Karen Rose - Die for Me

Daniel Vartanian 1, 2007

So many people contributed to my knowledge base as I wrote this book. To all of you-my sincerest thanks!

Danny Agan for answering all my detective questions and especially for helping my hero locate things underground.

Tim Bechtel of Environscan, Inc. for background and technical details on ground penetrating radar.

Niki Ciccotelli for her description of growing up in Philadelphia that was so real that I felt as if I were physically there myself.

Monty Clark of the Art Institute of Florida in Ft. Lauderdale, for the invaluable and very cool information on video game design and designers.

Marc Conterato for all things medical and Kay Conterato for clipping all those extremely useful newspaper articles on insurance and hackers.

Diana Fox for a great title.

Carleton Hafer for answering all my computer questions in a way I could clearly understand.

Linda Hafer for the wonderful introduction to opera and for opening a world of music I never thought I would like but that I do!

Elaine Kriegh for her vivid descriptions of medieval tomb monuments.

Sonie Lasker, my sempai, for demonstrating weapon technique and teaching me how personally rewarding martial arts can be. Domo arigato.

Deana Seydel Rivera for showing me Philadephia-and three days before her wedding, no less.

Loretta Rogers for her motorcycle expertise. How I wish I had the courage to fly on two wheels!

Sally Schoeneweiss and Mary Pitkin for keeping my Web site organized, functional and beautiful.

My language advisors: Mary C Turner and Anne Crowder-Merci beaucoup, Bob Busch and Barbara Mulrine-Spasiba, Kris Alice Hohls-Danke, Sarah Hafer-Domo arigato.

Friends who answered my catch-all questions here and there-Shari Anton, Terri Bolyard, Kathy Caskie, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Kelley St. John.

My editor, Karen Kosztolnyik, and my agent, Robin Rue, who make this so much fun.

As always, all mistakes are my own.

Philadelphia, Saturday, January 6

The first thing that hit Warren Keyes was the smell. Ammonia, disinfectant and something else. What else? Open your eyes, Keyes. He could hear his own voice echo inside his head and he struggled to lift his eyelids. Heavy. They were so heavy, but he fought until they stayed open. It was dark. No. There was a little light. Warren blinked once, then again with more force until a flickering light came into focus.

It was a torch, mounted on the wall. His heart started thudding hard in his chest. The wall was rock. Im in a cave. His heart began to race. What the hell is this? He lunged forward and white-hot pain speared down his arms to his back. Gasping, he fell back against something flat and hard.

He was tied. Oh God. His hands and feet were tied. And he was naked. Trapped. Fear rose from his belly, clawing his insides. He twisted like a wild animal, then fell back again, panting, tasting the disinfectant as he sucked in air. Disinfectant and

His breath hitched as he recognized the odor under the disinfectant. Something dead. Rotting. Something died here. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to panic. This isnt happening. This is just a dream, a nightmare. In a minute Ill wake up.

But he wasnt dreaming. This, whatever it was, was real. He was stretched out on a board on a slight incline, his wrists tied together and his arms pulled up and behind his head. Why? He tried to think, to remember. There was something a picture in his mind, just beyond his reach. He strained for the memory and realized his head ached-he winced as the pain sent little black spots dancing across his eyes. God, it was like a really bad hangover. But he hadnt been drinking. Had he?

Coffee. He remembered drinking coffee, his hands closing around the cup to get warm. Hed been cold. Hed been outside. Running. Why was he running? He rotated his wrists, feeling his raw skin burn, reaching until the tips of his fingers touched rope.

So youre finally awake.

The voice came from behind him and he craned his neck, trying to see. Then he remembered and the pressure on his chest lessened a fraction. It was a movie. Im an actor and we were making a movie. A history documentary. Hed been running with with what? He grimaced, focusing. A sword, thats it. Hed been in medieval costume, a knight with a helmet and shield even chain mail, for Gods sake. The entire scene came back now. Hed changed his clothes, even his underwear, for some scratchy, shapeless burlap that irritated his crotch. Hed had a sword, and hed carried it as he ran through the woods outside Munchs studio, yelling at the top of his lungs. Hed felt like a damn idiot, but hed done it all because it was in the damn script.

But this-he jerked at the ropes again with no success-this was not in the script.

Munch. Warrens voice was thick, grating on his dry throat. What the hell is this?

Ed Munch appeared to his left. I didnt think youd ever wake up.

Warren blinked as the dim light from the torch flickered across the mans face. His heart skipped a beat. Munch had changed. Before hed been old, shoulders stooped. White hair and a trim mustache. Warren swallowed, his breath shallow. Now Munch stood straight. His mustache was gone. So was his hair, his head shaved shiny bald.

Munch wasnt old. Dread coiled in his gut, seething and roiling. The deal was five hundred for the documentary. Cash if he came that day. Warren had been suspicious-it was a lot of money for a history documentary theyd show on PBS if he was lucky. But hed agreed. One odd old man was no threat.

But Munch wasnt old. Bile rose, choking him. What have I done? Close on the heels of that question came the next, more terrifying. What will he do to me?

Who are you? Warren croaked out and Munch held a bottle of water to his lips. Warren pulled away, but Munch grabbed his chin with surprising strength. His dark eyes narrowed and fear made Warren freeze.

Its just water this time, Munch ground out. Drink it.

Warren spat the mouthful of water back in the mans face and held himself rigid when Munch raised his fist. But the fist lowered and Munch shrugged.

Youll drink eventually. I need your throat moist.

Warren licked his lips. Why?

Munch disappeared behind him again and Warren could hear something rolling. A video camera, Warren saw when Munch rolled it past him, stopping about five feet away. The camera was pointing straight at his face. Why? Warren repeated, louder.