Fatal Error

By Scott Connors

"The end of your life is near. You won't know when or where, but I will. You're going to die and I'm going to watch. Don't contact the police! I'm watching you!"

With that terrifying email, Carleen Taylor's nightmare begins. But who sent the email? And more importantly, who can she trust to help her? When the emails keep coming, Carleen turns to the only person she knows she can trust-Serge Teske. The leather-clad biker broke her heart and rode out of her life years ago. Now, he's riding back in, a millionaire on a Harley, his only mission, to find out who's stalking the love of his life. To do that, Serge must face the demons of his past.

With the help of this leather-clad biker and his computer-hacking friend Kali, their hunt through cyber space will unravel a mystery that reaches into darkest corners of Carleen's life. No one is beyond suspicion in this small Berkshire community, not the doctor who loves her, or the ex-husband who hates her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 27, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595815654

Scott Connors

Scott Connors is a musician, writer, ex-altar boy from Pittsfield, Massachusetts. This is his second novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE END.

He hit the print key and watched the printer spew out the pages of his latest novel. As was customary when finishing a novel, he lit a cigar and punched a number on his speakerphone.

Randolph, McSweeney and Taylor literary agency, the cheery voice on the other end of the connection announced.

Carleen Taylor, please. Clouds of blue smoke danced toward the ceiling and were swept away by the low-hanging fan.

Who may I say is calling? Her voice irritated him.

Jake Edwards, he said, taking a long drag on the cigar.

Just one moment. Muzak flowed through the receiver as his mind drifted. He was glad this book was finally finished. Of the ten novels he’d written in the last ten years, this was the most grueling. Wasn’t it good enough that he was one of the most successful authors in the country? Couldn’t they just let it go at that? No, they kept the pressure on. Every time you finished one book, they wanted to know when the next one would be done. The pressure became incredible after awhile, and he felt as if her were on a treadmill. This would be the last book for Randolph, McSweeney and Taylor. It might be his last book, period.

His mind drifted back to the day he met Carleen Taylor. Had it really been ten years since he was a struggling author trying to get anything published, when a friend had read his first book and introduced him to Carleen at a dinner party? She had just become a partner in one of the most successful literary agencies in the country. She read his book and liked it and the rest, as they say, is history. Within a year, she had pushed his book to the top of the best-seller lists everywhere. Television and magazine interviews followed in a frenzy of media hype the likes of which he had never seen. Feeling a debt of gratitude to Carleen for taking a chance on him, he signed a ten-year deal with her.

The annoying voice shocked him back to reality.

Mr. Edwards, I’m sorry, but Miss Taylor isn’t in the office today, she’s working out of her home. Can I give her a message for you?

Tell her to call me. I’m only going to be around for another hour and then she can get me on my cell phone. He hung up, not even waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge his last sentence. Looking around his spacious Manhattan apartment, he pulled on the cigar and walked slowly toward the window. Glancing out over the New York skyline, he poured a glass of scotch and took a sip. He felt the amber liquid burn his throat as heat rushed to every part of his body. Autumn was in the air, as the leaves below were already beginning to shed their deep green colors for that of burnt orange and yellow. Soon winter would be in the air and snow would be falling outside this very window. By the time that happened, he would be at his summer home in Grand Cayman.

At thirty-six, he led a solitary and lonely existence. He continued to look for a mate, but after the success of his first book, everyone suddenly found him attractive and interesting. It left him with a deep mistrust of people. There were a few flings here and there, but nothing serious enough to warrant a true relationship. Making his way to the bedroom, he downed the rest of the scotch and set the glass on the nightstand. It had been almost two full days since he had slept, pushing himself to finish the book. Now he wasn’t sure if he could sleep. He crushed the cigar in the ashtray and fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he began to think of what he would do next.

THE END OF YOUR LIFE IS NEAR. YOU WON’T KNOW WHEN OR WHERE, BUT I WILL. YOU’RE GOING TO DIE, YOU MISERABLE BITCH, AND I’M GOING TO WATCH. DON’T CONTACT THE POLICE! I’M WATCHING YOU!

The cursor sat blinking on her screen as she read the e-mail for the fifth time this morning. Carleen lit another cigarette and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. She sat in her home office overlooking the scenic Berkshire Mountains. She thought of Herman Melville sitting at his desk while looking out at these same mountains as he penned Moby Dick. The mountains could be beautiful or volatile, depending on who viewed them and the time of year. They seemed to have a different effect on each person. Living here most of her life, she had left for a brief time to attend college. Since the advent of the Internet, one could virtually work at any geographic location on earth and still stay as in touch as if you were in the next office. Since she had become a partner in the business, trips to New

York were required a couple of times a month; other than that, she could be found here via phone, fax, or the Internet. The old Victorian house she inhabited was both her home and her office, and she liked it just fine that way.

Staring back at the computer screen, she read the e-mail again. It was the third one she’d received in the past week. Pulling the top desk drawer open, she removed a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber Airweight with the shrouded hammer her father had given her and checked it once again to make sure it was loaded. Holding the cold blue steel in her hands made her feel warm and secure. Who was this nut, and why was he/she harassing her? Putting the gun back in the drawer and sliding it shut, she shuddered as a sudden chill came over her. Carleen didn’t know what to do or where to turn. Each e-mail had warned her against contacting the police, and the person had said he/she was watching her. Maybe she was getting worked up over nothing; maybe this was some cruel prank by some twelve-year-old kid on the Internet. Still, it made her feel uneasy and scared, and she didn’t know whom to turn to. She had thought of calling her sister Erin and confiding in her, but she didn’t want to endanger her.

As she peered out at the steel-gray sky, a tear ran down her cheek. Sniffling, she wiped it away and reached for her address book. It was crammed with notes, numbers, business cards and appointments. Like a librarian looking for a book, she began at the tab labeled A and proceeded to flip through each letter of the alphabet. There were plenty of people listed on each page, but none she would trust with her life. Deep down she knew there was only one person she could trust. She flipped to the tab labeled S and, at the top of the page, his name stared back at her. It read, simply, Serge. Putting the cigarette in the ashtray, she lifted the phone receiver and began to dial. She dialed ten of the eleven numbers and paused. Did she really want to do this? Was this the right thing to do? The questions flashed through her mind, and the answers came just as quickly. She pushed the last number knowing there was no turning back now.

The big V-Twin engine roared between his legs as he pushed the Harley up through the Berkshire Mountains toward his destination. Serge Teske stood six feet tall; his dark black shoulder length hair, which he occasionally wore in a ponytail, flew free in the wind this day. Beneath his mirrored Ray-Ban sunglasses, his hazel eyes scoured the hills rising in front of him and the river flowing lazily to his left for any signs of change since he had left here twenty years earlier.

This is the most beautiful spot on the face of the earth, his good friend Nick used to tell him as they rode their motorcycles through the mountains.

Indeed, it was beautiful. The long, lazy, winding road, climbing into the beautiful fall foliage brought back memories. The smell of burning leaves floated through the air. Even at fifty miles an hour, he could smell their aroma and, for that one moment he felt a little homesick. Serge thought back to that fateful day twenty years ago. Carleen’s sister Erin running hysterically from their house screaming that their father, a cop, had been shot on the job as he and Carleen were about to get into the car for a day trip. At the hospital, the grim realization that their father was dead and, worse yet, that Serge’s father had been there when the shooting took place. They were partners, and a drug bust had gone bad. Serge’s father, although cleared of any wrongdoing, continued to blame himself. Nothing would be the same between them after that. For that matter, nothing would ever be the same in Serge’s life.

After graduating from college with a degree in law enforcement, Serge had planned to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a cop. His mother had died when he was young, and his father had done his best to raise his only son. His maternal great-grandmother had invested wisely in some small company called Stanley Electric Manufacturing Co., years ago, which had turned into General Electric. When she died, her shares fell to his grandmother, and she had planned on leaving the bulk of her fortune, to his mother. Fate had intervened and taken her life. His grandmother had left her shares, which amounted to a small fortune to her only grandson. The money would mean that Serge would never have to work a day in his life if he so chose. He couldn’t picture himself in that role, so he worked—always knowing the money was there if he needed it.

One thing he had done with the money without telling anyone was to build a beautiful log cabin nestled in the Berkshire Mountains for him and Carleen after they wed. She hadn’t actually agreed, and he hadn’t actually proposed, but he knew things were headed that way. Although he thought some might consider his gesture a little presumptuous, he didn’t care. He had the money, and if worse came to worse and she’d turned him down, he’d live there alone.

Within three weeks of Carleen’s father’s death, Serge’s father, in the solitude of his car in the parking lot of a local bar, had put a .357 Magnum to his temple and pulled the trigger. It seemed like within a matter of a few weeks, Serge’s whole life had come crumbling down around him. The suicide placed a great strain on their relationship, and Carleen told him she didn’t think it was a good idea for them to continue to see each other. There seemed no reason for him to hang around here. So on that day twenty years ago, he had loaded up his old Jeep and left, vowing never to return to a place that had caused him so much pain and agony. Throughout the years, he and Carleen had stayed in touch and remained friends, although not best friends at first. Over time, it had evolved into a best friendship. Time had healed many of the wounds their fathers’ deaths had caused. He had seen her through a failed marriage and several bad relationships. She, in turn, had seen him through a severe bout of depression and a drug addiction that almost killed him. But all that was behind him now.

The chilly wind slapped him in the face as the early-morning fog lifted and the bright sunshine permeated the hills. Reaching around to his backside, he felt for his gun to make sure it was still in place.

He had been a private detective for the past ten years in California. The job intrigued him, and he loved it, perhaps because his father had been a cop, or perhaps because it made him feel as if he were truly helping people. Serge still held a license to carry a firearm, and the gun gave him the reassurance that he would be able to handle any trouble that crossed his path. Approaching the road that led to the log cabin, he stopped the bike and unlocked the heavy metal gate that was installed to keep intruders out. Serge paid Countryside Landscape to keep up the grounds and to do maintenance on the cabin. He wasn’t quite sure why he had kept the cabin after vowing never to return to this area. It was a mystery he could never quite understand and now he would have to confront those skeletons buried so long ago.

Jake, it’s Carleen, she said, trying to get back to work and get her mind off the e-mail.

The book’s done, Jake said, yawning and stretching to get a look at his alarm clock to see what time it was. The digital clock read 6:00 and, with the blinds drawn in his room, he had to think for a moment if it was morning or night.

I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier, but things have been crazy around here, and I’ve been returning calls all day. She tried to sound calm and cool, but her voice gave away her nervousness.

You sure you’re all right? You don’t sound too good. Brushing the sleep from his eyes, he sat on the edge of the bed and yawned.

I’m fine. Her tone told him not to push the issue any further. In the ten years he had worked with Carleen, he had learned several things about her. One was that if she didn’t want you to know something, she’d let you know. He admired her in many ways, for there was only black and white in Carleen’s world. She either liked you, or she didn’t. Just like that. Carleen could make you invisible if you walked into a room and she didn’t like you. She was in her mid-forties and looked a good ten years younger; from a distance, could pass for twenty-five. When she walked into a room, heads would turn and people would immediately follow her as she passed. Jake had told her once that men wanted her and women wanted to be her. Smirking, she waved him off and told him he was crazy. But he wasn’t. She was truly a beautiful woman, and Jake always wondered why there wasn’t a man or for that matter, a woman in her life. Hell, if he were straight he’d have slept with her.

Well I just wanted you to know I sent the book via FedEx to you, As he flipped the switch next to his bed, the room got bright, and he squinted.

Okay, I’ll read it as soon as it gets here and make sure it gets to the printer. Now we’ve decided on the cover art, and you had a new photo taken for the jacket cover, but we still need to talk about the tour.

He sighed. Why can’t I just write a book and have it put on the shelves? Why do I have to go on those godforsaken book tours? Doesn’t my reputation speak for itself?

Jake, it’s part of the business. There’s not an author out there who doesn’t do book tours. Her voice had an air of impatience to it.

What’s the last date on the schedule? Making his way to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of juice.

Let me look. He heard her fumbling and flipping pages, and then she was back on the line. "The last date is New Year’s Eve in Orlando.

Perfect! I’m hopping on a plane and heading to Grand Cayman right after that. I want to be nowhere near the snow and ice, he said. Look, Carleen, I don’t mean to pry, but you really don’t sound too good. Are you sure everything’s okay?

I’m fine, Jake. I’ve just had a lot going on lately. The air of impatience was back in her voice.

Honey, I’m one of the good guys. I’m on your side, so please don’t get that irritated tone with me. Jake knew this conversation was headed downhill quickly. He could hear her taking a deep breath on the other end of the phone and heard the clicking of a lighter. It’s just that I care about you, and if I can do anything to help, let me know. How about a couple of weeks of sun and sand before this dreadful cross-country tour begins? Just you and me. We’ll go on shopping sprees and lie by the ocean and just chill out. It was a good try, but he knew getting her to take a day off, let alone two weeks, was next to impossible.

I’m afraid I can’t do that, as much as I’d like to.

You mean you could but you choose not to.

No really. I can’t. I’ve got a lot going on right now. Thanks for the offer. Her tone was flat. Then in the distance he heard, You’ve got mail.

Are you online and only half-listening to me? he scolded her.

Okay, you’ve caught me. I’m guilty. I was checking my e-mail and trying to get caught up, and I really should get going.

I’ll talk to you later, but remember, if you need me, I’m here.

Okay, thanks. Bye. The phone went dead, and he put the receiver back in its cradle.

There were two e-mails from her sister and three from people Carleen didn’t know. As she opened each of the e-mails, her heart was in her throat. The first was an offer for a low-interest rate credit card; the second was a solicitation for some day planning software, which she deleted along with the first. That left the last one. She double-clicked on the e-mail to open, and her heart sank as she began to read it.

DIE YOU FUCKING CUNT. I CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH THE LIFE DRAIN OUT OF YOUR EYES. YOU WON’T KNOW WHEN OR WHERE BUT I WILL. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT? QUICK AND PAINLESS OR SLOW AND PAINFUL? DON’T WORRY. WE’LL HAVE PLENTY OF TIME TO DECIDE THAT. DON’T CONTACT THE POLICE BECAUSE TRAGIC THINGS COULD START HAPPENING TO THOSE AROUND YOU THAT YOU LOVE THE MOST.

She bit her bottom lip and sobbed aloud. Who was this crazy fucker? she thought. Why was he/she doing this to her? The cursor sat blinking at her on the screen and she hit the print key and shut the computer off. She took the e-mail from the printer and, walking on very shaky legs, unlocked the wall safe behind the picture of her father that hung on the wall. She had kept all the e-mails since they had begun showing up in her e-mail box a few weeks back. On the off chance that anything did happen, she would at least leave some evidence behind.

Walking back to her desk, Carleen checked the gun in her top drawer one more time to make sure it was there and loaded. She felt glad that she had called Serge and told him what was going on and asked him to come and help her. She just wished that he’d hurry up and get here. She was beginning to feel as if she were losing her mind, and she hoped Serge would have a calming effect on her. She hadn’t seen him in twenty years and, even though they were great friends, they hadn’t actually laid eyes on each other since the day she watched him leave. She had locked herself in her room for two days after he had left, but there were so many feelings raging around inside her she could do nothing but retreat and weep.

Turning the light off in her office, she walked down the hall toward the kitchen. She kept thinking how nice it would be to finally see Serge. He had been a good friend over the years and ever since the day he had left, they had never talked about the shooting and her father’s death. She had turned to him when her ex-husband had slapped her that first time—and for the remainder of their nightmare three-year marriage. Dennis Stevens had abused her physically and mentally. She had suffered broken bones and mental anguish at the hands of that lunatic, and these e-mails had brought that feeling back to the pit of her stomach.

Carleen placed the kettle on the stove and turned on the gas. Her cat Jasmine pounced on the counter and slithered along purring and meowing. Carleen patted the cat’s head as she purred louder. The cat’s tail waved in the air like some black rope swinging to and fro. She opened a can of cat food and dug the mushy substance out with a fork into the cat’s bowl. Jasmine scurried over to the food, sniffed and immediately began eating. The sun ebbed its way lower behind the mountaintops as the night invaded like an uninvited guest. The teakettle began to whistle loudly as Carleen placed a tea bag in her favorite cup and poured the steaming water. Immediately, the sweet, sugary aroma of