HONEYMOON

BY JAMES PATTERSON
HOWARD ROUGHAN

HONEYMOON-JAMES PATTERSON-July 7, 2002 Page 1

PART ONE

One
Interior decorator, Nora Sinclair, never met an open space she couldn’t make
beautiful. Including her empty suitcase. As she packs it to perfection with neatly
folded clothes she hears a playful voice over her shoulder telling her not to go.
It’s Gordon Brown, her former client. And current lover. He’s sexy, cocky, and a
very successful investment banker. A boyish forty to her girlish thirty-five. “You
travel too much,” he tells Nora with a sigh. “This from a man with a million
frequent flier miles,” she shoots back with a smile. Nora and Gordon continue
their quick banter, funny and loving. We like them. They’re good together—and
not just when they’re standing up. A minute later the two engage in some terrific,
earth-moving sex. It makes us feel great, horny, and envious.

Two
It also makes Gordon very hungry. So afterward, Nora cooks him a juicy burger
that would do Smith & Wollensky proud. As they sit together in plush robes at
the kitchen table of Gordon’s Westchester estate, they gaze into each other’s
eyes. Gordon says he’s never been happier, and Nora agrees. “Then what’s
stopping us?” he says. “You’ve already got more clothes here than I do!” Nora
laughs. “Is that your idea of a proposal?” Gordon reaches into the pocket of his
robe and removes a small Tiffany box. He drops to one knee. “No,” he says.
“This is my idea of a proposal.” The ring is huge. It sparkles bright. And so
does Nora. “Yes, yes, yes!” she sings out. “I’ll marry you Gordon Brown!” They
hug and kiss and celebrate with a bottle of Dom Perignon. “A toast to happily
ever after,” says Gordon. Soon, Nora’s limo arrives. She laughs and shakes her
head. “The best day of my life and I’ve got to go see a client. Can you believe
that?”

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Three
Late that afternoon, Nora arrives at a spectacular brownstone in Boston’s Back
Bay. On the doorstep, she removes Gordon’s engagement ring and puts on
another one. She lets herself inside, and then calls out from the foyer, “Avon
Lady calling. You awake? You better be awake, Mr. Walker!” A tall, handsome
man comes out of his den carrying a thick manuscript. It’s Jeffrey Walker,
former client and fiancé number two. He’s in his late thirties, cerebral yet
charming. A wealthy, best-selling author of historical fiction. Nora drags him
back into the den and makes love to him on his favorite leather couch. The
reader gets horny all over again. Nora and Jeffrey make a fantastic couple—it’s
a great relationship from the look of things. Après sex, Nora cooks Jeffrey a big
juicy burger in her bra and panties. They talk wedding dates.

Four
That night, Nora lies in bed waiting for Jeffrey to fall asleep beside her. Finally,
she hears that little whistling sound he makes. He’s officially out. And up gets
Nora. She tip toes down the hall to his study and sits down behind his desk.
Under the dim light of a lamp she turns on his computer. Like a pro, she begins
typing. Numbers and letters. Quickly and quietly. Just as she seems to find
what she’s looking for . . . Click! The room lights up. Jeffrey stands at the
doorway in his boxers. “Nora, it’s 2 A.M., what are you doing?” She doesn’t
flinch. “I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d check my e-mails.” He
shakes his head and smiles. “You never stop working, do you? You’re worse
than me. Now come back to bed.” Nora says she’ll be right there. As Jeffrey
leaves she closes the file she was looking at. “First Bank of the Bahamas,”
reads the heading. What’s Nora up to?

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Five
The next day, Nora arrives home to Manhattan and her huge penthouse loft in
SoHo. Its ultra-modern design couldn’t be more different than Gordon’s estate in
Westchester or Jeffrey’s brownstone in Boston. It’s filled with the things she
loves and collects—without concern for the needs of anyone else. Nora opens a
bottle of pinot grigio and pours herself a glass. She unpacks her suitcase,
making a neat pile for the dry cleaner. So meticulous. Then she takes care of
some Man Maintenance. She places calls to Gordon and Jeffrey, saying just the
right things to both of them.

Six
After her second glass of wine, Nora draws a bath. She slips into the soft, bead-
laced water and rests her head back. Her eyes close. It’s absolute bliss. But
then her eyes snap open. There’s shouting coming from the living room. Nora
gets up and walks quietly down the hall, peering around the corner. There, a
man and a woman are engaged in a heated argument. “You can’t have her!”
screams the woman. “Over my dead body will you come back here after all
these years and take her away!” The man begins to laugh. “Over your dead
body, huh? That I could live with.” The woman, more irate now, storms over to
a closet and removes a painted blue box high on the shelf. She flips it open and
takes out a gun, her hands trembling. Then Nora watches in horror as her
mother pumps three bullets into her father’s chest. In the sudden quiet of the
apartment, Nora begins to cry. Her mother turns and sees her. “Go back to bed,
honey,” she calmly tells her little girl. “It’s all just a bad dream.”

Seven
The phone ringing jolts Nora awake from her bath. Teary-eyed and a little
dazed, she answers “Hello?” on the nearby portable. It’s her best friend, Alison,
confirming dinner that night with the girls. An hour later she meets up with them
at Pico in TriBeCa. They eat, they drink, they laugh, they gossip. Nora’s at ease
now and it’s clear that she loves her independence. What’s amazing is how her

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friends, who think they know Nora so well, hardly know her at all. And that’s just
how Nora wants it. She’s always strategically forthcoming about her life—
revealing little in a way that sounds like she’s revealing a lot.

Eight
After dinner, Nora returns to her loft. She’s buzzed but still in control. Always.
She gets into bed with a scrapbook and flips through some newspaper clippings.
A couple of stories and an obituary for a previous lover, Dr. Richard Hollis. “Top
Doc Dies in Medicine Mix-Up,” declared the Post. Nora closes the scrapbook as
her thoughts turn to the new men in her life. Gordon and Jeffrey. She compiles
a quick mental list of how much she enjoys being with them both . . . equally.
The laughs, the sex, the very large lifestyles. It’s such a tough decision. But with
a nod of the head Nora makes up her mind. She knows exactly which one she’s
going to kill first.

Nine
The next day, Nora goes shopping for a client at ABC Carpet & Home. She may
be an interior decorator with ulterior motives, but she sure does know her trade.
Nora is clearly blessed with good taste and an eye for quality.

Ten
On a Friday at dusk, a Lincoln Town Car pulls into Gordon’s Belgium block
driveway. The hired driver steps out to open the door for Nora but it’s Gordon
who gets there first. He’s that anxious to see her. And by the way Nora jumps
into his arms and straddles him with her legs, the feeling would appear to be
mutual. As the driver shakes his head and grabs Nora’s luggage from the trunk,
the two lovebirds are all over each other. “You’re insatiable,” Gordon says. “And
aren’t you the lucky one,” retorts Nora.

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Eleven
She didn’t think she’d be quite so nervous. But it’s been a while since Nora’s
done this. Mostly to ease her own tension, she lets Gordon take her to the
bedroom and they have sex. Then she cooks him an omelet. She’s really
having butterflies. Before he even finishes his eggs, Gordon tells her that he’s
feeling sick, really sick. Nora has to help him to the bathroom. She makes him
drink a fizzy concoction. Within seconds, Gordon violently convulses and dies
right there in the bathroom.

Twelve
Nora leaves Gordon on the bathroom floor, goes to the kitchen, and fixes herself
a stiff drink. She carefully washes out the glass that held the fizzy concoction
with the poison she used to murder Gordon. Then it’s showtime. Nora calls 911
and delivers a panicked, jumbled, and thoroughly convincing cry for help. When
an ambulance arrives she is equally as compelling in person. No doubt about it.
Nora is a great little actress.

Thirteen
As Gordon is pronounced dead on the scene, police arrive to file a report. Nora
gives a command performance of grief and disbelief. “He had just proposed to
me!” she sobs. The police listen with sympathetic ears, take their requisite
notes, and have a look around. It’s clear they don’t suspect a thing, especially
when Nora overhears a bit of their conversation. “Shit out of luck,” says one of
the cops. “The chick was thisclose to grabbing the brass ring.” The second cop
nods and stifles a smirk. “Yeah, and then the brass ring drops dead.”

Fourteen
The EMS guys, the police, the morgue wagon—they’ve all left. Nora is finally
alone in Gordon’s house. Calmly, she walks to his study and boots up his
computer. In no time she’s logged on to a private numbered account at the
“International Bank of Zurich.” She types in Gordon’s name and his seven digit

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security code. “Desired transaction?” the screen asks. Nora clicks on the
second box listed: TRANSFER. With a few more codes and access numbers,
millions of Gordon’s untaxed and untraceable money is deposited in her own
offshore account. Nora makes her second killing of the day.

Fifteen
The following afternoon, Nora is called by one of the cops who came to the
house. He’s heard from the County Coroner’s office where an autopsy has been
performed on Gordon. Congestive heart failure at age forty. What a tragedy.

Sixteen
Gordon’s sister flies in from Virginia for the funeral. Other than her, he had no
other surviving family. The estate is settled. Naturally, Gordon’s last will and
testament pre-dated Nora. Most of his assets go to the sister with the rest
earmarked for charities. Poor Nora. She gets nothing. The sister, who at first
feared Nora would contest, is now apologetic. She tells Nora to use the house a
while. She’s in no rush to sell it. “And keep the furnishings. After all, that’s what
brought you and Gordon together in the first place.”

Seventeen
Nora stands on the front steps of Gordon’s home and watches as his sister
leaves for her return trip to Virginia. The woman is clueless to Nora’s game. As
is everyone else. “No red flags. Only a checkered one,” thinks Nora, her heart
racing with excitement. She’s one smart girl. And now an even richer one.
“You’re my queen,” Gordon was fond of saying. Soon, in keeping with her grand
plan, she’ll be living like a real one.

Eighteen
Nora turns to head back into the house but not before looking over at the
hedges. She thought she heard something. Click! Click! Click! There it is
again. She stares and sees nothing, though. Probably a bird, she decides. As

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she takes the last step into the house the Nikon D1-X Digicam chirps one last
time from its perch in the hedges. Yes, indeed. Nora Sinclair isn’t the only one
with a grand plan.

PART TWO

Nineteen
In a small insurance agency office, Craig Reynolds sits at his desk sifting through
pictures of Nora from his digicam. The place looks kind of dismal, and so does
he. He finally calls his boss, Susan, on his cell phone. He usually calls her a
few times a day. “I need you to be a sounding board. So how do I sound?” he
asks. He’s speaking in a pretty thick New York accent. He tells her a very funny
story, in which he uses a couple of different accents. “You’ll do just fine,” Susan
says. “That’s why we picked you for the job. You’re an original and you have an
excellent plan.” Craig chuckles at her omission. “. . . Plus, I’m no longer on
probation.” “Yeah, that too,” she admits. “Seriously, thanks for the vote of
confidence, Suze.” “Yeah, well, I’m still your biggest fan.” We get that feeling.

Twenty
Nora visits her mother who is now at a psychiatric facility in upstate New York.
Two nurses sitting at their station watch her arrive. The younger one, new to the
ward, inquires about the mother’s background. The older nurse, a long time
staffer named Ms. Emily Barrows, fills her in. She explains that after the mother
served her first few years in jail for killing her husband, she slowly but surely
began to lose her grip on reality. Nearly thirty years later and she barely knows
her own name. “That’s nice that the daughter comes to visit, though,” says the
younger nurse. “I suppose,” replies Emily Barrows.

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Twenty-one
“Hello, mother,” says Nora. “It’s your daughter.” But unfortunately it could be the
Tooth Fairy for all this poor woman knows. Still, Nora is very sweet with her.
She brushes her hair and holds her hand. This side of Nora is so incongruous
with her murderous ways and yet, given her childhood trauma, the reader begins
to understand the paradox.

Twenty-two
Craig Reynolds is cleaning the lens of his Nikon digicam for the third time in
twenty minutes. Revved up and impatient, he’s sitting in a BMW sedan parked
on the street in front of Gordon Brown’s Westchester estate. Craig never did like
stakeouts. Not back in the day when he was a rogue cop, and certainly not now
in his new career. Finally, Nora arrives in a red convertible. Gordon’s Mercedes.
He’s only been dead for two weeks but, hey, the car drives great. As Nora starts
to unload some groceries, Craig quickly crosses the big front lawn and
introduces himself. He manages the local field office for Centennial One Life
Insurance. He says they spoke once on the phone, but she might not
remember. She doesn’t. “What’s this about?” Nora asks him. “It’s about the 1.9
million dollar insurance policy on Mr. Brown.” Nora looks at him blankly. “You
mean you don’t know about it?” asks Craig. She shakes her head. “Then you
also don’t know this. You’re listed as the sole beneficiary, Ms. Sinclair.”

Twenty-three
Nora invites Craig Reynolds inside. She’s noticed that he’s very intense, and if
he wasn’t such a bad dresser, and didn’t have such a heavy New York accent,
he’d be kind of attractive. His car is pretty nice too. “I don’t understand,” she
says. “Gordon had plenty of money and no wife or kids. He’d never bother with
life insurance.” Craig explains that it was a policy provided by Gordon’s firm—a
perk, and a fairly new one at that. “That probably explains why Mr. Brown put
you down as the beneficiary.” Nora thinks for a moment. This certainly wasn’t
part of her plan but for an added windfall of 1.9 million, she’s not about to

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complain. “So when will the payout be made?” she asks. “Well, you see, that’s
why I’m here, Ms. Sinclair. There’s a little bit of a problem.”

Twenty-four
Nora doesn’t like what she hears but doesn’t show it. She begins to put away
her groceries and Craig even helps out. He explains that while his field office
services the policy (and was chosen on the basis of proximity to the client) it’s
the home office in Chicago that calls the shots. Says Craig, “The thing is,
they’ve decided to investigate the claim because of Mr. Brown’s relatively young
age.” He tells Nora that a man by the name of John O’Hara will probably be
assigned to the investigation. “Supposedly, he’s a hardass, but I’ll see what I
can do to speed things along for you.” Nora is thankful. Craig Reynolds is
bending over to be nice.

Twenty-five
The next morning, Nora is loading her suitcase into her newly adopted
convertible. The color red suits her, she decides. As she closes the trunk she
notices that guy from the insurance agency watching from his car. Rollins? No,
Reynolds, she remembers. Nora walks over to him and Craig disarms her like a
bomb squad expert—he’s so incredibly nice. And he is cute. He says he has
good news. John O’Hara, the man from the home office in Chicago, has
definitely been put on the case but he said that there should be a resolution
soon. Nora looks at Craig. “Is that it?” She’s a little confused about why this
guy came out to the house again. “I just thought you’d want to know,” he says.
He nods toward the convertible. “Taking a trip?” Nora tells him about having a
client down in Florida and takes off.

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Twenty-six
Craig returns to his car and calls in to his boss, Susan. He tells her that he’s met
the enemy and she’s an incredible piece of work. Susan says, “If anybody can
bring her down, it’s you.” That is definitely Craig’s plan.

Twenty-seven
Nora’s not more than two blocks away from having said good-bye to Craig
Reynolds when she turns around. She’s the suspicious type and knows that
everything in this world is not always as it seems. Take her, for instance. Nora
heads back hoping to catch Craig leaving. There’s something not quite right
about him. When she sees his car up ahead, still in front of Gordon’s home, she
pulls over. While waiting to follow him, she reaches for her cell phone and calls
Jeffrey in Boston. Bogged down by another demanding client, she tells him.
She’ll have to delay her arrival up there until tomorrow. Jeffrey is disappointed.
He shouldn’t be. He gets to live to see another day.

Twenty-eight
This guy could really use some excitement in his life, thinks Nora. She tails
Craig back to his office and then to a two-bit diner soon thereafter where he has
lunch. Later, he drops some laundry off at the cleaners, returns a movie rental,
and gets his oil changed on his car. That night, it’s dinner in another two-bit
diner and a bad foreign film at the art movie theater in Pleasantville. Craig’s last
stop is his condo in a nondescript complex. Nora watches him go inside and,
after another minute, drives off. Satisfied.

Twenty-nine
Craig grabs a Coors Light from his fridge, sits down on his slip-covered couch,
and picks up the phone. He dials. “What’d I tell you, Boss,” he says to Susan
the second she answers. “Nora followed me all day long.” Craig stands and

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goes to the window and takes a furtive peek out front. “Yeah, she’s gone now,”
he says, taking another big swig from his beer. “Starting tomorrow it’s my turn!”

Thirty
The next day, Nora heads off to Boston. As usual, she travels first class. It’s a
great way to meet interesting, wealthy men, and this trip would seem to be the
perfect example. Sitting in the window seat next to her is a man named Blake
Donaldson. Tan and wearing a collarless shirt, he tells Nora about his software
company and how he took it public last year. “How exciting!” she tells him. Then
she gets down to business. She talks innocently about reading an article that
said a lot of savvy people were hiding money in offshore accounts. “Do people
really do this?” she asks, with a convincing naïveté. “Guilty as charged,”
whispers back Blake. Ten minutes later, she indoctrinates him into the Mile High
Club. Blake Donaldson is officially next in line for Nora.

Thirty-one
Meanwhile . . . Craig Reynolds is following her. He’s sitting back where the wine
comes in tiny bottles with twist-off tops. Coach. He’s been careful not to be
spotted by Nora, donning a pretty decent disguise. This should get interesting
now. What’s in Boston?

Thirty-two
Craig wonders who the man in the collarless shirt is getting a kiss on the cheek
by Nora outside the arrival gate at Logan. “The guy sure looks happy, though,”
he says to himself. Twenty minutes later, Craig is in his rental car following Nora
in hers. A song plays on the radio: “Head Games” by Foreigner. Suddenly, in
the Callahan Tunnel, he loses her. Or did she lose him? Craig slams his fist into
the dashboard several times. He pulls over and calls Susan. “Fuck me, I lost
her!” he says. He hangs up, gets out on the side of the road, and paces for a
moment. Then . . . POW! He punches out a side window of his rental car.

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Thirty-three
Nora isn’t absolutely certain someone is following her, but she thinks so. Or is it
just paranoia? She goes to the Back Bay apartment, where Jeffrey is working
away on his latest novel. Somehow, someway, she lures him to the bedroom.
They work up quite the appetite.

Thirty-four
Nora cooks omelets, which she and Jeffrey eat out on the secluded patio behind
the brownstone. They talk about how hard they both work and Jeffrey suggests
a long vacation in Tuscany. “We’ll rent a villa—better yet, we’ll buy a villa!” he
says. “After all, life is for the living.” Oh, the irony. And oh, what a shade of
green suddenly comes over him. Nora runs and gets Jeffrey a fizzy concoction.
He drinks it and dies within a minute.

Thirty-five
Nora takes a moment to finish her glass of pinot grigio before stepping over
Jeffrey to head inside and carefully wash out the glass that held the fizzy
concoction and poison. Then it’s showtime . . . again. Nora calls 911 and when
an ambulance arrives, she’s inconsolable. With this performance the EMS
techies actually get tears in their eyes. Of course, Red Sox fans in Boston are
rather used to crying.

Thirty-six
A couple of hours later and Nora finally has her privacy. She walks to Jeffrey’s
library and turns on the computer. While she waits for it to boot up, she pulls out
a drawer from his partner desk. Underneath it is where he kept his codes. After
a host of keystrokes, Nora hits ‘TRANSFER’ and sits back in the chair. In a few
minutes she’ll not only be able to buy a villa in Tuscany, but also a vineyard to go
with it. She lets go with a devilish smile when suddenly a voice calls out from the
hallway. “Is there anyone here?”

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Thirty-seven
Shit! Nora anxiously gets up from the computer where Jeffrey’s money remains
in cyber-limbo. She goes to the door and practically runs into her unexpected
visitor. It’s Elaine Lippman, Jeffrey’s editor. In tears, the middle-aged woman
explains that she came rushing over after a reporter with a police scanner called
about Jeffrey’s death. “The front door was open and I—wait, I’m sorry, who are
you?” Nora introduces herself, her voice cracking. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” says
Elaine. “This is just awful. I didn’t mean to barge in on you at such a horrible
time.” Then Elaine shows her true colors. She’s come with a blank disk to get
the latest version of Jeffrey’s manuscript. “It’s what he would’ve wanted,” she
says. As Elaine makes a move toward the computer, Nora acts fast. And what
acting it is. “How dare you!” she screams. “Have you no fucking shame?!” With
a few more expletives, a cowering Elaine Lippman is shown the door. Nora’s not
about to be exposed by some crass book editor!

Thirty-eight
Jeffrey’s funeral. The guy had more siblings than Gordon, but it just means
that more people have no idea what Nora is up to. After the service, Jeffrey’s
accountant, a fidgety man, approaches Nora. He asks cryptically if his deceased
client ever mentioned anything about having “foreign investments.” Nora plays
dumb and watches the guy squirm. He’s powerless. As a supposed upstanding,
law-abiding, financial advisor he too has to pretend he has no idea that Gordon
was cheating the IRS.

Thirty-nine
Nora returns to Manhattan and the life she loves. She meets with a client, goes
on a wild shopping spree, and touches base with Blake Donaldson—her man in
the on-deck circle. He says that he’ll be in the city the following week for a
shareholder’s meeting. They set a date to get together.

HONEYMOON-JAMES PATTERSON-July 7, 2002 Page 14

Forty
That evening, Nora meets her best friend, Alison, for drinks at the Cub Room in
SoHo. They talk about men, dating, relationships, and love. As much as Nora
wouldn’t dare reveal her deadly secret, the way she discusses her feelings with
Alison delivers some further insight into to what makes her tick. The reader,
strange as it might seem, can’t help but relate to Nora.

Forty-one
“Hello, mother,” she says softly. “It’s your daughter.” Nora is back up at the
psychiatric facility early the next morning where she updates her barely there
mother on the happenings in her life. Fascinating is the way Nora makes
cloaked references to Gordon and Jeffrey. “Doomed relationships” she says.
As Nurse Barrows arrives with the noontime medication, Nora bids farewell to
her mother with a sweet kiss on the forehead.

Forty-two
Nora returns to Gordon’s estate in Westchester later that morning. There are
two messages on the answering machine. The first is from a friend who owns an
antique consignment business in Greenwich. That’s where most of Gordon’s
furnishings will go. The second message is from Craig Reynolds who says he’s
got some bad news. “Please call me ASAP,” he tells her.

Forty-three
Nora immediately calls Craig who says they should talk in person. It’s about
O’Hara. Nora offers to come by Craig’s office later in the day. He points out that
it’s Sunday. He suggests the Tarrytown Diner. They agree to meet at one
o’clock.

Forty-four
Craig Reynolds hangs up from Nora and calls his boss, Susan. “O’Hara!” Susan
says when she hears his voice. Yep, Reynolds is O’Hara. “Tell me what’s going

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on. Is your big plan working? Have you caught the notorious Nora, or has she
gone on and killed somebody else?” O’Hara talks to Susan and he has no New
York accent. He’s a very slick, very calculating. He’s playing a part himself.
O’Hara is an FBI agent playing the part of Craig Reynolds, a small town
insurance broker. O’Hara is one hell of an actor too.

PART THREE

Forty-five
Reynolds/O’Hara takes a leisurely drive to the diner. The “insurance man” goes
over his plan for Nora. He has a good idea what she’s up to but he lacks a
smoking gun. As it’s been decided that a more detailed autopsy of Gordon
Brown’s body is needed, O’Hara will weave it into the sting operation on Nora.
He’ll use it to get closer to her and further gain her confidence. All the better
when the time comes to take her down.

Forty-six
At the diner, Craig Reynolds seems embarrassed and a little nervous, almost as
if he’s suddenly on Nora’s side in the insurance investigation. This goddamn
O’Hara! he says. He’s apparently contacted the FBI. Supposedly, the police
have agreed to exhume Gordon Brown’s body and perform tests on it. Nora
can’t believe it. Craig said he’d stop it if he could. “If I was O’Hara, I’d never do
something like this.”

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Forty-seven
Nora and O’Hara. Two people wanting to get closer to each other in the name of
one thing. Suspicion. This begets Craig agreeing to go for a ride with Nora in
her convertible after the diner. Interestingly, they make a nice couple together.
She really guns it on the back roads. Her skirt rides a little high on her thighs.
She begins to tell Craig some background about herself, perfectly blending fact
and fiction. She’s kind of vulnerable suddenly, even a little sweet.

Forty-eight
Later that day, O’Hara is back on the phone with his boss, Susan. “She’s the
queen of half-truths,” he says about Nora. “Not surprising given that our file on
her is only half complete,” replies Susan. The problem is that they can only trace
Nora back to her college days at Brown where, fittingly, she was expelled for
working as a call girl. O’Hara sighs. “Prior to that, Nora Sinclair is a ghost,” he
says. “If that’s even her real name,” adds Susan. She warns O’Hara to watch
his step. She mentions a prior investigation, the one that put him on probation.
As much as he doesn’t want to hear it, he knows he deserves it. His transition
from a follow-your-instincts cop to a follow-the-rule-book FBI agent has been
anything but smooth. O’Hara can ill afford any more bumps in the road.

Forty-nine
Nora is back in Manhattan where she has dinner out with her hot new prospect,
Blake Donaldson. He’s handsome and he’s charming. He’s also something
else. Full of shit. “I’ve got a little confession to make,” he says after two bottles
of merlot. “I’m not really a software mogul. I’m actually an advertising
copywriter.” Nora can’t believe it. Not that he lied, but that he was able to fool
her. She’s used to being on the very top of her game. Blake begs Nora not to
be upset and says he hopes she could like him for who he is—meaning, not rich.
“Of course,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. A minute later Nora excuses
herself to go to the bathroom . . . back at her apartment.

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Fifty
The police arrive with shovels one night at the quaint Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in
Westchester. There isn’t anything quaint about Gordon Brown’s body after
several weeks being underground.

Fifty-one
Nora watches the macabre scene from a distance. This is weirding her out.
She’s also getting incredibly angry. While she can see Craig there with the local
police, there’s no one who could be O’Hara. “Who the hell does this guy think he
is?!” she wonders. And just how much more trouble does he plan on causing?

Fifty-two
Two days later, Nora gets another message from Craig. He’s got some gratifying
news, he tells her. When she calls back he explains that the tests conducted on
Gordon’s body were negative. They showed no foul play. “So is Centennial One
Life Insurance finally going to release my money?” she asks. He says they will
as soon as O’Hara okays it. Nora begins to cry. Craig says, “Let me buy you
lunch.” “Will this come out of the 1.9 million?” “No, it’s on me. I’m so sorry this
is happening to you. I’m really sorry, Nora.”

Fifty-three
The lunch is very nice, very cozy. They’re both playing their head games.
Afterward, apropos of nothing on this planet, Craig asks her if she wants to see
his place? “Is this a test, Craig? Did you want to know if I really loved Gordon?”
“Did you?” “Yes, I loved him so much it hurts.” They go to Craig’s place anyway.
They flirt like crazy for a while. It’s super-suspenseful. Then they go to bed.
Nobody is any more shocked than O’Hara. Afterward, he’s in his bathroom
looking at himself in the mirror. “Well? Johnny? Now who are you, pal?”

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Fifty-four
The seduction/cat & mouse game has really begun. But who’s seducing whom?
Who’s the cat? Who’s the mouse? O’Hara talks with his boss again. They’re
quite the humorous pair, actually. Susan is the best voice-over-only character in
a decade. He tells her what’s going on, but manages to leave out what
happened with Nora at his apartment. Still, she warns him again, “Careful,
O’Hara. Careful.”

Fifty-five
It’s all part of the job right? And he’s the best. That night he takes Nora to the
art movie theater in Briarcliff Manor. It’s what Craig Reynolds would do, right?
Then they go to her place—otherwise known as Gordon’s estate—where they
have their best sex yet. There’s something about Nora that’s irresistible. He’s
sure that she likes him. She couldn’t be faking it, could she? Careful, O’Hara.
Careful.

Fifty-six
The next morning, Nora coaxes Craig to stay home from work. They’re getting
kind of cute together. The two of them take the train to Manhattan. Nora gets
him to try on and buy new clothes at the Polo store. He looks terrific. It’s as if
she’s trying to spruce up Craig’s image. Once a decorator, always a decorator.
Then Nora takes him back to her loft. In bed, she attempts to get him to talk
without the New York accent. Craig tries, but says it’s too hard and that he’s not
much of an actor.

Fifty-seven
O’Hara returns to Westchester the following day and checks in at the Centennial
One Life Insurance Agency. The place is just a front, staffed by FBI personnel.
“Good morning, Molly Penny,” he says, joking with his female assistant. O’Hara

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then calls Susan to give her an update. All the while, he’s looking at pictures of
Nora from his digicam.

Fifty-eight
Nora, who has remained in Manhattan, meets up for dinner with her girlfriends.
Later in the evening, when it’s just her and Alison, she excitedly explains that
she’s met someone. Nora talks all about Craig and the rush of adrenaline he
gives her. Who knew she could get that from a guy in insurance? “There’s like
this raw energy with him just beneath the surface,” she says. “It’s intoxicating!”

Fifty-nine
Nora calls Craig late that night. They have incredible phone sex. Those 970
numbers have nothing on these two.

Sixty
The next day, Nora wants the real thing. She returns to Westchester and calls
Craig for an afternoon rendezvous. But he tells her that he’s already got plans.
“What plans?” she wants to know. He vamps. “Actually, I’ve got a seminar to go
to. I’d blow it off but I’m one of the featured speakers.”

Sixty-one
Nora doesn’t know if she should believe him. She gets in her convertible and
stakes out Craig’s apartment. When he leaves in his car she follows, tailing him
all the way to New Canaan, Connecticut. A ranch house on a ranch house
street. She watches as the automatic garage door opens and Craig pulls in.
Clearly, his house. “Some seminar!” she says, fuming. But she ain’t seen
nothing yet. Nora’s mind is about to be completely blown. As she pulls closer to
the mailbox she spies the nearly faded name on it. “O’Hara.”

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Sixty-two
Before Nora can decide what to do with this infuriating new development, the
front door of the ranch house begins to open. With no cover for her easily
recognized red convertible, she peels off. She drives back to Westchester and,
in a fit of rage, breaks a few things in Gordon’s house. She’s besieged by so
many unanswered questions. Why the set-up by O’Hara? Is there really an
insurance policy? And what’s with the sex—is that part of his plan? Nora
decides it’s time to get some answers.

Sixty-three
First, a little more domestic reconnaissance. The next morning, Mrs. O’Hara
answers the door of the ranch house. There stands Nora. She’s checking out
the scene. Mrs. O’Hara is attractive enough and there are two little kids frolicking
about in the living room. Nora says she’s there to invite Mrs. O’Hara to join the
Junior League. Mrs. O’Hara listens politely for a while then finally she says, “No
offense, but fuck the Junior League.” Nora walks away smiling. No offense
taken. She mutters to herself, “John O’Hara—the cheating family man with the
potty-mouthed wife.”

Sixty-four
Next up, Nora pays a visit to the Centennial One Life Insurance agency in
Westchester. It looks real enough and the “receptionist” couldn’t be more
helpful. Until, that is, Nora asks for a copy of Gordon’s insurance policy. The
receptionist stammers a bit and says she’ll take a look through the file in the
back. When she returns she says it must be at the home office. “Oh, that’s
right,” says Nora. “Mr. Reynolds told me it was up in Hartford.” The receptionist
nods. “Then that’s where it must be.” Of course, as Nora well remembers, Craig
had originally said the home office was in Chicago.

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Sixty-five
Nurse Barrows looks up at Nora as she signs in. “Is everything all right?” the
woman asks. Nora nods her head and lies. “Yes, thank you, everything’s fine.”
It’s morning and Nora, very much on edge, visits her mother. She continues her
cloaked references but she cannot mask her emotions regarding O’Hara and his
“betrayal.” Nora is clearly besides herself.

PART FOUR

Sixty-six
Nora is back in Manhattan and back in her loft. She goes to her closet and takes
a painted blue box down from her top shelf. Staring at it, she hears echoes of
her father laughing at her mother that fateful night. It was so many years ago
and yet it feels like yesterday. With her hands trembling, Nora slowly opens the
lid of the box.

Sixty-seven
It’s the next night. Nora is sitting in her convertible outside O’Hara’s apartment in
Westchester. She watches for a little while, then dials him on her cell phone.
She invites him to her cabin on Candlewood Lake. He says no, he can’t come
as he’s up to his neck in work. “Liar,” she says. “I’m watching you.” He looks
out the window and sees her car parked. “Come on, Craig, you know you want
to be with me. And I want to be with you.”

Sixty-eight
The heat is on and the top down. Nora is flying. Music is blasting. O’Hara is
wondering what he’s doing in this woman’s car, and why is it that part of him
wants to be here? He has the weirdest thought he can imagine. He wants to

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catch Nora really bad, but at the same time, he kind of wants her to get away.
So does the reader. Now where do you go with that?

Sixty-nine
The cabin is right on the lake and it’s romantic, moonlit, the whole nine yards.
Perfect. When they arrive, Nora is all over Craig. Then she pulls away from him.
“I’m going to cook us dinner first.”

Seventy
She puts on some romantic music, and she prepares omelets. She’s a good,
very enthusiastic cook, and she really is great with men—the best.

Seventy-one
While they eat, O’Hara asks Nora a few trick questions about the lies he knows
she’s told him, but that she doesn’t know he knows. He plays it straight. So
does she. Just about everything they say is ironic. And often funny. They’re
playing a really dangerous game here. Then Nora asks the most unexpected
question of all. “Do you love me? Because I love you.”

Seventy-two
Suddenly, out of nowhere, O’Hara is feeling deathly ill. This is the worst he’s
ever felt in his life. He rushes to the bathroom as Nora prepares her fizzy drink.
Love hurts. And now it’s about to kill.

Seventy-three
Nora tries to give him the drink but at the last moment he pushes her out of the
bathroom. He shuts the door and locks it, quickly dialing 911 on his cell phone.
He’s scared. He’s vomiting. His heart is racing beyond control. Nora bangs on
the door. “You all right in there?” she asks. “You okay, O’Hara?”

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Seventy-four
“That’s Agent O’Hara of the FBI,” he shouts back. The pain in his stomach is
unyielding. He’s now beyond dry heaving and is coughing up blood. If he can
just hold out for the police. “I know you killed Gordon Brown, Nora, and I know
why. I also know about Dr. Richard Hollis in Manhattan way back when.”
O’Hara reaches down to his pant leg and removes a small pistol from his shin
holster. “It’s over, Nora, I know too much . . . and I’m gonna live to tell about it.”
Nora bristles. “That’s what you think, O’Hara!”

Seventy-five
The first shot just barely misses him. But the second shot finds flesh. As
splinters fly from the door, blood gushes from O’Hara’s shoulder. He screams
out in agony. “That’s my insurance policy!” screams Nora with a tight grip on her
gun—yes, the same gun her mother used to kill her father. O’Hara hits the floor
and fires three shots back at her through the door. Then . . . silence.

Seventy-six
Anxious seconds pass. O’Hara quietly, oh-so carefully, unlocks the bathroom
door. He’s sweating bullets. Did the ones he fired hit their mark? Or are there
more waiting for him outside the bathroom? Only one way to find out. Three-
two-one, he counts down to himself before crashing through the door, ready to
take down Nora once and for all. But she’s not there! Where the hell is she?
She’s even scary when she isn’t there.

Seventy-seven
The suspense doesn’t let up. O’Hara looks around outside the cabin. Her car is
gone. Then the police arrive. O’Hara’s cell phone rings. “You fucked with the
wrong girl, O’Hara! Now I’m going to hurt you where you live . . . for real. Can
you say New Canaan?”

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Seventy-eight
The police rush O’Hara to his house in New Canaan. The lights are on. He
barrels in to a rush of relief. Everyone’s okay. The phone rings and O’Hara hits
the speakerphone. She doesn’t wait for a hello. “Good, I’ve got an audience,”
says Nora. “I just wanted to let you know, Mrs. O’Hara, that I’ve been fucking
your husband!” Click! O’Hara looks at his wife. Actually, his ex-wife for about
two years now. “And you wonder why we got a divorce?!” she barks at him.

Seventy-nine
O’Hara is sitting in his office—his real one—at Manhattan’s Federal Plaza.
He’s stewing. It’s been two weeks since Nora nearly killed him. His desire to
catch her is matched only by his frustration in not being able to so far. All the
planning and plotting, and nothing to show for it. Except, of course, a nice new
22 caliber scar on his shoulder. That, and an FBI disciplinary review board
hearing the following week. Hello, suspension. Just then his cell phone rings.
“I’ve missed you,” she says. It’s Nora! Calling from not-even-God-knows-where.
“You’ll be seeing me soon enough,” says O’Hara. “I’ll find you, Nora, trust me.”
She laughs. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.” Click! O’Hara stands up from
his desk and whips his cell phone against the wall. It shatters into pieces.

Eighty
The next day, O’Hara is sitting at his desk reading the directions for his new cell
phone. He can’t get his ringer to stop playing Beethoven and it’s driving him
crazy. His assistant, “Molly Penny” from the bogus Westchester office of
Centennial One Life Insurance, pokes her head in. “Susan wants to see you,”
she tells him.

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Eighty-one
O’Hara steels himself, then goes to see his boss. He’s been on a strict diet of
humble pie and assumes it’s time for another slice. When he enters her office
she’s staring out the window with her back to him. Lots of tension here. She
turns around. O’Hara’s boss, Susan, is also his ex-wife from New Canaan.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” she tells him.

Eighty-two
Sitting in an FBI conference room, Nurse Emily Barrows is a little nervous. After
all, she had no business using a call box to listen in on a patient’s conversation.
Not that Nora’s mother was doing much of the talking. Barrows explains that just
before the news broke about the interior decorator who was leaving a trail of
dead rich guys, Nora paid one last visit to her mother. What was said proves to
be the break O’Hara and Susan are looking for.

Eighty-three
Nora is with a man named Jordan Christopher at a beautiful inn on the beach in
Barbados. It’s absolute paradise. As they lounge in their spectacular suite,
there’s a knock at the door. Room service is right on time. A silver serving table
is wheeled into the suite—champagne and caviar. The waiters are O’Hara and
Susan. O’Hara says, “Hello Nora.” Susan snaps, “Don’t you talk to her, O’Hara!
Don’t you say another word.” Then she looks Nora dead in the eye. “You’re
busted, you bitch.” Then she looks at Jordan Christopher. “And you . . . you’re
the luckiest man alive.”

Eighty-four
Come sunset that same day, Susan is relaxing on a beach chair at the inn in
Barbados. Nora has been taken away by the authorities. O’Hara returns with
two umbrella drinks saying that the kids are fine back home. As the two of them
talk and laugh it’s clear that reconciliation is in the air. O’Hara turns to Susan.

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“This would be a great place for a second honeymoon, don’t you think?” She
reaches over and takes his hand. “We’ll see, O’Hara. We’ll see.”

The End.

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