ALSO BY J.A. JANCE ALI REYNOLDS MYSTERIES Edge of Evil JOANNA BRADY MYSTERIES Desert Heat Tombstone Courage Shoot/Don’t Shoot Dead to Rights Skeleton Canyon Rattlesnake Crossing Outlaw Mountain Devil’s Claw Paradise Lost Partner in Crime Exit Wounds Dead Wrong J. P. BEAUMONT MYSTERIES Until Proven Guilty Injustice for All Trial by Fury Taking the Fifth Improbable Cause A More Perfect Union Dismissed with Prejudice Minor in Possession Payment in Kind Without Due Process Failure to Appear Lying in Wait Name Withheld Breach of Duty Birds of Prey Partner in Crime Long Time Gone and Hour of the Hunter Kiss of the Bees Day of the Dead TOUCHSTONE Rockefeller Center 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2007 by J.A. Jance All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. TOUCHSTONE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Jance, Judith A. Web of evil: a novel of suspense / J. A. Jance. p. cm. I. Title. PS3560.A44W43 2007 813'.54—dc22 2006052137 ISBN: 1-4165-4519-0 Visit us on the World Wide Web: http://www.SimonSays.com For Donna A., the last missing piece of my childhood. I’ve been looking for you for years. WEB OF EVIL { PROLOGUE } When the man opened his eyes, it was so dark that at first he thought they were still closed. So he tried again, but nothing changed. It was dark—a hot black stifling darkness that seemed to suck the breath out of him. He sensed movement, heard the whine of tires on pavement, but he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there. He tried to move his legs but couldn’t. They were jammed up under his belly in a space that was far too small, and they seemed to be tied together somehow. His hands were stuck behind him, shoved up against something hard. After several minutes of struggling he was finally able to shift his body enough to free them. He was stunned to discover that they, too, had been bound together in the same manner his legs were. The combination of their being tied too tight and being stuck under his body had cut off the circulation. At first his hands were nothing more than a pair of useless and inextricably connected dead- weight cudgels. After a few moments the blood returned to his fingers in a rush of needle-and-pin agony. As his senses gradually reasserted themselves, he realized that the rough surface under his cheek was carpet of some kind, and from somewhere nearby came the distinctive smell of new rubber—a spare tire. That meant he was in the trunk of someone’s vehicle being taken God knows where. He tried to shout, but of course he couldn’t do that, either. His mouth was taped shut. All that emerged from his throat was a guttural groan. What was it you were you supposed to do if you found yourself trapped in a vehicle like that? Kick out the taillights, hang an arm out the hole, and signal for help? But he couldn’t kick anything. He couldn’t move his legs, and his bound hands were still useless. As the man gradually understood the seriousness of his predicament, his heart beat faster while his breath quickened to short panicky gasps. For a while he was afraid he was going to pass out again, but he fought it—fought to bring his breathing back under control. Fought to concentrate. What the hell was happening? Where was he? Who was doing this? And why? He tried to remember something about what had gone on before. He had a dim recollection of something like a party. Lots of lights and laughter, lots of girls, lots of liquor. So had he gotten drunk and pissed someone off? Was that what was going on? He knew that given enough scotch he wasn’t anyone’s