Catherine Coulter - Blowout

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Blowout

A Putnam Book / published by arrangement with the author

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2004 by Catherine Coulter

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN: 0-7865-4729-4

A PUTNAM BOOK

Putnam Books first published by The Putnam Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

PUTNAM and the P design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

Electronic edition: June, 2004

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com

ALSO BY CATHERINE COULTER

THE FBI THRILLERS

Blindside (2003)

Eleventh Hour (2002)

Hemlock Bay (2001)

Riptide (2000)

The Edge (1999)

The Target (1998)

The Maze (1997)

The Cove (1996)

To my doctor in the house:

P OCONO M OUNTAINS
N EAR B LESSED C REEK , P ENNSYLVANIA
F RIDAY EVENING

I T WAS DARKER than Savich was used to, what with no city lights within fifty miles. The moon was a sharp sickle, cutting in and out of bloated black clouds. He rolled down the window and sniffed the air. Snow was coming, he thought, lots of it, more than enough to build a snowman with Sherlock and Sean in the morning; then the three of them could tramp through the beautiful woods filled with spruce and pine to Lake Klister.

Savich started singing one of his favorite country-western songs, written by his friend James Quinlan, as he drove the straight road with snowcapped boulders and stands of thick trees on his left and a guardrail on his right. A blameless life aint no fun at all. I robbed that bank, laughin till my belly hurt, till I

When there was a sudden pop, loud as a shotgun blast, he flung himself to the side in automatic reaction. The pop was followed by the hard slap of rubber against the asphalt. A blowout, a damned blowout. The Subarus steering wheel jerked in his hands as the cars back end lurched wildly to his left. He gently eased the car into the skid and let up on the accelerator, but the Subarus momentum lunged it into a snowbank. Despite his seatbelt, his head slammed against the steering wheel, stunning him for a moment. Then everything was quiet. Savich raised his head, shook it, hoped he hadnt hurt himself, and slowly climbed out of the car. The back drivers-side tire had blown.

All in all, he preferred the snowbank to going through the guardrail. He buttoned up his coat, wrapped his scarf tight about his neck, and cleared snow from beneath the left front wheel. Satisfied, he climbed back in and put the gear in reverse. The Subaru hardly hesitated, just backed right out, leaning heavily to the left. Savich climbed out again and collected the spare tire and jack. He called Sherlock, told her what had happened, told her hed be about twenty minutes late.

The grocery bag from Lews Friendly Staples, in the small town of Blessed Creek, had spilled over. Lews Staples, he thought, was really for tourists; Lew was expensive, but his little store was open nearly 24/7 and that was what counted for everyone from out of town, that and the fact that the cabin where he, Sherlock, and Sean were staying for a long weekend was only ten miles away. He picked up a bunch of wizened carrots off the passenger-side floor, for the snowmans nose. The quart of two-percent milk for Sean hadnt burst open, unlike the lovely big watermelon, an unexpected find in the middle of January, in a nearly empty produce bin in a grocery store the size of his dining room. It had splatted open, drenching the microwave-popcorn box.

He wasnt about to clean it up now, but it didnt look too bad, maybe even most of it salvageable. As he jacked up the rear end of the car, he thought the watermelon looked rather like the cabin they had borrowed from Savichs boss, Jimmy Maitland, who regularly loaned it out to his friends and his college sonsit had taken them two hours of scrubbing before the cabin was habitable again.

It didnt take him long to change the tire. He was fastening down the last lug nut when he heard something. He turned to see a woman burst out of the trees twenty feet ahead of him, running directly at him, waving her arms wildly, screaming something he couldnt understand. Her hair was long, dark, and straight, flying back as she ran. Her face was stark white beneath the pale sickle of moon that suddenly shone down through the dark heavy clouds.

She was still screaming when she reached him, her breath hitching. Words he couldnt understand bulleted out of her mouth.

He was on his feet in an instant. Its all right. Its okay, youve found me. Im an FBI agent. It will be all right. He left his SIG in his belt harness for now. She was so terrified she was heaving, speaking fast and high, hysteria smearing her words like thick grease. The man, hes in the house! Hes trying to kill me. Oh God, help me!

She threw herself against him. Savich was startled for just a moment, then he took her arms and gently drew her close, patting her back. She wasnt wearing a coat, not even a sweater, only what appeared to be a light summer dress, with thin straps. Its all right, he said against her hair. A young woman, not more than thirty, he thought, but so frightened she would collapse if she didnt calm down. He tried to soothe her, but it wasnt working. She kept saying over and over again, her voice breaking, her terror slamming him in the face, The man, hes in the house, hes trying to kill me. Youve got to help me!

The same words, over and over, nothing specific, no names, nothing more than what shed said since shed run out of the woods. Her voice was hoarse now, but her hysteria kept building. Her eyes were dark, wild and terrified.

He clasped her face between his hands and looked right in her face. Listen to me. Im a cop. Youre going to be all right. Ill protect you. Just tell me, where do you live?

Over there. She threw a wild hand in the direction off to their left.

All right, is the man still there?

Yes, yes, hes there, he wants to kill me.

Its okay, just hold yourself together. Im going to call the sheriff.

No, please, please, help me now, youve got to, take me back to the house, the mans there, please! Help me!

Why do you want to go back there if someone is trying to kill you?

Please, youve got to take me back. Youve got to get him, stop him. Please!

Savich drew back, held her arms in his hands and stared down into her white face. Her eyes were very dark, and her face was so white he thought she was going into shock. The sheriff, he said, but she jerked away from him and began running away, off the main road.