Long Lost (Myron Bolitar)
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It begins with an early morning phone call to Myron Bolitar. His old flame Terese Collins is in Paris, and she needs his help. In her debt, Myron makes the trip, and learns of a decade-long secret: Terese once had a daughter who died in a car accident. Now it seems as though that daughter may be alive-and tied to a sinister plot with shocking global implications.
he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking over my shoulder. I turned to follow his gaze. He was watching the TV monitor again. Terese was there, but her resolve was gone. She was doubled over, sobbing. I tried to make out her words, but they were garbled by the anguish. Win took the remote and turned up the volume. Terese was repeating the same thing over and over, and as she slid off the couch I finally thought I could make out what she was saying: “Please,” Terese begged to some higher power.
that they should give the guy some distance. But it’s just the opposite. You put your face into his chest and smother his power. That was what I did here. He tried to box my ears, but that required both hands, leaving him vulnerable. I lifted my head hard and fast and caught him under the chin. He reeled back. I fell on top of him. Now the fight was about leverage and technique and size. I had him beat right now in two of the three—leverage and size. I was still dizzy from the initial attack
the elevator opened. I got in and pressed for the lobby. The call to Terese went into her voice mail. That shouldn’t happen. She should be at Karen’s. Karen’s house got service—wasn’t out of range. Even if they were in the middle of a serious conversation, Terese would pick up. She’d know that I would only call if it was an emergency. Damn, now what? I thought about the power drill. I thought about Terese. I thought about Mario Contuzzi’s face. I thought about the blonde. Those images all
play when we were children? You’d look at a picture and you could see either an old witch or a pretty young girl? Or there was one that could be either a rabbit or a duck.” “That’s not what happened here.” “Ask yourself this: Suppose Terese hadn’t called you in Paris. Suppose you were walking on the street to your office and that blond girl walked past you. Would you have stopped and thought, ‘Gee, that girl has to be Terese’s daughter’? ” “No.” “So it’s situational. Do you see that?” “I
Zorra is available or that Carl guy from Philadelphia. Is your brother still on dig in Peru?” I nodded. “He should be safe then.” I knew that Win would stay with Terese and me. Win started making calls. I picked up the phone, taking it off speaker. “Berleand?” “Yes.” “Jones implied that you might have been lying about that DNA test in Paris.” Berleand said nothing. “I know you were telling the truth,” I said. “How?” But I had already said too much. “I have some calls to make. I’ll call