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  Praise for John Gilstrap

  NICK OF TIME

  “A page-turning thriller with strong characters, excit-

  ing action, and a big heart.”

  —Heather Graham

  AGAINST ALL ENEMIES

  “Any John Gilstrap novel packs the punch of a

  rocket-propelled grenade—on steroids! Tentacles of

  intrigue reach into FBI headquarters and military

  hierarchy. Lines are crossed and new ones drawn. The

  philosophy of killing to preserve life takes on new

  meaning. Gilstrap grabs the reader’s attention in a

  literary vise grip. Each installment of the Jonathan

  Grave series is a force majeure of covert incursions,

  and a damn good read.”

  —BookReporter.com

  “Tense, clever . . . series enthusiasts are bound to

  enjoy this new thriller.”

  —Library Journal

  END GAME

  AN AMAZON EDITORS’ FAVORITE BOOK OF THE YEAR

  “Gilstrap’s new Jonathan Grave thriller is his best

  novel to date—even considering his enviable

  bibliography. End Game starts off explosively

  and keeps on rolling. Gilstrap puts you in the

  moment as very few authors can. And there are

  many vignettes that will stay with you long after

  you have finished the book.”

  —Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com

  DAMAGE CONTROL

  “Powerful and explosive, an unforgettable journey

  into the dark side of the human soul. Gilstrap is a

  master of action and drama. If you like Vince Flynn

  and Brad Thor, you’ll love John Gilstrap.”

  —Gayle Lynds

  “Rousing . . . Readers will anxiously await

  the next installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “It’s easy to see why John Gilstrap is the go-to

  guy among thriller writers, when it comes to

  weapons, ammunition, and explosives. His

  expertise is uncontested.”

  —John Ramsey Miller

  “The best page-turning thriller I’ve grabbed in

  ages. Gilstrap is one of the very few writers who

  can position a set of characters in a situation, ramp

  up the tension, and—yes, keep it there, all the

  way through. There is no place you can put

  this book down.”

  —Beth Kanell, Kingdom Books, Vermont

  “A page-turning, near-perfect thriller, with

  engaging and believable characters . . .

  unputdownable! Warning—if you must be up

  early the next morning, don’t start the book.”

  —Top Mystery Novels

  “Takes you full force right away and doesn’t let go

  until the very last page . . . has enough full-bore

  action to take your breath away, barely giving you

  time to inhale. The action is nonstop. Gilstrap knows

  his technology and weaponry. Damage Control will

  blow you away.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  THREAT WARNING

  “If you are a fan of thriller novels, I hope you’ve been

  reading John Gilstrap’s Jonathan Grave series. Threat

  Warning is a character-driven work where the vehicle

  has four on the floor and horsepower to burn. From

  beginning to end, it is dripping with excitement.”

  —Joe Hartlaub, BookReporter.com

  “If you like Vince Flynn–style action, with a

  strong, incorruptible hero, this series deserves to be

  in your reading diet. Threat Warning reconfirms

  Gilstrap as a master of jaw-dropping action and

  heart-squeezing suspense.”

  —Austin Camacho, The Big Thrill

  HOSTAGE ZERO

  “Jonathan Grave, my favorite freelance peacemaker,

  problem-solver, and tough guy hero, is back—and in

  particularly fine form. Hostage Zero is classic

  Gilstrap: the people are utterly real, the action’s foot

  to the floor, and the writing’s fluid as a well-oiled

  machine gun. A tour de force!”

  —Jeffery Deaver

  HOSTAGE ZERO

  “This addictively readable thriller marries a

  breakneck pace to a complex, multilayered plot.... A

  roller coaster ride of adrenaline-inducing plot twists

  leads to a riveting and highly satisfying conclusion.

  Exceptional characterization and an intricate,

  flawlessly crafted story line make this an absolute

  must read for thriller fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  NO MERCY

  “No Mercy grabs hold of you on page one and doesn’t

  let go. Gilstrap’s new series is terrific. It will leave

  you breathless. I can’t wait to see what Jonathan

  Grave is up to next.”

  —Harlan Coben

  “The release of a new John Gilstrap novel is always

  worth celebrating, because he’s one of the finest

  thriller writers on the planet. No Mercy showcases

  his work at its finest—taut, action-packed, and

  impossible to put down!”

  —Tess Gerritsen

  “A great hero, a pulse-pounding story—and the

  launch of a really exciting series.”

  —Joseph Finder

  “An entertaining, fast-paced tale of

  violence and revenge.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “No other writer is better able to combine in a single

  novel both rocket-paced suspense and heartfelt looks

  at family and the human spirit. And what a pleasure

  to meet Jonathan Grave, a hero for our time . . . and

  for all time.”

  —Jeffery Deaver

  AT ALL COSTS

  “Riveting . . . combines a great plot and realistic,

  likable characters with look-over-your-shoulder

  tension. A page turner.”

  —The Kansas City Star

  “Gilstrap builds tension . . . until the last page, a

  hallmark of great thriller writers. I almost called the

  paramedics before I finished At All Costs.”

  —Tulsa World

  “Gilstrap has ingeniously twisted his simple premise

  six ways from Sunday.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Not-to-be-missed.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  NATHAN’S RUN

  “Gilstrap pushes every thriller button . . . a nail-biting

  denouement and strong characters.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “Gilstrap has a shot at being the next John

  Grisham . . . one of the best books of the year.”

  —Rocky Mountain News

  “Emotionally charged . . . one of the year’s best.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Brilliantly calculated . . . With the skill of a veteran

  pulp master, Gilstrap weaves a yarn that demands to

  be read in one sitting.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Like a roller coaster, the story races along on

  well-oiled wheels to an undeniably

  pulse-pounding conclusion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  ALSO BY JOHN GILSTRAP

  Friendly Fire

  Against All Ene
mies

  End Game

  Soft Targets

  High Treason

  Damage Control

  Threat Warning

  Hostage Zero

  No Mercy

  Six Minutes to Freedom

  Scott Free

  Even Steven

  At All Costs

  Nathan’s Run

  JOHN GILSTRAP

  NICK OF TIME

  TIME TO STEAL

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise for John Gilstrap

  ALSO BY JOHN GILSTRAP

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  TIME TO DIE

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  Previously in Nick of Time

  Nicki Janssen and Brad Ward have decided to escape their problems—hers of the health variety, his of the criminal justice kind—and head south toward a sunnier life together. Nicki’s delighted when Brad surprises her with an unforgettable evening of extravagant fun at a posh hotel outside Washington, D.C. The runaways have no idea how close Nicki’s father, Carter Janssen, is to catching up with them—until an unexpected encounter puts everyone to the test.

  April 14

  Derek’s mom visited me again today. She cried and cried. They told her that Derek was killed in a fight, but she didn’t believe it. She wanted to know if it was true. I told her I never wanted to see her again. I told her that Derek was a thief and he got what he deserved.

  They monitor the conversations in there. What else could I say? She begged to hear something good but I just walked away. I’m a piece of shit. A goddamn coward.

  Chapter One

  Carter Janssen hadn’t moved from the spot there in the parking lot, and when the police cars arrived, they came as a six-pack. Warren Michaels was first to step out onto the concrete.

  “You missed them!” Carter shouted. He was furious.

  Warren said, “I got a radio report from one of our men on the front door. He told me that you had tried to get them to come along.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Carter said.

  “They should have,” Warren said. “This is the only thing that made sense. Somehow they knew we were coming. Did you see them?”

  “I talked to her,” Carter said. He closed his eyes and saw that look of confusion in his daughter’s face all over again. “I tried to convince her to stay, but she went with him anyway.”

  “What were they driving?” asked the lieutenant.

  “A Honda,” he said. “Red, I think, but it might have been blue. They were gone before I could get a tag number.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Warren said, reading his thoughts. He squeezed Carter’s shoulder then let it go, a gesture of commiseration. “Besides, Ward is a smart guy. Chances are, he’s already switched those plates out for someone else’s.”

  “I tried to yell to you,” Carter said, a little calmer. “There in the hallway, but I couldn’t get your attention.”

  “I understand. The good news is, there can only be but so many Hondas out on the street tonight. We’ll put the word out on the radio and stop every one of them if we have to. We’ll get ’em.”

  Carter closed his eyes and tried to push away the approaching headache. Please just let it be that simple. “What did you find in the room?”

  “They were definitely there,” Warren said. “And they left quickly. All that formal wear and such, they left it all behind.”

  Carter sighed. “I guess that’s good news.”

  “But there’s bad news, too, I’m afraid.”

  The tone of the cop’s voice caused a spear of pain to pierce Carter’s body. As the cop reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out its contents, the pain blossomed even more. “These bottles have Nicki’s name on them. I suppose they’re important?”

  It was all of her meds. All of them. “Oh, my God,” Carter said.

  * * *

  Nicki watched with amazement as Brad went to work.

  The Honda lasted all of five miles, zigzagging from the highway off onto back streets, before he slowed to a crawl in a residential neighborhood.

  “We need new wheels,” he explained. “Your dad’s probably got the license number, and even if he doesn’t, at this hour, the cops’ll be stopping anything that looks like a Honda.”

  “So you’re just going to steal another car?”

  Brad shrugged. “What difference does one more make?”

  “So, when the owner wakes up in the morning, he’s going to report his car missing, and when that happens, we’re right back where we began.”

  Brad laughed, just a chuckle at first, and then a real laugh, like one you’d hear at a comedy club.

  “What’s so funny?” She wasn’t sure why, but deep in her gut, Nicki felt offended.

  “Think about it. You’ve got a fatal illness, you’re wandering through the night with a convicted murderer, we’re both probably gonna die in a hail of gunfire, and you’re worried about getting caught stealing a car. It really is pretty funny.”

  Nicki was not amused. “Maybe I’m just too tired.”

  “Your head is in the right place, though. The trick is to find a car that no one will notice is missing.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Brad stopped the Honda and pointed past Nicki at a house on their right. “Like this,” he said. “Look at this place. The people aren’t home.” And sure enough, there was an old Toyota parked alongside the curb.

  Nicki followed his finger, but couldn’t follow the logic. “Brad, there’s a light on in the house.”

  “Exactly,” he said, pulling into the driveway. He killed the lights on the Honda. “What’s the last thing your father does before he goes to bed at night?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Think about it. Before he goes upstairs for the last time, what’s the last thing he does?”

  Nicki pondered the question, but the answer wasn’t there. An ember of anger started to burn.

  “He turns out the lights, right?”

  She thought about it. Yes, that was the last thing he did.

  “It’s the last thing everybody does,” Brad explained. “But what does he do before he goes on vacation to make people think there’s someone at home?”

  Now she really did see it. She smiled. “He turns on a light.”

  He slapped his thigh triumphantly. “Exactly. Not just any light, mind you, but a light downstairs. I’ve broken into my share of houses, and I’ve got to tell you, at three in the morning, the ones with lights on are the ones that are empty.”

  “How do you know somebody’s not sick?”

  “If they were, then an upstairs light would be on, or maybe the foyer light. But look there. That’s like a living room light. You can tell because of the bay window.”

  Nicki released a chuckle. “You know, there aren’t any rules for that stuff. You could be wrong.”

  He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture and made a face. “I’m never wrong.” He opened the car door and got out, leaving the Honda running in the driveway.

  Nicki followed. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making a trade,” he said. As he approached the driver’s side of the Toyota, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring of what might have been keys, but from what Nicki could see, they all had an odd shape about them.

  “What are those?” Nicki asked.

  Brad scowled and brought a finger to his lips. “One of the first lessons in thief school is not to shout, okay? We call it stealth.” He stooped to the side of the door and stuck one of the thin black objects into the lock, while his other hand stuck a tiny
Y-shaped strip of metal into the top and bottom of the key slot. “These are lock picks,” Brad explained. His tone was that of a master explaining to an apprentice. “I stick the pick in the lock while holding tension on the cylinder with the tension bar.” He raked the pick in and out of the slot, then withdrew the pick and reinserted it. “These older Toyotas aren’t as hard as some of the other cars. This is a 1992, I’d guess. Beginning in ’95, the lock technology got pretty tough.”

  “What are you scraping?” Nicki asked.

  “The pin tumblers. There’s a diamond-shaped point on the end of the pick, and as I push the tumblers out of the way, the cylinder turns a bit, and the tension keeps them from popping back in. When I get them all”—Nicki heard a distinctive click, and the lock turned all the way, raising the lock button just inside the window—“the lock opens.” He stood and pulled the door open, triggering the dome light inside, which he extinguished by turning a knob on the dash.

  Nicki’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe you know how to do this stuff.”

  Brad beamed, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “But wait,” he said in a strange announcer’s voice, “there’s more.” He produced the Leatherman and again folded out the needle-nose pliers.

  “First we have to unlock the steering wheel,” Brad said. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he grasped the steering wheel with both hands and wrenched it violently to the right.