The Husband

The Husband
Dean Koontz

Mitch Rafferty has just sixty hours to save his wife.A suspense novel – and love story – from one of the most acclaimed and popular authors of modern times.What would you do for love? Would you die? Would you kill?Landscape gardener Mitchell Rafferty was busy planting beds of impatiens for one of his clients when his phone rang. It was a voice he didn’t know. ‘We have your wife. You can get her back for two million cash.’Now he’s standing in a normal suburban neighbourhood on a bright summer day having a phone conversation out of his darkest nightmare.Mitch thinks it must be some kind of a joke. But whoever is on the other end of the line is dead serious. ‘See that guy across the street?’Rifle fire shatters the stilllness as the man goes down, shot in the head. ‘An object lesson.’The caller doesn’t care that Mitch has no way of raising such a vast sum. He’s confident that Mitch will find a way. ‘If he loves his wife enough.’Mitch does love her enough. He’s got sixty hours to prove it. He’ll pay anything. He’ll pay a lot more than two million dollars.A story of love, tenacity and courage with the pace of a runaway train, from its tense opening to its shattering climax, ‘The Husband’ is a thriller that holds the reader in its relentless grip.

DEAN KOONTZ

The Husband

This novel is dedicated toAndy and Anne Wickstrom, and toWesley J. Smith and Debra J. Saunders:two good husbands and their good wives,also good friends, who always brightenthe corner where they are.

Courage is grace under pressure. —ERNEST HEMINGWAY

That Love is all there is,Is all we know of Love…

—EMILY DICKINSON

Contents

Epigraph (#u8e571873-bfb0-559d-b2ca-935876d5fc97)Part One: What Would You Do For Love? (#u36146864-46ef-5be7-ba92-99802a8cbd2b)Chapter One (#uf31d5719-f45d-5998-b44c-30ce23404fb3)Chapter Two (#udb660cc7-55e0-5bf1-b032-ff5f1b2487c4)Chapter Three (#u2c8e7b0f-7a7e-5cbf-8fce-ead87f0aceb0)Chapter Four (#uf7325c39-19d9-5762-b9ad-5a3afcf0df7b)Chapter Five (#u1a846287-dd21-578f-b859-5491479b0cf1)Chapter Six (#u42903f04-3097-5714-a652-8bab7c8056ac)Chapter Seven (#u20441d44-3172-57fd-92d6-e9bb4d621f18)Chapter Eight (#u3308dd16-5f54-5556-ac04-60109f288f58)Chapter Nine (#ua21f2513-e85f-5ede-b525-ccc842b123ac)Chapter Ten (#u6ba56b91-304e-50d1-854e-3ee46d2d2484)Chapter Eleven (#ud8804b2c-b713-5aa3-8185-05c3e3d39a3e)Chapter Twelve (#u442c1778-049b-5116-9f5c-db907c504d82)Chapter Thirteen (#ua600c261-679f-5e86-bc81-d1884897bd66)Chapter Fourteen (#ud731fb87-db1a-5cb0-89e6-03ddeb4ca031)Chapter Fifteen (#uc5dd6e82-1426-54ce-a62e-70f7b4811fb4)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Part Two: Would You Die For Love? Would You Kill? (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Five (#litres_trial_promo)Part Three: Until Death Us Do Part. (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty Eight (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)Praise (#litres_trial_promo)Also By Dean Koontz (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

PART ONE (#u59dfd530-e91d-5f2e-b5a8-9f6f571e2586)

What Would You Do For Love? (#u59dfd530-e91d-5f2e-b5a8-9f6f571e2586)

1 (#u59dfd530-e91d-5f2e-b5a8-9f6f571e2586)

Aman begins dying at the moment of his birth. Most people live in denial of Death’s patient courtship until, late in life and deep in sickness, they become aware of him sitting bedside.

Eventually, Mitchell Rafferty would be able to cite the minute that he began to recognize the inevitability of his death: Monday, May 14, 11:43 in the morning—three weeks short of his twenty-eighth birthday.

Until then, he had rarely thought of dying. A born optimist, charmed by nature’s beauty and amused by humanity, he had no cause or inclination to wonder when and how his mortality would be proven.

When the call came, he was on his knees.

Thirty flats of red and purple impatiens remained to be planted. The flowers produced no fragrance, but the fertile smell of the soil pleased him.

His clients, these particular homeowners, liked saturated colors: red, purple, deep yellow, hot pink. They would not accept white blooms or pastels.

Mitch understood them. Raised poor, they had built a successful business by working hard and taking risks. To them, life was intense, and saturated colors reflected the truth of nature’s vehemence.

This apparently ordinary but in fact momentous morning, the California sun was a buttery ball. The sky had a basted sheen.

Pleasantly warm, not searing, the day nevertheless left a greasy sweat on Ignatius Barnes. His brow glistened. His chin dripped.

At work in the same bed of flowers, ten feet from Mitch, Iggy looked boiled. From May until July, his skin responded to the sun not with melanin but with a fierce blush. For one-sixth of the year, before he finally tanned, he appeared to be perpetually embarrassed.

Iggy did not possess an understanding of symmetry and harmony in landscape design, and he couldn’t be trusted to trim roses properly. He was a hard worker, however, and good if not intellectually bracing company.

“You hear what happened to Ralph Gandhi?” Iggy asked.

“Who’s Ralph Gandhi?”

“Mickey’s brother.”

“Mickey Gandhi? I don’t know him, either.”

“Sure you do,” Iggy said. “Mickey, he hangs out sometimes at Rolling Thunder.”

Rolling Thunder was a surfers’ bar.

“I haven’t been there in years,” Mitch said.

“Years? Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

“I thought you still dropped in sometimes.”

“So I’ve really been missed, huh?”

“I’ll admit, nobody’s named a bar stool after you. What—did you find someplace better than Rolling Thunder?”

“Remember coming to my wedding three years ago?” Mitch asked.

“Sure. You had great seafood tacos, but the band was woofy.”

“They weren’t woofy.”

“Man, they had tambourines.”

“We were on a budget. At least they didn’t have an accordion.”

“Because playing an accordion exceeded their skill level.”

Mitch troweled a cavity in the loose soil. “They didn’t have finger bells, either.”

Wiping his brow with one forearm, Iggy complained: “I must have Eskimo genes. I break a sweat at fifty degrees.”

Mitch said, “I don’t do bars anymore. I do marriage.”

“Yeah, but can’t you do marriage and Rolling Thunder?”

“I’d just rather be home than anywhere else.”

“Oh, boss, that’s sad,” said Iggy.

“It’s not sad. It’s the best.”

“If you put a lion in a zoo three years, six years, he never forgets what freedom was like.”