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

Outside Grand Central, the news reporter was confirming that it had been at least one bomb. A few survivors had staggered out of the station. They were gathered on the street, dazed, faces smeared with blood and black with soot. Some were muttering something about Track 109, that there’d been at least two powerful explosions and a fire raging down there, with lots of people still trapped. That something had gone off in the first two cars.

Karen froze. That’s when tears finally started to roll down her cheeks.

That’s where Charlie always sat. It was like a ritual with him. He always camped out in the first car!

C’mon, Charlie…. Karen pleaded silently, watching the screen outside. People are making it out. Look, they’re interviewing them.

She punched his number in again, her body giving over to full-out panic.

“Answer the fucking phone, Charlie!”

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_037d0ad6-b8bb-5652-a590-1018189bfaa4)

Her thoughts flashed to Samantha and Alex. Karen realized she had to get home.

What could she possibly tell them? Charlie always drove in. He had a spot in his building’s garage. He’d been doing it for years.

That this was the one goddamn morning he picked to take the train!

Karen crumpled her sweat top into her bag and ran out, past the front counter, through the outer glass doors. She hurried over to where her Lexus was parked, the hybrid Charlie had bought her barely a month ago. The console still smelled new. She flicked the automatic lock on her key chain and jumped in.

Her house was about ten minutes away. Pulling out of the lot, Karen kept the Blue Tooth phone on automatic dial to Charlie’s cell. Please, Charlie, please, answer the goddamn phone!

Her heart kept sinking. “This is Charlie Friedman….”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pushed back her worst fears. This can’t be happening!

Karen made a sharp right out of the Sportsplex’s lot onto Prospect, cut the light at the corner, accelerating onto I-95. Traffic was backed up, slowing everything headed into downtown Greenwich.

All sorts of new, conflicting reports were coming in. The radio said that multiple explosions had taken place. That there was a fire on the tracks, burning out of control. That the intense heat and the possibility of noxious fumes made it impossible for firefighters even to get close. That there were significant casualties.

It was starting to scare Karen to death.

He could be trapped down there. Anywhere. He could be burned or injured, unable to get out. On his way to a hospital. There were a hundred fucking scenarios that could possibly be playing out. Karen pressed the speed dial again.

“Where are you, goddamn it, Charlie? Come on, please….”

Her mind flashed again to Alex and Samantha. They wouldn’t have any idea. Even if word had spread to them, it wouldn’t occur to them. Charlie always drove.

Karen pulled off the highway at Exit 5, Old Greenwich, and onto the Post Road. Suddenly her car phone beeped. Thank God! Her heart almost leaped out of her chest.

But it was only Paula, her best friend, who lived nearby in Riverside, only a few minutes away.

“You hear what’s going on?” The sound of the TV was blaring in the background.

“Of course I’ve heard, Paula. I—”

“They’re saying it was from Greenwich. There might even be people we—”

“Paula.” Karen interrupted her. She could barely force the words out of her mouth. “I think Charlie was on that train.”

“What?”

Karen told her about the car and not being able to reach him. She said she was heading home and wanted to keep the lines free, in case he or his office might call.

“Of course, honey. I understand. Kar, he’s going to be okay. Charlie always comes out okay. You know that, Kar, don’t you?”

“I know,” Karen said, though she knew she was lying to herself. “I know.”

Karen drove through town, her heart beating madly, then turned onto Shore Road near the sound. Then Sea Wall. Half a block down, she jerked the Lexus into her driveway. Charlie’s old Mustang was pulled into the third bay of the garage, just as she’d left it an hour earlier. She ran through the garage and into the kitchen. Her hope was momentarily raised by a message light flashing on the machine. Please … she prayed to herself, and pushed the play button, her blood pulsing with alarm.

“Hey, Mrs. Friedman …” a dull voice came over the speaker. It was Mal, their plumber, droning on and on about the water heater she’d wanted to have fixed, about some goddamn valve he was having a bitch of a time finding. Tears ran down Karen’s cheeks as her legs started to give out, and she pressed herself to the wall and sank helplessly onto the floor. Tobey wagged his way up, nuzzling into her. She mashed her tears with the palms of her hands. “Not now, baby. Please, not now….”

Up on the counter, Karen fumbled for the remote. She flicked on the TV. The situation had gotten worse. Matt Lauer was on the screen—with Brian Williams now—and the reports were that there were dozens of casualties down on the tracks, that the fire was spreading and uncontained. That some of the lower part of the building had collapsed, and while they were flashing to some expert about Al Qaeda and terrorism, they split-screened to the dark cloud seeping into the Manhattan sky.

He would’ve called them, Karen knew, at least Heather at the office—if he was okay. Maybe even before he would’ve called her. That’s what scared her most. She closed her eyes.

Just be okay, Charlie, wherever you are. Just be okay.

A car door slammed outside. Karen heard the doorbell ring. Someone called out her name and came running into the house.

It was Paula. She fixed on Karen huddled on the floor, in a way she had never seen her before. Paula sank down next to her, and they just hugged each other, tears glistening on each other’s cheeks.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey.” Paula stroked Karen’s hair. “I know it will. There could be hundreds of people down there. Maybe the phones aren’t working. Maybe he needed some medical attention. Charlie’s a survivor. If anyone’s gonna get out, it’s him. You’ll see, baby. It’s gonna be okay.”

And Karen kept nodding back and repeating, “I know, I know,” wiping the tears with her sleeve.

They called over and over. What else was there to do? Charlie’s cell phone. His office. Maybe thirty, forty times.

At some point Karen even sniffled back a smile. “You know how mad Charlie gets when I bug him at the office?”

By nine forty-five they had settled onto the couch in the family room. That’s when they heard the car pull up and more doors slamming. Alex and Samantha burst in through the kitchen with a shout. “School’s closed!”

They stuck their heads into the TV room. “You heard what happened?” Alex said.

Karen could barely answer. The sight of them struck terror in her heart. She told them to sit down. They could see that her face was raw and worried. That something was terribly wrong was written all over it.

Samantha sat down across from her. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Daddy took the car in this morning,” Karen said, “for service.”

“So?”

Karen swallowed back a lump, or she was sure she would start to cry. “Afterward,” she paused, “I think he went into the city by train.”

Both kids’ eyes went wide and followed hers, as if drawn, to the wide screen.

“He’s there?” her son asked. “At Grand Central?”