Father Night Read Free

of nude girls bound and tied, arms extended over their heads or out to the sides as they sat in a heavy wooden chair. All had Alli’s head or face Photoshopped onto them. Below each there was a price for photo sets and short films that could be ordered. Farther down were comments: filthy whore, pervert, hot bitch, and the like, but all of them ended with either a smiley face or LOL, cyber-shorthand for “laugh out loud.”
    “The good news is that this cyber–smear attack is being viewed as a practical joke inside Fearington. It’s likely someone here is the culprit.”
    “Well, it’s not funny.” Alli kept reading. “Look here … here at the end, a date for my supposed death—December twentieth.” She looked up at Vera, appalled. “That’s two weeks from now.”
    “Hey, come on, you can’t believe this death threat is real. I mean, someone’s gaming you, sure, and we have to stop it, but…”
    “After what I’ve been through I take everything seriously,” Alli said.
    “Okay, but … I mean, no one in their right mind would think that’s really you in those photos. Look, here and here again, the lighting’s off.”
    But Alli, who had felt a chill run down her spine the moment she saw the images of girls bound into that nightmarish heavy wooden chair, felt plowed under by the intimate eeriness of the photos. And her fear only increased when she saw the date of her supposed death.
    “Come on,” Vera said. “We’ll take this to the authorities. They’ll find out who’s behind this shit, put him away, and that’ll be the end of it.”
    Alli began to shiver uncontrollably.
    At once, Vera put her arm around her roommate’s shoulders, pulling her close. “You’re cold as ice. What is it?”
    Alli remained mute, but her mind was churning with terror. December twentieth was the fifth anniversary of the day she had been kidnapped by Morgan Herr.
    *   *   *
    A LAN F RAINE, captain of detectives of the Metro Police, was halfway through his strenuous thrice-weekly workout when he saw a man enter the cavernous second floor of Muscle Builders Unlimited, wrap a towel around his neck, and check out the rows of StairMasters. Something familiar about the man made the short hairs at the back of Fraine’s neck stir. He continued with his second set of biceps reps, but his mind was no longer in it, and he set the dumbbells aside before he injured himself.
    He watched with curiosity as the man strode over to his section. It was then that he recognized Dennis Paull, secretary of the Department of Homeland Security.
    Paull straddled the bench next to Fraine and said, “Alan, how’s it going?”
    Fraine had had occasion to work with Paull and Jack McClure several months ago in connection with Henry Holt Carson and Middle Bay Bancorp. Carson had been part of a conspiracy to frame Fraine’s best detective, Nona Heroe. Paull had gotten her out from the Feds’ custody.
    “Sorry.” Fraine tried to hide the depth of his surprise. “I didn’t recognize you out of your suit, Mr. Secretary.”
    “Hardly anyone does,” Paull said. “That’s a gift sometimes.”
    “So I imagine,” Fraine said. “I had no idea you were a member.”
    Paull produced a complicit grin. “I joined this morning.”
    Fraine waited for the shoe to drop. The secretary wasn’t here to break a sweat or to exchange pleasantries.
    “Alan, I have a proposition for you.”
    Fraine’s ears perked up. “I’m listening.”
    “I’m putting together a special group.”
    “What kind of group?”
    Paull leaned forward. “A SITSPEC—”
    “A what?”
    Paull waited while a couple of gym rats passed by, talking reps and sets and punitive diets. “A black-ops group. Situation-specific, hence the acronym.”
    “Fed-speak.”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Go on.”
    Paull nodded, lowering his voice, forcing Fraine to lean toward him. “This one is very special. I’d like you and Nona to be part of it.”
    “Mr. Secretary, I appreciate the