Don't Open the Door


 
 
 
 Praise for the novels of Allison Brennan
 “[Brennan] keeps readers guessing whodunit to the end.”
 —Publishers Weekly on The Wrong Victim
 “An intense, pulse pounding thriller from start to finish. There were so many suspects, not to mention surprises and twists.” 
 —The Reading Cafe on The Wrong Victim
 “It’s always such a pleasure to review an Allison Brennan novel! She knows how to write absorbing, twisty thrillers with plenty of heart and sense, and The Sorority Murder, is no different.”
 —Criminal Element
 “Allison Brennan is always good but her latest and most ambitious work ever…is downright spectacular...A riveting page turner as prescient as it is purposeful.” 
 —Providence Journal on Tell No Lies
 “Bestseller Brennan’s intriguing sequel to…The Third to Die...[has] fast-paced action...[and a]well-constructed mystery plot.”
 —Publishers Weekly on Tell No Lies
 “A lean thriller starring a strong and damaged protagonist who’s as compelling as Lisbeth Salander.” 
 —Kirkus Reviews on The Third to Die
 “Leave all the lights on... You’ll be turning the pages fast as you can.” 
 —Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author of Labyrinth, on The Third to Die
 
 
 Don’t Open the Door
 
 Allison Brennan
 
 
 
 There are few people who embody friendship,honor and humor as Bill Saracino, a good friendof the Brennan family, and especially of Dan.Together they could keep anyone laughing all night. Now Bill is keeping the angels in good humor with his wit and charm. Bill will be missed by all who were lucky enough to know him. Requiescat in pace.
 
 
 Contents
 Monday
 One
 Two
 Tuesday
 Three
 Four
 Five
 Six
 Seven
 Eight
 Wednesday
 Nine
 Ten
 Eleven
 Twelve
 Thirteen
 Fourteen
 Fifteen
 Sixteen
 Seventeen
 Eighteen
 Nineteen
 Twenty
 Thursday
 Twenty-One
 Twenty-Two
 Twenty-Three
 Twenty-Four
 Twenty-Five
 Twenty-Six
 Twenty-Seven
 Twenty-Eight
 Twenty-Nine
 Thirty
 Thirty-One
 Thirty-Two
 Friday
 Thirty-Three
 Thirty-Four
 Thirty-Five
 Thirty-Six
 Thirty-Seven
 Thirty-Eight
 Thirty-Nine
 Saturday
 Forty
 Forty-One
 Forty-Two
 Forty-Three
 Forty-Four
 Sunday
 Forty-Five
 Thursday
 Forty-Six
 
 
 MONDAY
 
 
 One
 Tommy Granger awoke with a start, the remnants of a disturbing dream fading as he struggled under his twisted, sweat-soaked sheets. As it was with most nightmares—at least for him—he didn’t remember details. A vague sense that he’d been at the office, but Regan was still a marshal. They were suited up in full gear, preparing to track a fugitive, but as dreams were tricky, he was then alone in the woods at night, deep in the Shenandoah National Park, tracking a predator who was elusive and dangerous, his heart racing, pounding, an unfamiliar feeling because his training taught him to keep his fear in check.
 The break of a branch behind him and he was awake, not knowing if the sound was in his head or in his yard.
 He fought to untangle himself from his bedding as he sat up, rubbing his bare feet on thick carpet, grounding himself. The panic was brief, fleeting. Training and control were hard to break, even in a deep sleep.
 The faint numbers of his bedside clock told him it was 4:51 a.m. His alarm was set for 5:30, but he always woke a few minutes before then, as if his body was trained to anticipate the irritating buzz. He hit the off button; he had a busy day.
 He was finally prepared to share with his office his off-book investigation into the murder of Chase Warwick.
 It was all about money, Tommy thought with disgust as he pushed himself out of bed. Money and greed and what corrupt men were willing to do to keep their secrets buried. The killer may have been apprehended, but Adam Hannigan’s motives had never sat well with Tommy. And then Hannigan was dead and the case closed.
 He paused at his bedroom window. The air was still, but he couldn’t get the sound of a cracking branch out of his mind. It had sounded crisp, sharp. Real. But he saw nothing out front, no jogger, no passing car, still too early for Mrs. Benson down the street to be walking her friendly golden retrievers or for Richie Luna, his neighbor to the east, to leave for work—though he noted the faint light in the kitchen, signaling that Richie, like Tommy, was an early riser.
 Dreams and nightmares were deceiving, which was why he was having a hard time shaking this one.
 The hot water cleared the remnants of fog from his brain. He shaved, dressed, the morning ritual comforting. Downstairs, he brewed a pot of coffee and stared out at the large kitchen window into the side yard, running through his head how he was going to lay out the case to Charlie and then his boss.
 Knowing why Chase Warwick had died was only one piece of the puzzle. He knew Adam Hannigan, the man arrested for murder, was only a pawn—used or hired—but Tommy couldn’t prove who he suspected was behind everything. If Tommy could convince his boss that he was onto something—that the murder of Chase Warwick was a small piece of a bigger conspiracy—they would then be up against high-priced lawyers, big name corporations, and even their own government.
 Bring it on, he thought. He was itching for a fight. Itching to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. He’d only recently realized that he couldn’t do it alone anymore. There was information he couldn’t access without a warrant.
 Regan deserved to know why her son was dead. Chase deserved justice for his murder. And those responsible must pay for their crimes.
 And maybe...just maybe...Regan would come back.
 Don’t be a fool. She made it clear she was done with the Marshals Service, that she wasn’t going to return to duty, that she wanted to be with her friends and family. Far, far away from the pain and heartbreak she’d left behind here in Virginia.
 He’d go anywhere for her, but Tommy wasn’t naive. Regan was her own woman, and while he was confident of his feelings, his greatest fear was that she didn’t love him like he