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Though it was dark in the foyer, he knew the location of every hazard. Where Madison dropped her knapsack. Where Luke kicked off his cleats after soccer practice. The pause he took to let his eyes adjust was a farewell.
To his world before it shattered.
But it was either his world, or the whole world.
And in control of that world was a commanding voice on the phone. The voice had been painfully clear about the requirements—and explicit about the consequences if instructions weren’t followed.
Chase had no reason to doubt the capabilities behind the voice. He’d seen ample proof already.
Girding himself, he climbed the stairs.
Chase entered the master bedroom first. He was startled to find his wife fully dressed in her work slacks and blouse and leaning back against a mountain of pillows, working on her laptop with papers stationed around her in ordered stacks.
He had been hoping, praying even, she’d be asleep.
She was staring down at the screen. The family joked that when Shay was working, she was on a seven-second delay. But now, as Chase stared at his beautiful wife of twenty years—her face clear of makeup, a pencil poking through the twist of dark hair on top of her head—Shay looked up.
She pled and shouted. Begged him to think of the children.
Nevertheless, he raised his gun.
“I’ll always love you, Shay.”
He fired twice. The noise was startling, like thunder erupting in their bedroom. Shay fell limp, one arm knocking her laptop to the side, a flailing leg kicking a stack of papers into the air.
In the silence following the gunshots, he heard stirring from the children’s bedrooms. Feet hitting the floor, concerned voices calling.
Tears streaming, Chase Weldon turned to finish the job.
Several Days Earlier
CHAPTER 1
THE WELL-DRESSED MAN watched the spectacle unfold on the field at the Nationals’ brand-new baseball stadium: Avalon Park in Southeast Washington, along the Capitol Riverfront. The bases were loaded when a slugger launched a ball into the upper decks, and as the runners now trotted down the third base line to home plate, the local fans were on their feet, railing first at the visiting team and then their own beleaguered pitcher.
The man sighed, resigned to the prospect of another losing game for the Nationals. Even the new stadium couldn’t help. He pulled out his phone and opened Twitter. He typed:
This umpire… think it’s time to bum-rush the field and beat on the brat with a baseball bat. #Wildcats #AvalonPark
He thought about it for a second more, then added a third hashtag to his tweet—#RamonesForever—and released it into the wilds of cyberspace.I may be provoking assault and battery, he thought,but I’m no plagiarist.
He noted the time, then slipped the phone back into his blazer and sat back to enjoy the late-April afternoon, if not the game. Against the crisp blue skies over the stadium, the manicured outfield shone neon green and the sandy clay infield glowed a rich brick-red. Colorful ads flashed from the LED displays that lined the stadium’s bowl, a welcome distraction from the action on the field.
He felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder.
“Sir, would you mind coming with us?”
The well-dressed man looked up into the stern face of a giant in a yellow ball cap and a matching yellow windbreaker. The large security guard loomed over him, blocking out the sun. A second guard, a younger, lanky man, stood beside him.
“Is there some sort of problem?” asked the man. “I’m minding my own business.”
“Just come along, sir.”
The well-dressed man felt the hot sensation of eyes on him. To the Nationals fans in his section he smiled and shrugged—no big deal—with the intent of turning their attention back to the losing game.
The two guards positioned him between them. The first guard led the way, the second followed behind. In a taut line, they descended the stairs to the concourse level, past several concession booths, to a security door.
The first guard punched in a passcode, and suddenly they wereinsidethe stadium. A warren of corridors led to a holding room. The second guard opened the door, revealing a lone table and chair, then peeled off to another location. The first guard gestured for the well-dressed man to sit.
