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  What Others Are Saying

  About R.J. Patterson

  “R.J. Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”

  -Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS

  “Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”

  -Richard D., reader

  “Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.

  -Ray F., reader

  DEAD SHOT

  “Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer R.J. Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”

  -Vincent Zandri, bestselling author ofTHE REMAINS

  “You can tell R.J. knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but withDead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery.”

  -Josh Katzowitz,

  NFL writer for CBSSports.com

  & author ofSid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game

  DEAD LINE

  “This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. R.J. Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”

  -Bob Behler

  3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year

  and play-by-play voice for Boise State football

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  “In Dead in the Water, R.J. Patterson accurately captures the action-packed saga of a what could be a real-life college football scandal. The sordid details will leave readers flipping through the pages as fast as a hurry-up offense.”

  -Mark Schlabach,

  ESPN college sports columnist and

  co-author ofCalled to Coach

  Heisman: The Man Behind the Trophy

  Other titles by R.J. Patterson

  Ed Maddux thriller series

  King of Queens

  To Catch a Spy

  Whispers of Treason

  Brady Hawk series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  Dead and Gone

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Man's Land

  Dead Drop

  Dead to Rights

  Dead End

  Dead on Arrival

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  Full Blast

  Target Zero

  Fury

  State of Play

  Siege

  Seek and Destroy

  Into the Shadows

  Hard Target

  No Way Out

  Two Minutes to Midnight

  Against All Odds

  Any Means Necessary

  For Tripp Fogle, a great friend and coach

  who has a passion for his players and the game

  DEAD ON ARRIVAL

  A Cal Murphy Thriller

  R.J. PATTERSON

  CHAPTER 1

  CHASE DOLLINGER PEERED at his catcher for the sign. With a confident nod, Dollinger stood upright and rotated the ball in his hand until he had the seams positioned just right. The crowd at Seattle’s Safeco Field buzzed with excitement. Dollinger needed one more strike to clinch the Mariners’ first playoff appearance in more than fifteen years.

  After a deep breath, Dollinger wound up and delivered a fastball that tailed away from the batter. Fooled by the pitch, he decided to swing before realizing too late that he had no chance at making contact. The ball popped in the catcher’s mitt, but the sound was muted due to the roar from the fans. The umpire gave an emphatic strike call and pandemonium ensued.

  Confetti cannons launched teal and navy paper squares into the air. Beer cascaded from the upper deck. Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” pulsated over the stadium’s sound system. For a few seconds, Dollinger was lost in the moment, forgetting that his performance this afternoon was largely responsible for the celebration. He scanned the crowd for his father, Hugh, and found him smiling and clapping amidst a sea of outstretched arms high-fiving and pointing to the heavens.

  But before Dollinger had an opportunity to fully revel in the significance of what had just happened, he found himself smothered by his teammates—and panicking to escape the dog pile on the pitcher’s mound. Shortness of breath. Increased heart rate. A rush of anxiety. His teammates were all too aware of his acrophobia but forgot about claustrophobia in their euphoria.

  Dollinger struggled to move while buried beneath the weight of his whole team. Using his elbows to steady himself, he inched forward, slithering through the entanglement of his teammates’ legs and arms. The effort took all the strength he had left after throwing a complete game shutout.

  Once he broke free, Dollinger sucked in a large breath before scrambling clear of the pile. He sprinted a safe distance away from his teammates and noticed a cameraman rushing toward him to capture his reaction. Dollinger forced a smile and turned his attention back toward the center of the infield. A reporter approached Dollinger and nodded, signaling for an interview. Dollinger bent over, resting his hands on his knees. No matter the situation, he always preferred to have plenty of space.

  He looked up at Erin Andrews, the FOX Sports interviewer who was itching to start an on-air conversation with him about the game.

  “Give me a second,” Dollinger said.

  He steadied his breathing and scanned the crowd once more. His father had already slipped away. And from the celebration taking place in the stands, Dollinger figured his father might have been the only one to leave early.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Dollinger said to Andrews.

  She smiled and nodded toward her cameraman. A few seconds later, he pointed at her and she began questioning Dollinger about his performance on the field.

  “This is a dream come true,” he said. “I grew up here and always hoped for a moment like this. To be here now experiencing it is incredible.”

  Mariners’ center fielder Flip McCutcheon and first baseman Buster Portman doused Dollinger over the head with a bucket of ice water. Dollinger jumped back, trying to shake the cold off on a cool Seattle night. They all smiled for the camera before turning serious as they entered the tunnel to the clubhouse.

  * * *

  AFTER THE FINAL champagne bottle had been emptied and the last reporter escorted out of the clubhouse by the Mariners’ staff, Dollinger exhaled as he sank into the chair in front of his locker. He wiped his face with a towel and forced a smile as he watched jubilant teammates still soaking in the victory.

  In their quest to qualify for the playoffs, the Mariners needed all 162 regular season games to hold off the Los Angeles Angels and win the American League West division. The Mariners’ reward? A series with the d
readed New York Yankees in the first round of the playoffs.

  “The skipper wants to see you,” said Brad Young, a fellow pitcher.

  Dollinger stood and strode into the office of Gil Baylor, the team’s manager. Baylor was puffing on a cigar when Dollinger entered the cramped quarters.

  “Shut the door,” Baylor said.

  Dollinger froze, cutting his eyes toward the door. There was really only room for Baylor’s desk and chair, but Baylor had managed to cram another chair against the wall with just enough space for someone to squeeze into.

  Baylor picked up on Dollinger’s hesitation.

  “Never mind, Dolly,” Baylor said. “Stay where you are, and keep the door open. I don’t care if anyone else hears this conversation because everyone will know about it in a matter of minutes.”

  “What’s going on, Skip?”

  “I have to give the league our pitching rotation for the series.”

  Dollinger shrugged. “I know I can’t start in the first game. I need the rest after tonight.”

  “You can’t start in the second either. That won’t be enough rest.”

  The Mariners earned home field advantage, meaning they would host the first two games of the best-of-five series. Game three would be in New York along with game four, if necessary. A deciding fifth game would be played back in Seattle if the series required it.

  “So, you’re going to hold me out until the last game?” Dollinger asked.

  “No, you’ll pitch in New York.”

  “But that means I’ll have to—”

  “Fly? I know. But it’s the playoffs, and we need you.”

  Dollinger’s eyes widened. “Oh, Skip, you know I can’t fly. I’ve never flown, and I’m not about to start now.”

  “I know. That’s why I’ve arranged for someone to drive your RV across the country to New York. You’ll leave in the morning.”

  “You want me to go three thousand miles in my RV to pitch one game?”

  “Your contract says I can’t require you to fly, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still pitch for us out of town if necessary.”

  “But, Skip, I—”

  “Not another word. This team needs you, and we can’t afford to have our best pitcher waiting and hoping back here in Seattle that we get to a fifth and deciding game.”

  Dollinger sighed and nodded. “You know that I want to pitch. It’s just that—”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself, Dolly. Just get cleaned up, and grab all your gear. Your RV leaves tomorrow morning at eight. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up on your sleep and relax during the trip.”

  Dollinger held a steady gaze on Baylor, who blew a smoke ring and returned to sifting through some documents on his desk.

  “This isn’t up for debate,” Baylor said, using the back of his hand to shoo Dollinger toward the exit. “It’s what’s best for the team. And my job is to make sure that I get you guys in the best position to win a championship, fear of flying or not.”

  Dollinger shook his head and returned to his locker without another word.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Dollinger awoke to a pounding on his apartment door. He glanced at the clock on the far wall and sprang out of bed. Throwing on a bathrobe, he hustled toward the door.

  “Mr. Dollinger?” the man standing at the door asked.

  “Please, just call me Chase.”

  “Okay, Chase. I’m Tad Wilson, your driver for the trip this week. Are you ready to go?”

  “I’m all packed,” Dollinger said, glancing at a pair of suitcases just inside the door. “But as you can see, I just rolled out of bed—more like jumped after you knocked. You can load up and then make yourself at home. I need to get a quick shower, and then we can hit the road.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Dollinger shuffled back to his room and turned on the radio while he climbed into the shower. Listening to local sports talk radio was discouraged by the veterans on the team, but Dollinger had become addicted to the banter on KJR 950 AM when he was a kid growing up in the suburbs just north of Seattle. If anyone was going to criticize him, Dollinger preferred to hear it from guys who watched and opined about baseball for a living than read about it by some drunk fan trolling on Twitter.

  As steam filled the bathroom, the back and forth between morning show hosts Chuck and Buck echoed off the walls.

  “I’m still buzzing from last night’s game,” Chuck said. “A complete game shutout by Chase Dollinger helped the Mariners win the division and earn a playoff berth. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see the Mariners in the playoffs again in my lifetime.”

  “And while that felt like a miracle, I just received word that there may be an even bigger miracle in the works,” Buck said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Chase Dollinger is going to pitch in the third game of the series—in New York!”

  “That’s unbelievable. You know when the Mariners signed Dollinger, I wondered if it was worth it. Here’s a pitcher that every scout in baseball said was a guaranteed superstar except for one thing—he was deathly afraid of flying and made it clear that he would never fly. But he’s been almost automatic at home for the Mariners in his second season with the club.”

  “I’m with you on this one,” Buck said. “He’s developed into one of the best pitchers in the game. And quite honestly, I don’t care if he’s afraid of flying as long as he’s not afraid of the Yankees. They probably thought they would avoid seeing Dollinger since he had to pitch the final game of the regular season. But now that Baylor and his staff have come up with a way to get Dollinger to New York, presumably without flying, I really like how this move is going to favor the Mariners.”

  “Well, you don’t have to presume that Dollinger isn’t flying. I can verify that he’s taking an RV across the country,” Chuck said. “Someone just tweeted at me with a picture of Dollinger’s RV sitting in the parking lot outside his apartment and his gear being loaded up.”

  Dollinger sighed as he rinsed his hair.

  I just hope nobody follows us.

  He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Once he finished getting dressed, he walked into the living room where Tad was watching a pair of talking heads yelling at each other, debating who was going to win the World Series—the Yankees or the Dodgers.

  “You’re gonna prove both those idiots wrong,” Tad said.

  Dollinger smiled. “Let’s hope so.”

  * * *

  DOLLINGER STRETCHED OUT on the couch as his RV pulled onto the Interstate. He grabbed a copy of the new Harlan Coben novel and got lost in the mystery. They were at the Washington border about to cross into Idaho before he realized how far they’d traveled.

  He stood and meandered up to the front, taking a seat next to Tad.

  “So be honest,” Tad said with a wry grin. “The real reason you claim to be afraid of flying is because you don’t want to leave this beautiful part of the country, right?”

  Dollinger chuckled. “I wish that were true, but I guess I lucked out.”

  “How’s that?”

  “If you’re going to have a fear of flying, there’s no better place to live than in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Tad nodded. “No doubt about that.”

  “So, is this your full-time gig? Driving around terrified professional athletes from one side of the country to the other?”

  “It’s kind of a small niche market,” Tad said with a grin. “But all joking aside, I usually drive bands around. I know your general manager from college, and he reached out to me to see if I’d be interested in driving you.”

  “If you drive bands around, I bet you’ve got quite a few stories, don’t you?”

  “More than you have time for.”

  Dollinger shrugged. “Last I checked, we’ve got a couple of days. Why don’t you tell me a few?”

  The two men spent the next hour laughing and trading stories about the quirkiness of the superstars they
both knew. With plenty of time to chat during their trip, Dollinger was excited to hear more. However, the conversation was cut short when his phone rang with a call from his agent.

  “Dolly, I’ve got an interview request from Seattle Times’ reporter Cal Murphy,” he said. “You want to do it?”

  “Why not?” Dollinger said. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to successfully kill off all the time I have on the road for the next three or four days. I might as well.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have him call you.”

  Dollinger hung up and smiled moments later when his phone buzzed with a call from Murphy. While Dollinger wasn’t thrilled about the part of his job that required him to speak with the media, he enjoyed chatting with Murphy.

  * * *

  DOLLINGER WAS ALREADY ASLEEP when Tad pulled into an RV park after 10:00 p.m. just outside of Billings, Montana. Though he wasn’t certain, he would’ve sworn someone was following him. He stopped at the office and collected his site location along with an internet password. After driving to the site, he started setting up the sleeping quarters and activating the slide outs. Once the power and water were connected, he woke up Dollinger, who was still slumbering on the couch.

  “Hey, Ace. It’s time to get to bed.”

  Dollinger scrambled to his feet and disappeared to the bedroom. Tad felt his phone buzzing and pulled it out to see who was calling.

  “I thought I might be hearing from you,” Tad said.

  “How are things going?” a man asked.

  “I can’t really complain. No major incidents to report, at least not yet anyway.”

  “Well, be ready. Everything is going down tomorrow.”

  “Is the plan still the same?” Tad asked.

  “Nothing’s changed. Just—”

  “I know what to do, but don’t say anything else. The less I know . . .”

  “I know you don’t want to hear about all the details, so I’ll keep them to myself. I’ll only pass along what you absolutely need to know.”