The Lazarus Trap by Davis Bunn Page A

his feet and went back to the counter. “Can I print something out?”
    The guy still refused to glance his way. “Dollar a page.”
    â€œFine.”
    The server keyed his register. “Just hit print. The pages come out back here.”
    Val returned to his keyboard and clicked on the print button without looking directly at the letter. He wanted to read the rest of what Audrey had to say. He had to. But not now.
    Val stood by the register, keeping himself close enough to ensure the clerk would not take time to read. But the guy showed no more interest in the pages than he had in Val. Val paid and returned to the computer and began the process of shutting down.
    The screen showed an instant-message e-board. The message struck him with five furious bullets.
    You vile, despicable, evil worm.
    The return address was the same as the letter stowed in his pocket. Before he could gather himself to respond, Audrey shot another assault.
    Here, let me help. You stole Val’s password in one of your noc-turnal forays. And now you’re checking things out. Making sure there’s nothing to tie you to your appalling deeds. But I know. I know.
    Val felt the yawning gap of all he wanted to leave behind. The prospect of becoming reconnected kept him unable to respond.
    The screen blasted through one more blow.
    Murderer.
    Val took a sharp intake of breath. His hands moved from his heart’s volition. He typed in, It’s me, Audrey.
    He sat and waited. He could see her now, the strong features and piercing ice-blue gaze. The hair of burnished copper, which she hated because of its impossible waves. The direct manner of speech, the overlarge mouth, the features that were sparked to animation by the slightest hint of emotion.
    Like the anguish he had caused her any number of times.
    The screen remained blank. So he typed in, Really. It’s me. Val.
    Another long pause, then, You’re not dead?
    The world thinks so. I intend to keep it that way.
    The screen slapped him again.
    Oh, Val, Val, you terrible beast of a man, I have wept for twenty solid hours. Couldn’t you possibly have let me know? Is that so very much to ask?
    Audrey, I’ve had an accident. I— She broke through with yet another question. Where are you?
    New York.
    You can’t possibly.
    Yes.
    Val, listen to me. Hide yourself.
    You are the only person who knows I’m alive.
    You have to get out of there. Out of the country, if possible. Come here, if you can, but don’t travel under your own name. Can you do that?
    Why?
    The answer was slow in coming.
    Because my brother thinks he has killed you. And if he learns you’re alive, he will try again.

AS THEY DROVE AWAY FROM VAL’S, TERRANCE TURNED HIS CELL phone back on. The message signal began flashing almost instantly. Terrance scrolled through a number of calls from financial players. He said, “Two o’clock in the morning and I’m still fielding calls from Wall Street.”
    â€œBound to happen. People wired into breaking news want to check our pulse before the markets open.” Passing headlights reflected off Don’s face as if his features were sprayed with oil. “I’m thinking we should head back to the office, camp out there.”
    Terrance gave a mental shrug. He would not sleep much wherever he lay down. He continued to scroll through his messages, then stopped. He recognized the former policewoman’s voice with the very first word. “I got something with explosive potential. Call me.”
    He pressed the phone to his chest. How should he play this? He had seen Don at work. But he was not Don.
    â€œWhat’s up?”
    â€œWally wants a word.” He pushed the redial button.
    She answered on the first ring. “Don?”
    â€œNo. Terrance here.”
    â€œA change like this,” the woman declared, “is a very bad idea.”
    Suzanne Walton had been a highflier in the Baltimore police force until