Debbie, his unit’s secretary, flagged his attention.

“Someone’s here to see you, Ty.”

She was seated on the bench in the outer office, wearing an orange turtleneck and a lightweight beige jacket, a tote bag on the bench next to her. Hauck made no attempt to conceal that he was pleased to see her.

“Tell Horner I’ll get back to him in a minute, Deb.”

Karen stood up. She smiled, a little nervous to be here. Hauck hadn’t seen her for a couple of months, since that other situation, the people harassing her, had quieted down and they’d pulled the protection. He had called once or twice to make sure everything was okay. Smiling, he went up to her. Her face was pallid and drawn.