Runner-up 1

Bonner looked up at the security monitor and grinned. Ernesto delivered, as promised.

“Isn’t that your wife?” Falco asked.

“No, it’s Posh Spice.” Bonner relaxed his right arm and lowered his gun. “They made good time.” He looked around the room and settled on the walk-in-pantry for his hiding place. “Show them in.”

Falco did as he was told, such a good boy, and pressed the buzzer. Bonner stepped inside the pantry and shut the double shuttered doors behind him. He peered through the slats. From his striped point of view, he saw Falco running his hands through what should have been hair before leaving the room. Once Genie came in the kitchen, Bonner would have a good view of her. Because of the angle of the slats, she shouldn’t be able to see him.

He flicked off the light switch. That was better. He waited in the cool darkness with the gun at his side.

The pantry smelled like Lemon Pledge. He touched the slats, adjusting the angle. Something seemed familiar about them. Then he realized he’d once owned the same doors, once upon a time. His first wife, Becky, chose the exact same brand when they remodeled the Beverly Glen house. He’d sure gotten screwed in that deal. Those were the days before “Will you marry me?” was followed by “There’s just a little thing called a pre-nup, darling.”

Bonner thought about how his entire life had been a see-saw ride of big successes immediately shot down by killer disappointments. His second TV series won an Emmy but then was canceled for low Nielsen ratings. He won a Globe for a film based on a Steven King short story, but then got sued by the screenwriter for nonpayment of points. And now, just when he worked out every detail of the plan that could not fail, the plan that would make him almost as rich as Oprah, Genie had to go and steal the hard drive. Maybe there was a God after all because He seemed to be having an awfully good time making a joke out of Charlie Bonner’s life.

But Bonner would get the last laugh because any minute now, he would reclaim the hard drive and find the next plane to Cabo. Genie, well, he’d just have Ernesto work out something creative. But first, Bonner would get the pleasure of saying goodbye.

And that’s when it occurred to him that it was taking much too long for Falco to bring Genie inside. Her over-priced Louboutin heels should have been clicking their way into that kitchen five minutes ago.

He burst out of the pantry, aiming the gun and running the way his actors did on his TV cop series. He ran through Falco’s hallway with the hypocritical family picture gallery, turned at the ghastly composite resin cherub, and raced through the living room past the fake Monet to the front door.

It was open.

When Bonner ran out, he saw a black BMW skidding out of a turn and peeling away. In the back seat, Genie turned around and pounded the rear window with her palms. Her silent screams reminded Bonner of the trailer for his first film.

Donna Kuyper says she has “spent far too many years at UCLA, getting three degrees.” Now she is writing her first novel, a thriller.