Thriller: Stories To Keep You Up All Night. Литагент HarperCollins USD

The picture enclosed is not a fake, this is not a hoax, and we cannot be bought. If you want to see your son alive again you will read this letter carefully and follow our instructions precisely.

      At 4:00 p.m., on June 23, you have face-lift surgery scheduled on your patient, Audra Meadows, of 144 Glenn Cherry Lane, Bel-Air. During the procedure, you will inject 5cc of isopropyl alcohol around the facial nerve on both sides of her face. The resulting paralysis of her facial muscles must be complete and irreversible. If you fail, if she can lift even the corner of her mouth, you will never see your son again.

      A copy of this note and photo has been placed on David’s bed for your wife to find. Do not alert the authorities or anyone else. Choose to do so and you have sealed David’s fate.

      Dr. George Hill, the plastic surgeon to the stars, slumped down onto the cool marble of his foyer, his heart pounding. Just minutes before, the persistent ringing of the doorbell had awoken him. The manila envelope was propped against the front door.

      Hill pushed himself up and studied the photo of his son. David’s hair was shorter than when he saw him last. Was it two months ago? Certainly no more than three. His eyes, always bright and intelligent, were blindfolded. He was sitting on a metal folding chair holding a sign that read:

       June 22

       2:00 a.m.

      2:00 a.m.—just three hours ago. Shakily, Hill made it to the phone in his entertainment center and called his office manager.

      “Hi, it’s me,” he said.

      “Gee, even without checking my caller ID I guessed right,” Joyce Baker replied. “I suppose 5:00 a.m. gave it away.”

      Odd hours and interruptions during her limited personal time were her curse for running George Hill’s medical practice for fifteen years. He was at the top of the heap of plastic surgeons in southern California, if not the country, and he was determined to remain there.

      “Have you given anyone in our office access to the new appointment scheduling program?”

      “No,” she replied. “I’m the only one with a log-on password.”

      “Has anyone asked you about any client’s appointment? Anyone at all?”

      “Absolutely not,” Joyce said. “What’s this all about? Which client?”