Don't Blink by James Patterson; Howard Roughan

Author:James Patterson; Howard Roughan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Lawyers, Journalists, Mystery & Detective, New York (N.Y.), American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Assassination, Assassination - Investigation, Legal, General, Fiction - General, Gangsters, Investigation, Suspense, Crimes against, Thrillers, Suspense fiction, Lawyers - Crimes against, Fiction, Crime
ISBN: 9780316036238
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2010-09-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 54

IT WASN’T THE words themselves but the way Courtney said them. As if she were already standing at the altar with Thomas Ferramore.

“I do.”

I immediately fell silent on the phone. There was no need for Courtney to officially break the news. It was broken. Just like my heart.

“I need you to understand, Nick,” she said. “I’m marrying Tom, but I need you to be there for me.”

“I was there for you,” I said.

“I know you were. Promise me you won’t stop now. Do you promise?”

What could I say? As much as I loved her, she had always been my friend first, before anything else.

“Please,” she said, pressing me. “Do you promise? I need to hear the actual words, Nick.”

I took a deep breath and swallowed it along with my pride.

“I do,” I said.

Of course, little did I know how fast I’d have to make good on that promise.

A few hours later, with the sun setting over Manhattan, I arrived downtown at the North Cove Marina to climb aboard Sweet Revenge, Thomas Ferramore’s 180-foot Trinity megayacht. I’ve seen much smaller houses. Actually, I grew up in one.

In a word? Wow.

At the bow stood the bar, and at the stern was the live jazz band, a really good combo. In between was a veritable who’s who of publishing, fashion, and what remained of the decimated ranks of the banking and Wall Street elite.

You get one guess as to where I headed first, and it wasn’t to shake Thomas Ferramore’s hand.

“I’ll have a Laphroaig Fifteen Year Old,” I said to the rent-a-bartender, who barely looked old enough to drive, let alone serve drinks.

The young man looked at me as if I’d just spoken Swahili to him. “A what?” he asked.

“A Laphroaig Fifteen Year Old,” came a voice over my shoulder.

It was Courtney, and in her hand was an entire bottle of my favorite Scotch whisky.

“Here,” she said, handing the bottle to the bartender. “Please keep this behind the bar for Mr. Daniels, and Mr. Daniels only.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, quickly pouring me a double. “Laphroaig Fifteen Year Old.”

Courtney took my arm as we moved away from the bar. “Thanks so much for coming,” she said. “It means the world to me. You’re the best.”

Apparently not, but I took a big swig of excellent whisky and winked at her. “What are friends for?” I said.

She gave me a huge smile and leaned in to tell me something, when the music suddenly stopped. It was replaced by the sound of a knife tapping on crystal. Oh boy, Thomas Ferramore wanted to make a toast.

Once again he had come between Courtney and me. I guessed I’d better get used to it.

“C’mon up here, sweetheart!” he bellowed, standing up straight and proud on the captain’s deck. He was wearing a faux white naval jacket replete with shoulder boards and a sleeve insignia. Two blond women flanked him, both very pretty, and I figured they were his PR team. Was this guy for real? I couldn’t understand what Courtney saw in him.

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