The Quickie

I found my moped in the near-empty parking lot. I put on my flip-flops, then helmet. Safety first. I nodded at a couple of fishermen who looked familiar, swerved around wolf-whistling, sun-browned surfers in a canary-yellow convertible, and hit the winding beach road toward town.

Fu

The FedEx package had arrived three months to the day after Paul's death. Inside was a letter. It was typed on expensive stationery, the letterhead from an attorney of the Cayman Islands Trust Bank.

Paul had left the stolen money plus interest, $1,257,000.22 – in my name.

Didn't matter, I still wasn't ready to forgive him.

I was tempted to turn it in, maybe give it to some charity. But by then I was coming along, and there's nothing like a baby's kick to make you realize it isn't about you anymore. I did send two hundred fifty thousand of the money to the Thayer family, but that was just me doing the right thing. Doing the best I could, anyway.

I pulled into the short drive of a glass house perched on a cliff above the beach. With its leaking roof and rusty sliders, it was more glass trailer than house, but you couldn't beat the view, or the privacy.

I left my bike helmet on as I ran inside. I needed to check in on the man in my life.

My baby boy exploded into giggles as I knelt in front of his snuggly bouncer. How do you like that? I was still a sucker for younger men.

His name was Thomas. After my dad, who else?

A Spanish woman clucked at me from the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing here, Miss Lauren?" she said. "You can't miss your first day of work."

"I just thought I'd give Tommy one more kiss and a hug," I said.

She pointed at the front door.

"Basta," she said. "You may come back for lunch. And to see Thomas. Now, vámonos."

Chapter 117

MY OFFICE SPACE was only ten minutes away, just above a popular bar on a busy tourist street.

I climbed the stairs and undid my chin strap as I gaped at the new "Paradise Investigations" sign above the weathered door. This is good. Looks right, feels right.

I went back down the stairs and into the bar – wading my way through the jungle path of tikis and palms.

The bartender turned the page of last Sunday's New York Daily News and looked up at me.

My old partner, Mike Ortiz, rolled his eyes before he smiled broadly – the only way Mike can smile.

"Hey, gumshoe," he said. "Aren't you supposed to be shadowing some nasty hombre, or something like that? And what did I tell you about my aunt Rosa? If you keep going back home, she'll think you don't trust her with little Thomas."

We could have been sitting next to each other in our old squad car, except Mike was wearing a Hawaiian shirt that looked like it might require batteries. He seemed to have adjusted pretty well to life after The Job, anyway.

He'd told me to look him up, and that's what I did. It wasn't like I had anywhere else to go. Besides, Mike was just about the only honest man I knew. And actually kind of cute, I was starting to notice.

"I saw your new shingle upstairs," Mike said. "Real nice. Except you do know this is a Spanish-speaking country, don't you? How much business do you think you're going to get with a sign in English?"

"As little as possible, dummy," I said, stealing the Style section. "What does a girl have to do to get a cup of joe around here?"

"Let me think about it," Mike said, "while I get you that coffee."

Then Mike added, apropos of nothing really, "You're doing real good, Lauren. You and Thomas."

I blushed down to my toes. I guess I'm just not used to compliments yet.

About the Authors

JAMES PATTERSON is one of the best-known and best-selling writers of all time. He is the author of the two top-selling new detective series of the past decade: the Alex Cross novels, including Cross, Mary, Mary, London Bridges, Kiss the Girls, and Along Came a Spider; and the Women's Murder Club series, including 1st to Die, 2nd Chance, 3rd Degree, 4th of July, The 5th Horseman, and The 6th Target. He has written many other #1 bestsellers, including Suza