Mad River Road by Joy Fielding
PROLOGUE Three o'clock in the morning. His favorite time of day. The sky was dark, the streets deserted. Most people were asleep. Like the woman in the bedroom down the hall. He wondered if she was dreaming and smiled at the realization that her nightmare was just about to begin. He laughed, careful not to make a sound. No point waking her up before he'd decided the best way to proceed. He imagined her stirring, sitting up in bed, and watching him approach, shaking her head in a familiar mixture of amusement and disdain. He could hear the scorn in that gravelly, low-pitched voice of hers. Just like you, she would say, to go off half-cocked, to rush into something without a clear plan. Except he did have a plan, he thought, stretching his arms above his head and taking a moment to admire the leanness of his torso, the hardness of his biceps beneath his short-sleeved, black T-shirt. He'd always taken great pains with his appearance, and now, at thirty-two, he was in better shape than he'd ever been. Prison will do that for you, he thought, and laughed his silent laugh again. He heard a sharp noise and looked toward the open window, saw a giant palm frond slapping against the top half of the pane. An escalating wind was whipping the delicate white sheers in several different directions at once, so that they looked more like streamers than curtains, and he interpreted their frenzied motion as a sign of support, as if they were cheering him on. The Weather Channel had promised a major downpour would hit the greater Miami area by dawn. Seventy percent chance of severe thunderstorms, the pretty blondannouncer had warned, although what did she know? She just read whatever was on the cue cards in front of her, and those stupid forecasts were wrong at least half the time. Not that it made any difference. She'd be back tomorrow with more unreliable predictions. Nobody was ever held accountable. He cocked his gloved fingers into the shape of a gun, pulled an imaginary trigger
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