Excerpts

Pete Stanton figured he was the poorest person in the room. Of course, it was always possible that he was wrong. Maybe the servants had been allowed to attend, since it was their boss who was being eulogized. Having had no experience with servants, Pete was not in a position to venture an educated guess about that. And if he asked the guys at the precinct, chances are they wouldn't know either. One after another the speakers spoke about what a wonderful woman Katherine Reynolds was, and what a caring and compassionate life she led. She was a philanthropist, and a litany of charities that benefitted from her largesse were cited. Jokes were told about her eccentricities and unique character traits, but all were gentle and ultimately meant to praise. This was a memorial service, not a roast. The deceased had died weeks earlier, and the funeral had been small and private. This was a chance for everyone else to pay their respects. Based on the speeches, Katherine Reynolds was a woman without a flaw, and Pete figured that's how it should be. If you're not coming back, you should get a good send-off. Pete looked over at Katherine's husband, Carson Reynolds, stone-faced as he listened, dabbing occasionally at his eyes. He was trying to read something in Reynolds's face, but there was nothing there to read. Certainly Pete had no way of knowing that Carson Reynolds was the happiest man in the place. The happiest woman, also undetected by Pete, was actually sitting just three rows away from him. Her name was Susan Baird, and she herself was less than a year a widow. Having known Katherine Reynolds quite well, she knew that at least seventy percent of the spoken praise was total bullshit, and the rest hyperbole. But her death moved Baird up the ladder from mistress to girlfriend, so she was fine with whatever might be said at this service. Pete had already decided that there was nothing for him to learn when he felt his cell phone vibrate. He saw that it was a text message from Danny Diaz, and it was marked "urgent." He got up and left the service. No one seemed to notice or care. "We have to leave," Danny Diaz said. He was trying to say it as casually as he could, but he knew that his son, Ricky, would see through it. Ricky was just eight years old, but it had been at least three years since Danny was able to fool him. "Where are we going?" Ricky asked. "I'm not sure. On a trip, like a vacation." "When?" "Now. Right now." He was trying to keep his voice calm; there was no reason to transfer his anxiety to his son. "We going to see Mom?" Danny didn't know how to respond to that; he certainly didn't want to get Ricky's hopes up if things didn't work out. "I'm not sure yet, Rick. You know where your suitcase is?" "In the closet." "Okay. Well, put as many of your clothes in it that can fit, all right? Can you do that for me right away?" "Can I take some toys?" "Just a couple. We want to keep room for clothes." Ricky pointed. "Can Sebastian come?" He was referring to their six-year-old basset hound, sleeping soundly on a doggie bed against the wall. While Ricky was sensitive to increased energy levels in the house, Sebastian was unmoved by it, or pretty much anything else. Danny had forgotten about Sebastian. "We'll come back for him," he said, with no conviction whatsoever. Ricky saw through the lie and shook his head. "I'm not going without Sebastian." "Okay. Sebastian can come." Ricky began to gather his things, throwing a couple of Sebastian's toys into the bag as well. He instinctively knew that they were not coming back, though he had no idea why. Danny went down the hall to his own room to do the same. Ricky heard the doorbell ring, and for some reason it worried him. Moments later, Danny came into the room. "You okay in here?" "Yeah, Dad. Who's at the door?" "I'll see. But meanwhile, you stay in the room, and don't make a sound, okay?" "Why?" "Just do this for me, Ricky. Not a sound, and don't come out until I tell you to." "Dad..." But Danny was gone, closing the door behind him. It was probably just three minutes, though it seemed much longer, before Ricky heard the two really loud sounds. They sounded like firecrackers, the ones he heard last July Fourth, when he and his mom and dad had gone to the park. These sounds were so loud that they even woke up Sebastian, who looked around, puzzled, and then nodded off again. Another five minutes went by, and Ricky didn't hear anything, though he had his ear pressed against the door. His father had told him not to come out of the room, but that was an edict that couldn't last forever, could it? So Ricky waited five more minutes, and then opened the door slowly, and went to the top of the steps, looking down. "Dad?" No answer, no sound, no sign of his father. So he took another few steps down, calling out again, but not getting a response. So Ricky went down a little farther, and peered around the landing. He was only eight years old, but what he saw then would stay with him if he lived to be a hundred. And like any eight-year-old would do in that situation, he ran back upstairs, and started to cry. Copyright © 2014 by Tara Productions, Inc. Excerpted from Hounded by David Rosenfelt All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.