Start reading the propulsive new conspiracy thriller, The Numbers by David Parry. Out 5 January 2027.

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PROLOGUE

Park Slope, Brooklyn

Kathleen Mackenzie had never truly been frightened. Not since she’d been a child, anyway. But as she removed the pizza from the oven, burning her fingers on the tray, for the first time in her life she could feel her hands start to shake. It was all getting too much – the graffiti, the text messages, Samantha’s insistence she fight back. If she didn’t find a way to calm down soon, she might have a full- blown panic attack.

“Just tell them to fuck off,” Samantha’s voice blared from the cell phone on the kitchen counter. “Seriously. What’s it supposed to mean anyway? Ten fifteen is coming. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Kathleen ran her fingers under the faucet, letting the water cool the reddened skin. She absolutely wasn’t going to say fuck off. “And what if it’s not kids, Sam? What if it’s a gang or some kind of cult?”

“Then go to the police again,” Samantha insisted. “Tell them the psychos that defaced your café are sending you text messages now. It’s harassment.”

Kathleen closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. The problem was she’d already called the police twice that week, and both times they’d told her there was little they could do. They were taking the situation seriously, they’d promised, but she wasn’t the only one to receive the text messages, and the graffiti was all over the city.

Kathleen tried to suppress the image of the numbers painted across her café windows. “I don’t know, Sam. I think I just want to forget about it tonight.”

“Your funeral then,” Samantha said, clucking her tongue. “That’s always been your problem, Kat. You let people walk all over you.”

"And you’d have me provoke the crazies?”

“They won’t stop otherwise. Trust me, I have five brothers.” Even over the phone, Kathleen could feel Samantha raising her eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”

“No, you’re right. It’s probably just kids.”

“Alright, let me know if you change your mind,” Samantha said, hesitating to let her go. “I’ll check on you later. Enjoy your pizza.”

Kathleen hung up and switched off the faucet. Without Samantha’s voice on speaker, the apartment felt suddenly empty. Rain hammered against the back windows. The refrigerator whined. Outside, the neighbor’s Rottweiler barked.

Taking a knife from the drawer, she sliced the pizza and poured herself a large glass of wine. After carrying everything to the living room, she rifled through a box of old records until she found Nina Simone. Nina had been a strong, no- nonsense woman, and it was exactly the kind of inspiration she needed. Samantha could be tough, but she was right about one thing – Kathleen often let people walk all over her. Why else had she stayed with Connor for five years?

With the music playing, Kathleen sank into her leather couch and scrolled to the final text message. She began a reply.

Why don’t you go to hell.

But she deleted the words as soon as she’d typed them. It was far too aggressive. What if they responded? They knew her phone number after all, and the location of her café. And what else did they know? Her home address? That she was alone in the apartment right now?

The sudden realization the sender could see the triple dots of her typing sent a wave of panic through her body. She rushed to the front door to check the lock. It was bolted. Creeping to the front window, she scanned the street. A homeless man hovered near some trash cans but otherwise the street was empty. In the distance, a siren wailed.

Throwing herself back onto the couch, Kathleen grabbed a cushion and hugged it to her chest. She knew she was being dramatic. It was only a text message, for God’s sake. She picked up the phone and took a deep breath.

Whoever you are, and whatever you want, just leave me alone.

She hit send before she could change her mind. As soon as she did, she felt a sudden rush of pride and elation, followed swiftly by a vague sense of foreboding. She knew she’d done the right thing, though, by standing up for herself. Samantha would be proud.

She raised her glass in a silent toast.

A moment later, the phone rang.