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  “You expect me to believe that?”

  Jodi held out the tape. “I recorded everything . . . including his attempt to cover it up.”

  Joey’s eyes widened. “Jodi, let me have that tape.”

  She laughed. “Excuse me?”

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’re in way over your head. If what you say is true, the only way I can protect your legal interests is to present that tape as evidence to our lawyers.”

  Jodi looked at Joey and then at the tape. There was no question Dr. Graham would probably sue. He was an out-of-control madman as far as she was concerned. And, on the other hand, why shouldn’t she trust Joey? Sure, maybe he had worked a sweet advertising deal with the clinic. That didn’t mean he was a crook. He certainly wasn’t in the same league as Dr. Graham.

  Jodi bit her lip and started to hand him the tape.

  In the back of her head, she heard Gus saying, Not the wrong people . . . give it to the right people.

  She stopped.

  “Jodi, give me the tape.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what? I think not . . . end of story.”

  Chapter 29 Thursday, 12:33 p.m.

  Through the window in his office, Joey watched as Jodi cleared her desk. She walked to the front door for the last time, head tilted down. He picked up the phone and placed a call to a private number he had been given.

  “It’s Joey.”

  “Where’s the cassette?”

  Joey said, “She has it. She refused to hand it over.”

  Dr. Graham swore. “Tell me. Has Gus mailed you . . . anything, recently?”

  “I haven’t seen today’s mail,” Joey said. “Hold on a minute.”

  “Make it quick; I haven’t got all day.”

  Joey raised an eyebrow. He put the doctor on hold and called for Marge.

  “Hey, Marge, any crazy notes from Gus lately?”

  She looked over the bridge of her glasses. “No. Not for you . . . Jodi got a small package.”

  “When?”

  “Just now. She’s probably got it with her,” Marge said. She placed a hand on her hip. “Listen, Joey, not that it’s my business, but she’s such a nice kid—”

  “Can’t talk now, Marge,” Joey said, ducking back into his office. He grabbed the phone. “I’m told Jodi got something from Gus today. Can’t say what it was.”

  “I see.”

  Joey had to ask. “Is there a problem?”

  Dr. Graham laughed. “Not anymore. By tonight, two rats will be sailing into the great beyond.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Joey asked.

  Another laugh. “Depends on your point of view,” Dr. Graham said and then hung up.

  Joey waited a moment and then reached over to click off a tape recorder of his own.

  The tears streaming down Jodi’s face stung. She’d never been fired from anything before. What would she tell her dad and mom? She remembered how they had been so proud of her for landing the job. How could she explain this?

  The fact that Joey wasn’t interested in hearing her side of things hurt deeply. She had admired his years of experience, his vision for the paper, and she enjoyed being on the team—as Joey had called it. So much for teamwork.

  And, after confronting Dr. Graham, to be fired today of all days, was a huge embarrassment.

  She had failed Faith, too. Jodi had hoped this story would somehow help Faith and Pastor Morton save their home. What chance did she have of doing that now?

  Jodi put the rest of her things in the backseat. When she closed the rear door, she noticed her back tire was as f lat as a pancake. She squatted down for a closer look and, within seconds, saw a two-inch gash in the sidewall.

  “Isn’t that just perfect,” she said to herself, reaching out to touch the wound.

  A male voice said, “Flat tire, Jodi?”

  Jodi recognized her name but not the voice. She looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun. The last thing she remembered was a large, thick hand holding a handkerchief against her mouth.

  She blacked out.

  “Looks like . . . the wrong people . . . found you.”

  Jodi’s eyes blinked open, but she remained in the dark. That voice. That smell. Both were strangely familiar. Gus? Was she dreaming? Was she dying? What had she done? Where was she, anyway? Why was she here?

  Did Gus do this to her? Nothing made sense.

  One by one, the various parts of her body reported in. Everything hurt. Her head pounded. Her neck, sore. Her arms, numb. Her legs, like pins and needles. Her ankles, tied with thick, hairy ropes, chaffed and swollen. Her wrists, bound together.

  In the darkness, she tried to speak. It was then that her mouth reported that a dirty rag, probably used to check someone’s oil before it was discarded, was now sandwiched between her teeth. At least the gag stuffed in her mouth wasn’t shoved down so far as to block off her ability to breathe.

  Still, her lungs felt raw, charred, and inf lamed as if they’d been left out in the sun too long without sunscreen. Jodi tried to push aside both her fears and the present discomfort to size up her situation—which, all signs indicated, was growing worse by the moment.

  Now, more alert, a new set of sensations registered. She heard the drone of an engine. She felt herself swaying about the same time she heard water lapping against the side of the wall behind her back.

  A boat? Whose boat? Where were they going?

  Gus spoke again, as if able to read her mind. “Vic’s boat . . . going to the ocean . . . to swim . . . a long swim. Miss Jodi . . . can you swim?”

  She knew she should be panicking, but she didn’t have the strength. In her mind she prayed, God, please . . . I really need you. She passed out again.

  Marge walked over to Joey’s office. “Knock, knock,” she said, standing in his doorway. With her left arm, she cradled her purse and a small yellow package.

  Joey hung up the phone and waved her in.

  “Actually, boss, it’s almost four o’clock,” Marge said, fiddling with an earring. “Yesterday, you said I could scoot by four. I got to go to my doctor’s office, remember?”

  Joey gave her a blank stare.

  “That means, I’m leaving now, okay?”

  Joey nodded and then reached for the phone. “Have fun.”

  “What’s fun about going to the doctor’s?” She turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing I almost forgot.”

  Joey looked back up. “I hope it makes my day.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Marge said. “But it looks like Jodi left this package from Gus in her bottom drawer. Want me to mail it to her?”

  His eyes widened. “Give it here. I’ll take care of that.”

  Marge handed him the package. As she left, she said over her shoulder, “If it’s chocolate, save me some.”

  “Marge,” he said, “if it’s what I think it is, I’ll buy you a whole case of Godiva.”

  Joey tore through the wrapping like a kid on Christmas Eve and retrieved a videotape. A low whistle escaped his lips. For a long moment he stared at it as if, like a mirage, the tape would suddenly vanish. “So, there really is a video?” he said under his breath. His heart began a happy dance in his chest.

  He swiveled around in his chair, faced a thirteen-inch TV/VCR combo unit, and shoved the tape into its mouth. The screen jumped to life. He adjusted the volume so as not to be overheard elsewhere in the building. He sat forward on the edge of his chair as the first images filled the monitor.

  The tape, he discovered, was seven minutes long. Seven of the most horrific minutes he’d ever witnessed in his life. He wiped the palms of his hands on his pants, ejected the tape, and shut off the system. For a full minute, Joey sat in silence.

  He reached for the phone and dialed a number.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got Gus’s videotape, Dr. Graham.”

  “How in the—”

  “I’d like to propose a deal,” Joey said, cutting him off. “Let’s
say it’s a limited-time offer.”

  “I don’t have time for games—”

  “Oh, this is not a game, I assure you,” Joey said.

  “If you think you can blackmail me—”

  “Again, Dr. Graham, you speak too hastily,” Joey said. “I fully intend to give it to you, no strings attached.”

  “Well, then, bring it over here—”

  Joey shook his head. “Now that’s going to be a problem, Vic. Can I call you Vic?”

  “You can call me whatever you want. Just get me that videotape.”

  “Fine. Here’s the deal. I want to meet you at your boat in, say, forty-five minutes?”

  Silence. Then, “Why there?”

  “Let’s just say I had such a good time,” Joey said, “I figured it would be fun to do an encore, Vic. Can I put you down for five o’clock, dockside?”

  “My time constraints are such that—”

  “Victor, I watched the tape,” Joey said. “If this falls into the wrong hands, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a ten-foot-square cell. End of story.”

  “Five it is,” Dr. Graham said.

  The line went dead in Joey’s ear. He dialed another number.

  “Nine-one-one operator. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  “I’d like to report a murder in progress.”

  Chapter 30 Thursday, 5:30 p.m.

  Jodi was awakened by a sharp pull of the duct tape that covered her mouth. Her surroundings blinked into focus. As the cobwebs in her mind melted away, she realized the man leaning over her was Joey. Like a cornered cat, Jodi hunched her back and tried to back away from him. She wanted to scream for help, but her throat was still too dry.

  “Listen, Jodi, everything is going to be all right,” Joey said, removing the bindings from around her wrists.

  A police officer, bending down as he walked into the compartment, appeared by Joey’s side.

  Jodi managed to swallow and then said, “He’s . . . one of them.”

  “Relax, Miss Adams. Everything is under control.”

  Her head snapped back and forth. “No . . . no . . . he and Dr. Graham . . . they . . .”

  The officer helped her up. “Come with me, ma’am.”

  “Keep him”—she pointed at Joey—“keep him away from me.”

  Joey followed two steps behind. “Listen, Jodi—”

  She ignored him. “Officer, where am I?”

  The policeman said, “This boat is registered to a Dr. Victor Graham, ma’am—and another thing. If Mr. Stephano here hadn’t called us, you and Gus Anderson would probably not have lived to see another day.”

  Jodi swallowed hard. “I don’t understand. My ex-boss,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “he’s got some little financial kickback scheme with Dr. Graham. He fired me because I was getting too close to the truth.”

  “Jodi, I don’t expect you to believe me, at least not right now,” Joey said. “The real reason I fired you was because I didn’t want you to blow my cover.”

  “Your cover? What in the world are you talking about?”

  Joey f lashed his white teeth. “About a month before you came to work for us, Gus stopped by with one of his little letters—”

  “Like the one I got?”

  “More or less,” Joey said. “He brought several different ones, each a slight variation of the others.”

  As the officer led the way off the boat and to the dock, Joey added, “Anyway, like I always say, follow your nose.” He tapped the side of his beak. “I dug around and started to find there was more fact than fiction in Gus’s story. Next thing I knew, you arrived on the scene and Gus gave you a letter like mine, with one big difference.”

  Jodi hooked her hair behind one ear.

  “In your letter,” Joey said, “he mentioned that he had a videotape of Dr. Graham suffocating a set of fully viable twins. Proof of a double homicide is enough to panic anyone—especially Dr. Graham.”

  “So,” Jodi said, “when I started nosing around the clinic, you thought it could blow things between you and Dr. Graham?”

  “Exactly.” Joey held out a series of photographs for Jodi to see.

  She f lipped through them one by one. “But, now, I don’t get it. These are pictures of you taking money from him. Like I said, you’re on the take.”

  “Jodi, I paid a photographer to shadow me. Call it a hunch, but I figured Dr. Graham might just try to inf luence our coverage. I also wanted to see how far he’d go to cover up this thing—”

  “Which is why Gus and I were about to go, like, swimming?”

  Joey nodded. “You got it.”

  “One question?”

  “Sure.”

  Jodi said, “What took you so long to get here?”

  “Things had to fall into place. You see that squad car over there?” he said, pointing to the parking lot.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re about to throw the book at Dr. Graham and his two thugs. Kidnapping and attempted murder,” Joey said. “You’re one lucky girl.”

  Jodi punched him lightly in the arm. “Luck had nothing to do with it. Let’s say it was a God thing. Oh, and, by the way, where’s Gus?”

  “He’s been rushed to Philadelphia Memorial Hospital,” Joey said. “When we found you, he’d already been there for at least a day and was pretty dehydrated.”

  “Gosh, will he make it?”

  “He’ll do fine. They actually have soap there that can clean up someone as filthy as Gus.”

  They laughed. “And another thing, Jodi. You’re a remarkable reporter.”

  That surprised her. “Do I get my job back?”

  “Better than that,” Joey said. “If you feel up to it, I’ll work with you tonight to write the cover story for tomorrow.”

  “For real?” Jodi grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye. “You mean it?”

  “Yup. End of story.”

  Chapter 31 Friday, 2:07 p.m.

  Stan bounded up the steps to Faith Morton’s home and, with a knuckle, rapped three times on the screen door. In the other hand he held a bouquet of f lowers. A folded-up copy of the newspaper was tucked under his arm. Pastor Morton came to the door carrying a cup of coffee.

  “Stan, I see you haven’t forgotten where we live.”

  “Hey, Pastor. I’ve got great news . . . I mean, seriously rockin’ news.”

  He sipped his coffee, then cleared his throat. “I’m unfamiliar with ‘seriously rockin’ news,’ but come in and we’ll give a listen,” Pastor Morton said, holding open the door.

  Stan couldn’t contain himself. “Can I tell Faith at the same time?”

  “Whatever this news is, son, I hope it’s contagious. We sure could use a lift around here,” Pastor Morton said. He motioned to Stan to follow him down a short hall. “Honey, you up for some company? Stan’s here.”

  A pause, then Faith said, “Okay, come in.”

  Faith lay in bed, propped up against the headboard. An open Bible rested on a pillow across her lap. The color in her skin had returned, and her hair was damp but combed as if she was just out of the shower.

  Stan crossed over to her bedside and extended the f lowers. “From us.”

  “Gosh, how sweet, Stan . . . but who’s us?”

  “I’m not sure how well you know Jodi Adams and Heather Barnes from school—”

  “Sort of.”

  “Anyway, they’ve been praying for you—correction, we’ve been praying for you—”

  “Me?”

  Stan smiled. “Ever since you went into the hospital.”

  “So, Stan,” Pastor Morton said, standing on the opposite side of the bed. “What’s this, as you say, “rockin’ news” all about?”

  “Right. It’s just this. . . . Read it for yourself.”

  Stan unfolded a copy of the Montgomery Times newspaper and placed it on Faith’s lap. The headline, in three-inch, bold-faced type, read: BLACK FRIDAY.

  Faith picked it up and started to read. “‘When Fa
ith Morton walked into the Total Choice Medi-Center, she thought she was in good hands. Nothing could have been further from the truth. For Faith, that Friday was the day her nightmare began and will probably always be remembered as Black Friday.’” Faith put down the newspaper for a second. She looked at Stan and then her dad. “No way . . . oh my gosh . . . this is about me? About that whacko doctor?”

  “Isn’t it awesome?” Stan said. “Jodi, with some help from her boss, wrote the story.”

  “Very cool,” Faith said, skimming through the article.

  Pastor Morton adjusted his glasses. “Stan, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Wait ’til I tell you the best part,” Stan said. He reached over the bed, f lipped to page two, and then pointed. “Here. At the end. The editor told Jodi it would be cool to let readers donate money to help you pay for those medical bills.”

  Faith blinked. “I’m so shocked. Look, Daddy, maybe we won’t have to sell the house.” She held the section up for him to read.

  “I don’t get it,” Pastor Morton said, visibly touched. “Why are they doing all of this for us?”

  “I guess it’s a human interest story or whatever,” Stan said. “Okay, that, plus Jodi and I have been praying for some kind of miracle—”

  Faith put a hand on Stan’s arm. “It’s so weird to hear you talk about praying.”

  Stan laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m still getting used to it myself. But, we’ve been praying for something else, too.”

  Faith raised an eyebrow.

  Stan scratched the end of his chin. “See, Faith, we’ve been praying that your name would be more than just a name. It would be something you have inside.”

  Faith raised a finger. “Hold on. I think I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t want you to say another word, Stan.”

  Stan blushed. “I . . . I didn’t mean to be—”

  “Shh,” Faith said. She turned to her dad. “Dad, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this past week. Since that’s, like, about all you can do in the hospital, besides watching TV.”