Hell by Hilary Norman Page A

worst of her fears – the ones she hoped and prayed were mostly in her mind.
    That if she and Joshua were not really safe while Cooper was still at large, then none of them were safe.
    Stage Two had gone even more perfectly.
    Toy had realized that as soon as he’d seen the Boss’s face.
    The man was pleased with the night’s selection, no doubt about that.
    And all Toy had to do was make the intro.
    He got it right, etiquette-wise, which was another of his skills.
    â€˜Tom O’Hagen,’ he had said, ‘this is Rico.’
    The Boss first, every time. Always the superior first.
    â€˜Hello, Rico,’ the man said.
    Which had been when Toy had seen just how pleased he was.
    â€˜Can I get you anything else, Mr O’Hagen,’ Toy had asked.
    O’Hagen’s eyes had not left Rico’s face.
    â€˜Not another thing, Toy,’ he said.
    Which was Stage Two done with.
    Easy as blinking.
    Not quite so easy inside.
    In the part of Toy that had once housed his conscience. The part that had gone AWOL not long after he’d met Tom O’Hagen and sold his soul.
    Not to the Devil, exactly.
    But almost certainly to one of his cohorts.
    Toy couldn’t know that for sure – he didn’t know anything for sure , not about what happened to guys like Rico after he’d delivered them to the Boss.
    Except that he never saw them again.
    For which he was devoutly thankful.
    He knew it, though. Knew that bad things happened to them.
    Stage Three.
    Not his business.
    He hoped, with all that remained of his soul, to keep it that way.
    There were things Toy was prepared to do, and things he was not.
    He’d done plenty for O’Hagen, and hoped to go on doing more.
    Not just for the money, either, though Christ knew he needed it.
    Tom O’Hagen certainly knew.
    And for now, anyway, the Boss’s gratitude was solid.
    All that really counted, for Toy.
    On Sunday evening, Grace was still alone.
    Sam had called a while back to say he might not be able to get home before dark, and she’d told him a little crankily that she was fine, that there was no reason for him to worry.
    â€˜When have I ever stressed about being alone after dark?’ she’d said. ‘Besides, I have our son and dog for company, so I’m not alone, am I?’
    Which had, she knew, hardly filled Sam with confidence, given that less than two years ago, Woody had accepted doped meat from Jerome Cooper, clearing the way for the killer to kidnap Joshua.
    A hard thing for either of them to forget.
    Still, she’d been working calmly enough in her office, and had made a small snack of Cheddar and crackers, and aside from going upstairs to check on Joshua – borderline obsessively – every fifteen minutes, she was doing just fine.
    Until she heard the sounds.
    Like shuffling – not inside, but someplace close , one minute seeming to come from around the back, then at the side of the house – creepy sounds – but she just couldn’t identify exactly where they were coming from.
    â€˜Woody?’ She looked down at the dog by her feet.
    Not so much as a cocked ear, let alone a growl.
    â€˜OK,’ she said.
    She went upstairs to check on Joshua again, then back down to her desk.
    â€˜OK,’ she said again. ‘Relax.’
    She heard it again.
    â€˜Come on, guy,’ she told Woody.
    Phone in one hand, little dog at her heels, she took another slow walk around the house, checked every window, double-locked the front and back doors, switched on the outside lights to take a look around.
    Nothing. No one.
    She hated feeling this way, had never been like this in the past.
    Enough cause, Lord knew, but that made her resent it no less.
    New sound.
    The Saab entering the driveway.
    Pure relief, then a kind of frustration, almost anger.
    â€˜This is not me,’ she told herself, quietly.
    And went to greet her husband.

THIRTEEN
    April 26
    A t seven twenty on Monday