Alex Kava - One False Move

I am constantly amazed at how willing and patient people are in sharing their experiences and expertise with me. They contribute not only interesting tidbits to my novels, but a wealth of flavor and color and knowledge and credibility that could never come from any other source. Special thanks to:

Amy Moore-Benson, my editor and friend, for once again getting me through my own twists and turns and helping me make sense of it all. Your contribution, your dedication and your expertise constantly challenge me and always improve my books.

Patricia Sierrafellow author, friend extraordinaire and Emily Dickinson scholarfor being my sounding board, my bearer of logic and my peace of mind. And for this particular novel, thank you for providing an inspiring interpretation of Emilys Hope is the thing with feathers.

Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Deputy County Attorney and friend, for sharing your stories and experiences with me. You are amazing and a true inspiration.

Detective Sergeant Bill Jadlowski of the Omaha Police Department for showing me that a homicide detective is so much more than the literary caricature we suspense writers tend to portray.

C. L. Retelsdorf, Douglas County Crime Scene Investigator, for describing piece by piece the painstaking process a crime scene investigator goes through. Also for taking me through the Norfolk bank robbery crime scene.

Tammy Partsch, now a reporter for KNCY-radio in Nebraska City, for giving me a reporters account of what it was like to cover the Norfolk bank robbery for KUSO-radio in Norfolk, Nebraska.

John Keenan, Omaha World Herald columnist, for sharing your personal trials and tribulations of dealing with a broken collarbone.

The fantastic crew at MIRA Books: Dianne Moggy, Craig Swinwood, Stacy Widdrington, Tania Charzewski, Loriana Sacilotto and Krystyna de Duleba, along with your amazing teams. Special thanks to Christine Langone, Pat Muir-Rand and Mike Smith and his incredible staff for rearranging your busy schedules to accommodate my book. And once again, a humble thank-you to Alex Osuszek and the best sales force in the publishing business.

Maureen Stead, at MIRA Books, for your amazing patience and for always taking such good care of me.

Megan Underwood and Goldberg McDuffie Communications, Inc., for your continued enthusiasm and dedication.

Patricia Kava, my mom, for being one of my biggest fans despite my use of blood and violence (and the F-word) in my books.

Sharon Car, fellow writer and friend, for always encouraging and listening.

Mary Means and Tammy Hall for taking care of my two most valuable possessions while Im on the road.

Walter, Emilie and Patti Carlin for all the delicious meals and for taking such good care of me while I hid out to write a chunk of this novel in the comfortable confines of your beautiful home.

Also very special thanks to Kenny and Connie Kava, Patti El-Kachouti, Marlene Haney, Sandy Rockwood, Jeanie Shoemaker Mezger and John Mezger, Annie Belatti, Nicole and Tony Friend, Gene Egnoski and Rich Kava for your love and support, your friendship and your patience in putting up with my long absences.

Once again a humble and sincere thank-you to:

The many book buyers, booksellers and librarians for selling and recommending my books.

And to the readersyou inspire and challenge me, and I thank all of you for allowing me to continue doing what I love.

Lastly, this past year my books have managed to make the bestseller lists not only here in the United States but in Australia, the United Kingdom, Italy, Germany and Poland. I want to thank the publishing teams in each of these countries for doing such a fantastic job and for literally taking me places I never dreamed of going.

1:13 p.m.
Nebraska State PenitentiaryLincoln, Nebraska

M ax Kramer wore his lucky red tie with his blue power suit. While he waited for the guard to unlock the door, he admired his reflection in the glass security window behind them. That Grecian hair formula really worked. He could barely see any of the gray. His wife kept telling him the salt and pepper made him look more distinguished. Of course she would say that. She always said stuff like that when she was suspicious, when she knew he was hunting for someone new. God, she knew him well, better than she realized.

Big day, the hulk of a guard said to him. But he was scowling instead of smiling.

Max had heard the nicknames the guards had given him in the last several weeks. He knew he wasnt a popular guy here on death row. But that was to the guards. To the inmates he had reached hero status. And they were the ones he cared about; they were the ones who counted. They needed him to right their wrongs, to tell their stories, or rather their versions of their stories. Yes, they were the ones who mattered, but not because he was a bleeding-heart liberal like the Omaha World Herald or the Lincoln Journal Star seemed pleased to label him. It was nothing quite as admirable as all that. Quite simply, all his hard work, all his efforts were for a day like today. A day when he could watch a client of his walk out of this concrete hellhole. A day when he could save his client from the electric chair and walk alongside him out the front doors and into the sunlight. The sunlight and the spotlight of about two dozen TV cameras from across the country. CNNs Larry King had already booked Max and Jared on his show for tomorrow night. And his red tie would show up wonderfully tonight when NBC aired his interview with Brian Williams.

Yes, this was what he had waited for his entire career. All the shitty pay and long hours would be worth it, and the local media attacks would come to an end.

He stopped at the doorway to the holding room, pretending to show some respect for his clients privacy. Pretending. He didnt want to spend any more time alone with Jared Barnett than necessary. So he watched from the doorway. Barnett was wearing the same faded jeans and red T-shirt he had surrendered that first day at the penitentiary five years ago, only now the T-shirt bulged from the muscles Barnett had built up during his days of incarceration. Since Barnett had traded in his orange jumpsuit for street clothes, Max couldnt help thinking how ordinary the man looked. Even his short dark hair had that disheveled but cool look, that just-got-out-of-bed look that Max could never pull off, but that Barnett would probably make trendy after his media appearances.

Max had already made his client out to be the poor misunderstood bad boy who had been framed and then abused by a justice system that had stolen five years of his life. Now Barnett just needed to play the role. He certainly looked it.

The guard at the door stepped aside.

Paperworks coming, he said. You want, you can wait inside.

Max nodded as if grateful for the invitationfor what the guard seemed to consider a courtesyeven though Max preferred that the asshole let him wait in the hall. Too late. Jared saw him and waved him into the holding room. He stood up when Max entered, another courtesy. Jesus! What was this world coming to when convicted murderers started being courteous?