Alex Kava - Split Second

Patricia Sierra, fellow author and friendIm not sure this one would have been completed without your tender, gentle nagging. Thanks for seeing me through all the anxiety attacks.

The amazing crew at MIRA Books for their enthusiasm, hard work and dedication, especially Valerie Gray, Craig Swinwood, Krystyna de Duleba, Alex Osuszek and the best sales force in the business. Perhaps there is a reason we call them publishing housesyouve certainly made me feel as if Ive found a home.

Megan Underwood and the gang at Goldberg McDuffie Communications, Inc. for their expertise and hard work.

Annie Belatti, the only person I know who gets excited about describing gunshot wounds over dinner. Thanks for your patience, medical expertise and friendship.

Sharon Car, fellow writer and friend, who listens and encourages through the good and the bad.

Marilyn and John Cooney and Mary Means for taking such loving care of my kids when I need to be on the road.

Patti El-Kachouti for your unconditional friendship and encouragement.

Nicole Friend, who has often been my sounding board and voice of reason.

Tony Friend for sharing information, images and ideas that only you can provide.

Ellen Jacobs for telling the truth, first as a reader, then as a friend.

LaDonna Tworek for reminding me that some friendships are forever.

For their inspiration, enthusiasm and loving support, many thanks to Kenny and Connie Kava, Jeanie Shoemaker Mezger and John Mezger, Natalie and Rich Cummings, Marlene Haney, Sandy Rockwood, my mom and dadPatricia and Edward KavaMac Payne and the Movie Club group: Lyn Belitz, Mary Michaelsen, Jo Ellen Shoemaker and Becky Thomson.

Also, I want to thank the many book buyers and booksellers for making room on your lists and on your shelves for a new voice.

And to the readers. With all the wonderful fiction available, thank you for choosing mine to be a part of your escape and entertainment.

Finally, thanks to Philip Spitzer, Amy Moore-Benson and Dianne Moggy. None of this would be possible without Philip taking a chance on me, without Amy being my personal crusader and without Diannes patient, steady guidance and support. Together the three of you are truly a writers dream team.

North Dade County Detention Center
Miami, Florida
HalloweenFriday, October 31

D el Macomb wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. The stiff cotton of his uniform stuck to his back, and it was only nine in the morning. How could it be this hot and humid in October?

He had grown up just north of Hope, Minnesota. Back home, ice would be forming at the edges of Silver Lake. His daddy would be writing his sermons while watching the last of the snow geese pass overhead. Del pushed wet strands off his brow. Thinking about his daddy reminded him that he needed a haircut. Crazy stuff to be thinking about. Even crazier that it was stuff that could still make him homesick.

So whos the fucking asshole were chaperoning today?

Dels partner startled him. He winced at Benny Zeekss language, then glanced over at the barrel-chested ex-marine to see if he had noticed. He certainly didnt need another lecturenot that he didnt have a lot to learn from Benny.

Guys said his name is Stucky. He wondered if Benny had heard him. He seemed preoccupied.

At North Dade County Detention Center Benny Zeeks was somewhat of a legend, not only because he was a twenty-five-year veteran, but because he had spent most of that time working up in Starke on death row and even on X Wing. Del had seen his partners scars from scuffles hed won over X Wingers trying to avoid the coffinlike solitary confinement.

He watched Benny shove his shirtsleeves up over his veiny forearms, not bothering to fold or roll them, revealing one of those legendary scars. It intersected a tattoo, a Polynesian dancer who now had a jagged red line across her abdomen as if she had been sliced in half. Benny could still make the dancer dance, flexing his arm and sending the lower half of her into a slow, sexy sway while the other halfthe top halffroze in place, disconnected. The tattoo fascinated Del, intriguing and repulsing him at the same time.

Now his partner climbed into the armored trucks passenger seat, concentrating on negotiating the narrow steps up into the cab. The man moved slower than usual this morning, and Del immediately knew his partner had another hangover. He swung up into the drivers seat, buckling himself in and pretending, once again, not to notice.

Whod you say this asshole is? Benny asked, while he twisted his thermos lid, the short stubby fingers desperate to get at the coffee. Del wanted to tell him the caffeine would only compound his problem, but after four short weeks on the job, he knew better than to try to tell Benny Zeeks anything.

Were taking Brice and Webbers run today.

What the hell for?

Webbers got the flu and Brice broke his hand last night.

How the fuck do you break a hand?

All I heard was that he broke it. I dont know how. Look, I thought you hated the monotony of our regular route. Plus, all the traffic just to get to the courthouse.

Yeah, well, there better not be more paperwork, Benny shifted restlessly as if anticipating the dreaded change in his routine. And if this is Brice and Webbers run, that means this assholes headed up to Glades, right? Puttin him in close custody until his fucking hearing. Means hes some big-time fuckup they dont want down here in our wussy detention lockup.

Hector said the guys name is Albert Stucky. Said hes not such a bad guy, pretty intelligent and friendly. Hector says hes even accepted Jesus Christ as his savior.

Del could feel Benny scowling at him. He turned the key in the ignition and let the truck vibrate, then rumble to a slow start while he braced himself for Bennys sarcasm. He turned the air-conditioning on, blasting them with hot air. Benny reached over and punched it off.

Give the engine some time, first. We dont need that goddamn hot air in our faces.

Del felt his face grow red. He wondered if there would ever be anything he could do to win the respect of his partner. He ignored his simmering anger and rolled down the window. He pulled out the travel log and jotted down the trucks odometer and gas tank readings, letting the routine calm him.

Wait a minute, Benny said. Albert Stucky? Ive been reading about this guy in the Miami Herald. Feebies nicknamed him The Collector.

Feebies?

Yeah, FBI. Jesus, kid, dont you know anything?

This time Del could feel the prickle of red at his ears. He turned his head and pretended to be checking the side mirror.

This Stucky guy, Benny continued, he carved up and slaughtered three or four women, and not just here in Florida. If hes the guy Im thinking of, hes one badass motherfucker. And if hes claiming hes found Jesus Christ, you can bet its because he wants to save his sorry ass from being fried by Old Sparky.

People can change. Dont you believe people can change? Del glanced at Benny. The older mans brow was beaded with sweat and the bloodshot eyes glared at him.

Jesus, kid. I bet you still believe in Santa Claus, too. Benny shook his head. They dont send guys to wait for their trial in close custody because they think hes found Jesus-fucking-Christ.

Benny turned to stare out the window and sip his coffee. In doing so, he missed Del wince again. He couldnt help it. Twenty-two years with a daddy for a preacher made it an instant reaction, like scratching an itch. Sometimes he did it without even knowing.