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Frank hailed a cab. “Right, but I’m still going.”

They climbed in the taxi and Shaw gave the driver the address. Then he hung his head out the window trying to fight the waves of nausea that were pounding him.

He shouldn’t have gone to the morgue. Not to see her like that. Not Anna.

Shouldn’t have, but had to.

He opened the door to her apartment a few minutes later, entered, and sat down on the floor while Frank stood nearby, his gaze on him. As Shaw looked around at the familiar sights, he slowly calmed. This was the living, breathing Anna here, not the butchered object he’d just left lying on unforgiving stainless steel. Here, Anna was not dead, not murdered.

He rose, lifted a photo off the mantel; it was of him and Anna in Switzerland last year. She was a fine skier, he was less than that. But the fun they’d had. Another photo of them in Australia. A third shot of them atop an elephant she’d nicknamed Balzac for its love of coffee that it would slurp right from the cup with its trunk.

Everywhere were her belongings, her loves, her passions.

Her.

He sat down again. In a few seconds he endured a million obvious thoughts that run through a bereaved person’s mind at a time like this. The bite of Adolph’s saw blade didn’t even come close to the pain he was feeling now. One bloody wound versus your entire mind, body, and soul being slowly crushed. They had no painkillers that could fight that.

Frank must’ve noticed the change in his expression. “Come on, Shaw, let’s go get that drink now.”

Shaw finally realized he couldn’t stay here either. In some ways the living Anna was more catastrophic to him than the dead one on the metal slab. It brought back so clearly what he’d lost, what they’d both lost together.

He struggled to his feet, but before Frank could reach it the knob turned and the door opened.

The next moment Shaw and Frank were standing eye to eye with Anna’s parents.

Wolfgang’s face flushed. He reached out to grab Shaw, but Shaw stepped back, out of the man’s range.

“No, Wolfgang, no!” screamed his wife.

“This monster, this monster.” Wolfgang was so incensed he was sputtering, choking on the few words, his eyes all the time shooting dangerous volleys at Shaw, who hung back, unsure of what to do.

“Now just hold on,” Frank said. “He’s hurting too.”

“What are you doing here?” demanded Natascha, clutching at her husband’s arm, trying to hold him back.

“Do not talk to him, to that filth,” yelled Wolfgang. “He killed our daughter. He killed Anna.”

Now Shaw took a step forward, his eyes flashing like blue acid. “What the hell are you talking about? I had nothing to do with Anna’s death.”

“Shaw, let me handle this,” Frank said.

Wolfgang pointed a fat finger directly in Shaw’s face. “Anna would not be dead but for you. You killed her.”

Frank yelled, “Wait a minute. That’s bullshit!”

Shaw started to move past him, but Wolfgang suddenly charged forward, grabbed him around the throat, and his heavy bulk caused both men to fall back hard against the wall. Natascha screamed and tried to pull her husband off. “No! No! Wolfgang. No!”

Frank tried to tug Wolfgang off Shaw but the man was too heavy.

Wolfgang’s thick shoulder collided with Shaw’s wounded arm and he grunted in pain. He managed to lever the big German away from him by pushing a knee against his gut. When Wolfgang charged him again, Shaw sidestepped the fa

r slower man, who was breathing so hard and whose face was so red, Shaw thought he might be having a heart attack. Wolfgang struck the wall. Before he could turn around again and attack, Shaw used his hand to pinch a nerve right next to the man’s thick neck. Wolfgang slumped to the floor crying out in pain.

The next instant Natascha’s heavy purse struck Shaw in the face, cutting his cheek. He felt the blood ooze down. Frank ripped the purse from the woman’s hand and threw it across the room. Natascha knelt next to her husband, her arms protectively around him.

His chest heaving, blood running in his mouth, Shaw stared down at them. “Is he all right?”

“You go. You go now!” Natascha screamed at him. “You leave us alone. You have done enough. Enough!”


Tags: David Baldacci A. Shaw Thriller