Never Reply All Page 8

  Bob nodded. “Now we have to get Cash. Somehow.”

  A few days later, Mr. Cash summoned Emily to Jessica’s office.

  “Quite a story you had,” he said.

  Emily had met him a few times but didn’t know him well. At first, she thought the threatening email came from him, but after Jessica was in jail, the FBI blamed it all on the CEO.

  Emily hoped she entered the shortlist to replace Jessica. She had enough brains, talent, and knowledge. She also knew Mike was on the same list.

  She would be happy for him if he got it.

  “We need to find a new CEO,” Mr. Cash said. “Both you and Mike were on the shortlist.”

  Were?

  They made up their minds?

  Emily moved in her seat.

  “Who do you think is better?”

  “I think we’re both good. We both have experience, knowledge, and the ability to run the company. I learned a lot from Jessica. Well, from the good things she did. And this company needs to be led by another woman.”

  Mr. Cash nodded. “We picked Mike. After what happened, we feel you can’t be a part of this company. You can take your stuff and leave.”

  When Emily left the office, Mike didn’t look at her.

  He knew.

  They had probably told him before they told her.

  She took her belongings from her office, and when she passed Mike, she asked him to call her that evening.

  But he never did.

  Epilogue

  Stuber and Craig entered Bob’s hospital room and sat next to him.

  “We have some updates,” Stuber said as Craig waited behind him, almost out of sight. “Cash fired Emily and promoted Mike to be CEO.”

  “Really? I thought he’d keep Emily as CEO,” Bob said. “I even suspected at one point that Emily had something to do with things so she could be CEO.”

  “No. Not Emily.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We still have a bugging device in Jessica’s office. I’m not sure it’s admissible in court, but this is what we picked up.”

  Stuber launched an app on his phone and put it in front of Bob to listen.

  “We trust you,” Bob heard Cash say. “You’ll do a better job than Jessica. For sure.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mike said from Stuber’s phone.

  “I knew you’d be a good fit to spy on both of them,” Cash said. “I didn’t think you’d take it as far as you did, but it worked.”

  “I couldn’t get to Jessica this way, so I figured getting close to Emily would be good enough.”

  “I had no idea Jessica was so crazy.”

  “Me neither,” Mike said. “What are we going to do with Emily?”

  “I have no use for her anymore.”

  They both laughed.

  After Stuber left, Craig sat on the only chair in Bob’s hospital room. They both kept quiet for a long time.

  “I ended things with your...with Lisa,” Craig said without looking at him. "I’m sorry again for what happened. I don’t know how, or why…”

  Bob looked away.

  “To be honest,” Craig said, “she broke up with me.”

  Bob stared at him.

  In the video, she seemed like she was really into him. What happened?

  Does she want me back?

  Is there a way I could take her back?

  “Did you report me?” Bob asked.

  Craig stared at him, but after a moment shook his head.

  “Are you going to?”

  Craig raised his eyebrows. “You could have killed me in that apartment.”

  Bob nodded.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I’m not a murderer.” Bob squinted. “I’ll be honest and say I wanted to, but that’s not me.”

  After a while, Craig rose. “You’re a good agent. And a good man. I’m sorry again for what I did. There’s no excuse.”

  Craig left and Bob bit the inside of his cheek.

  Craig never said he wouldn’t report him.

  Author’s note

  If you’ve enjoyed Never Reply All, please check out the next book in the series—Don’t Dare to Dream.

  Agent Bob will return later in the book, but you can get to know David, Rick, and Angela and what happens to them. The book starts a little slower, but the suspense builds up to an explosion…

  Turn a few pages to read an excerpt.

  You can get it here:

  www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDW2TBN

  Stay in touch

  If you’d like to stay updated, please sign up for my mailing list here:

  www.danfriedmanauthor.com

  Please leave a review

  If you’ve enjoyed this book, it would be great if you could leave a review.

  Reviews help me bring my books to the attention of other readers who may enjoy them as well.

  To leave a review—click below:

  Never Reply All

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  Many people helped me with this book, and I hope I’m not forgetting anyone.

  People who read and suffered through old drafts of the book and helped me improve it immensely: my teacher, mentor, and editor William Berndhardt, my wife Avital Friedman, my brother Sharon Friedman, and Melissa Ammons.

  Even though the book is more FBI than the police, the people who helped me with this part were my dear cousin, Sergeant Dekel Levy, and my friend and a fellow author Sergeant Brandon Watkins. I’d also like to thank Retired Police Captain Dave Cobb. All the mistakes and inaccuracies are mine. Stay safe guys.

  Also, as usual, the Internet was a great help as well.

  Turn the page for an Excerpt

  A successful million-dollar startup is David Pascal's dream. But some people would kill to get a piece of it.

  Don’t Dare to Dream—Gold Medalist: 2019 Readers' Favorite Mystery Book Award winner and a finalist thriller in the National Indie Excellence Award!

  One

  David Pascal parked in front of Target and stared at a blonde woman coming out of the store. She steered the red cart with her elbows, her eyes glued to her phone. A little girl, wearing a pink dress and a matching hair bow, strolled a few feet behind her.

  Exiting the car, he saw a big pickup truck driving toward the red-brown pavement of the pedestrian crossing, the driver’s eyes on his phone.

  David had only wanted to get snacks for dinner, but what happened next felt like a scene in slow motion; he saw the driver blow through the stop sign, and with a force only God could explain, he ran, grabbed the girl, and tried to finish crossing the road.

  He had not run in over ten years.

  The pickup truck screeched to a halt a few inches from them.

  David exhaled slowly and tried to smile at the girl, but she was crying for her mother.

  The next thing he knew, someone was helping him sit on one of the red concrete balls in front of the store while a man offered him water. People gathered around him, staring. Someone pulled his arm and asked if he was okay. A woman squatted in front of him, her hand over her mouth.

  He thought he heard someone somewhere say the word hero.

  Every inch of his body ached. His heart raced as he gasped for air. The little girl stared at him from her crying mother’s arms. She hugged her mother and inspected the crowd around David. When the crowd dispersed, the mother bent over him, hugged him tight for a few seconds, and kissed his cheek.

  Some of her tears wet his face.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much.”

  He tried to smile.

  Almost dying was worth the hug and the kiss.

  Too bad she was probably married.

  Rick MacMillan sat in his new Chevrolet Camaro in front of Target and couldn’t believe what he had just seen.

  Two

  David drove up to the black gate at the entrance to his apartment complex and pushed the remote a few times until it opened. The stupid thing worked randomly, and when it did,
it took ages for the gate to open.

  The management had installed the gates following a few burglaries. They wanted the tenants to feel secure but never offered actual statistics. The gate was like putting a Band-Aid on a broken skull—anyone could wait for a tenant to open the gate and drive in after them.

  David tried to feel good about saving the little girl’s life, but his body ached from the short run. He’d pulled every muscle in both legs. He wondered if he’d really moved that quickly. Maybe it just felt that way.

  A sidewalk separated the car from his apartment, which kept him from parking even closer. He lifted a foot to climb it, but his legs couldn’t hold his weight and he tumbled backward, missing his car by an inch. He crashed to the ground, his head hitting last, and he felt as though he’d made a dent in the pavement.

  He tried, but failed, to push himself up. After a few tries, he decided to wait for someone to help him.

  But what if no one came? Maybe I should call 911.

  That would be embarrassing.

  He thought of the old commercial: I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. He was too young for that.

  He fumbled for his iPhone, but it took him a few minutes to roll his wide body over and get it out. As he tried to overcome his blurred vision, a man kneeled down next to him and grabbed his arm. “Are you okay, buddy? What happened?”

  Where the hell did he come from?

  David had met Rick last week, when the tall, handsome neighbor from upstairs came knocking on his door. Rick was at least a head taller than David and wore a tight T-shirt, which emphasized his muscular physique. His body seemed as if it could burst out of his shirt.

  Rick said he’d scratched David’s car while moving his furniture in and insisted on reimbursing him, despite David’s protests that the car was old and that he didn’t intend to repaint it.

  Rick was standing in his way of getting his daily dose of junk food, so David had to wave him off.

  Now, as he lay in the parking lot looking blankly up at Rick, he thought having a friendly neighbor wasn’t so bad after all.

  “I’m fine. Thanks,” David whispered.

  Rick’s eyebrows rose. “Let me at least help you up.”

  Rick dropped a gym bag from his shoulder and tugged at David, his big muscles flexing under his shirt, but he was too heavy even for Rick. It took a joint effort to get David to his knees and then for him to sit on the curb.

  Rick looked at him. “Do you need an ambulance?”

  David shook his head. He hated doctors.

  Rick retrieved his bag, pulled out a bottle of water, and handed it to David.

  After David took a few sips, Rick helped him up and walked him into his apartment, gripping his arm until David settled in his recliner.

  Rick examined the apartment. “Would you like me to call someone?”

  David stared up at him from his recliner, then shook his head and gazed at the ceiling.

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  David shook his head.

  “Would you like me to stay for a few minutes?” Rick asked, but David had already dozed off.

  Rick watched David sleeping in the recliner.

  He sighed. This man needs to change his life. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.

  He went to the kitchen and saw a sink full of dirty dishes. He inspected the unopened mail on the counter—medical bills, bank statements, junk mail.

  He moved to the bedroom and saw an unmade queen-size bed without a frame. He doubted the fatso’s bed saw any action. A single brown plastic nightstand stood next to the bed with an old night lamp and a phone charger on it. A small desk with a printer covered with dust filled the corner of the room, dirty clothes scattered on the chair next to it. He opened the nightstand drawer, but a noise from the living room startled him. He closed the drawer, sprang to the bathroom, and flushed the toilet. When he returned to the living room, David was still sleeping.

  Rick sat for a few minutes, then returned to the nightstand drawer. He feared a sex toy jumping out at him, but instead saw an old iPhone, earphones, and batteries.

  He returned to the living room and stared at David. Rick shook his head and slipped his hands into his front pockets.

  David opened his eyes and saw a man in his bedroom.

  What the hell is he doing there? Is this a dream?

  He dozed off again. When he awoke, a man lay on his couch a few feet from him, reading from a phone. David wanted to speak, but his tongue was too heavy. He gazed at the man.

  “You’re up?” Rick dropped his feet to the floor and sat up.

  David said nothing, so Rick continued: “It’s me. Rick. Your neighbor. You fell outside, and I helped you into your apartment. How are you feeling, buddy?”

  “You’re still here?” David asked.

  “I hope it’s okay. I didn’t think I could leave you like this.” Rick rose, bent over to look at him, imitating a doctor, then sat back down. “Are you feeling better?”

  David stared at him.

  “You want me to take you to a hospital or call an ambulance? I’m kinda worried.”

  David shook his head. After a moment, he said, “Why are you still here?”

  “I didn’t go to med school, but I looked it up online”—Rick held his phone up—“and saw you might’ve gotten a concussion. I didn’t want to leave you alone like this. I almost called an ambulance a few minutes ago. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  David nodded.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  David nodded again. “I’m sorry. I want to be alone.”

  Rick rose and straightened his shirt. “Sure. I have a meeting I have to go to anyway. I’ll leave you my card. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  As Rick turned the doorknob to leave, David asked, “Did you go into my bedroom?”

  If you want to read the rest:

  www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDW2TBN

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Dan Friedman likes to write thrillers where regular people deal with extraordinary situations.

  He is also an entrepreneur, has an MBA, and in the past was a technology journalist and a programmer. Dan lives with his wife, two children, and their dog.

  His debut novel Don't Dare to Dream won the 2019 Reader's Favorite Gold Medal Mystery Book Award and was a finalist thriller in the National Indie Excellence Award!

  For more information:

  www.danfriedmanauthor.com

  dan@danfriedmanauthor.com