Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

James Patterson is the most popular storyteller of our time and the creator of such unforgettable characters and series as Alex Cross, the Women’s Murder Club, Jane Smith, and Maximum Ride. He has coauthored #1 bestselling novels with Bill Clinton, Dolly Parton, and Michael Crichton, as well as collaborated on #1 bestselling nonfiction, including The Idaho Four, Walk in My Combat Boots, and Filthy Rich. Patterson has told the story of his own life in the #1 bestselling autobiography James Patterson by James Patterson. He is the recipient of an Edgar Award, ten Emmy Awards, the Literarian Award from the National Book Foundation, and the National Humanities Medal.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

2nd Chance

Warner Books

Chapter One

On the beat-up couch across from me sat Hector, a barrio kid twodays out of Juvenile; Alysha, quiet and pretty, but with a familyhistory you wouldn't want to know; and Michelle, who at fourteen hadalready spent a year selling herself on the streets of SanFrancisco.

"Hearts," I declared, flipping down an eight and changing the suitjust as Hector was about to lay out.

"Damn, badge lady," he whined. "How come each time I'm 'bout to godown, you stick your knife in me?"

"Teach you to ever trust a cop, fool." Michelle laughed, tossing aconspiratorial smile my way.

For the past month, I'd been spending a night or two a week at theHope Street House. For so long after the terrible bride and groomcase that summer, I'd felt completely lost. I took a month off fromHomicide, ran down by the marina, gazed out at the bay from thesafety of my Potrero Hill flat.

Nothing helped. Not counseling, not the total support of mygirls-Claire, Cindy, Jill. Not even going back to the job. I hadwatched, unable to help, as the life leaked out of the person Iloved. I still felt responsible for my partner's death in the lineof duty. Nothing seemed to fill the void.

So I came here ... to Hope Street.

And the good news was, it was working a little. I peered up from mycards at Angela, a new arrival who sat in a metal chair across theroom cuddling her three-month-old daughter. The poor kid, maybesixteen, hadn't said much all night. I would try to talk to Angelabefore I left.

The door opened and Dee Collins, one of the house's head counselors,came in. She was followed by a stiff-looking black woman in aconservative gray suit. She had Department of Children and Familieswritten all over her.

"Angela, your social worker's here." Dee knelt down beside her.

"I ain't blind," the teenager said.

"We're going to have to take the baby now," the social workerinterrupted, as if completing this assignment was all that kept herfrom catching the next Caltrain.

"No!" Angela pulled the infant even closer. "You can keep me in thishole, you can send me back to Claymore, but you're not taking mybaby."

"Please, honey, only for a few days," Dee Collins tried to assureher.

The teenage girl drew her arms protectively around her baby, who,sensing some harm, began to cry.

"Don't you make a scene, Angela," the social worker warned. "Youknow how this is done."

As she came toward her, I watched as Angela jumped out of the chair.She was clutching the baby in one arm and a glass of juice she'dbeen drinking in the opposite hand.

In one swift motion, she cracked the glass against a table. Itcreated a jagged shard.

"Angela." I jumped up from the card table. "Put that down. No one'sgoing to take your baby anywhere unless you let her go."

"This bitch is trying to ruin my life." She glared. "First she letsme sit in Claymore three days past my date, then she won't let me gohome to my mom. Now she's trying to take my baby girl."

I nodded, peering into the teenager's eyes. "First, you gotta laydown the glass," I said. "You know that, Angela."

The DCF worker took a step, but I held her back. I moved slowlytoward Angela. I took hold of the glass, then I gently eased thechild out of her arms.

"She's all I have," the girl whispered, and then she started to sob.

"I know." I nodded. "That's why you'll change some things in yourlife and get her back."

Dee Collins had her arms around Angela, a cloth wrapped around thegirl's bleeding hand. The DCF worker was trying unsuccessfully tohush the crying infant.

I went up and said to her, "That baby gets placed somewhere nearbywith daily visitation rights. And by the way, I didn't see anythinggoing on here that was worth putting on file.... You?" Thecaseworker gave me a disgruntled look and turned away.

Suddenly, my beeper sounded, three dissonant beeps punctuating thetense air. I pulled it out and read the number. Jacobi, myex-partner in Homicide. What did he want?

I excused myself and moved into the staff office. I was able toreach him in his car.

"Something bad's happened, Lindsay," he said glumly. "I thoughtyou'd want to know."

He clued me in about a horrible drive-by shooting at the La SalleHeights Church. An eleven-year-old girl had been killed.

"Jesus ..." I sighed as my heart sank. "I thought you might want inon it," Jacobi said.

I took in a breath. It had been over three months since I'd been onthe scene at a homicide. Not since the day the bride and groom caseended.

"So, I didn't hear," Jacobi pressed. "You want in, Lieutenant?" Itwas the first time he had called me by my new rank.

I realized my honeymoon had come to an end. "Yeah," I muttered. "Iwant in."

Continues...

Excerpted from 2nd Chanceby James Patterson Copyright © 2005 by James Patterson. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.