CHAPTER
FIVE
“Bullshit!”
Chief Sherwood couldn’t believe what
he was hearing. “They’ve made a mistake.”
Agent Rivers’s face glowed crimson and
her hands trembled with rage. “It’s no mistake, Sherwood! A perfect
match on his prints. Your friend’s client is Jake Donovan.
The Jake Donovan. God
damn it!” Irene moved her
arms randomly, as if searching for something to throw. “Number one
on the Ten Most Wanted list, and I let him go.”
Sherwood felt numb; and, frankly, a
little shocked by the profanity that spewed from this petite yet
apoplectic young lady. As royal screwups went, this one was
certainly the blue-ribbon winner. Surely, it was a mistake. There
it was, though, right there at the bottom of the sheet: “Wanted for
murder.”
As Irene ranted and danced around
Sherwood’s office, trying to comprehend the instant implosion of
her career, the chief stopped listening, concentrating instead on
the dog-eared Wanted poster. Sure enough, the resemblance was there
if you looked hard enough. Especially around the eyes.
In the picture, Jake Donovan was a
kid. While the man he’d spoken to only minutes before had a full,
graying beard and soft features, this picture showed a clean-cut
young man in his twenties, with a strong chin, a fighter’s nose,
and piercing blue eyes. Sherwood used the edge of his hand to cover
up everything but the eyes and the hairline, and magically, Jake
Brighton appeared.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sherwood
mumbled.
“Damned my ass!” Irene exploded.
“We’ll be crucified!”
Sherwood regarded Irene with the
expression of a disappointed father. The oh-so-sure-of-herself
savior of the law enforcement world now looked suspiciously like
she might cry. If she hadn’t been such an asshole, Sherwood might
have felt sorry for her. Someone knocked on his office
door.
“What’s this ‘we’ shit, Irene? Donovan
was never my prisoner.” He
stood up and opened the door to reveal a clerk standing nervously
on the other side. Barely out of his teens, the young man clearly
knew he was interrupting. “Sorry, Chief, but Agent Rivers has a
phone call.”
“Tell whoever it is that I’m in a
meeting,” Irene snapped without looking. “I’ll call them back when
I get a chance.”
The kid seemed to shrink as he stood
there. “Um, I tried that, ma’am, but he said I should tell you it’s
Peter Frankel. He said you’d take the call.”
Color drained from Irene’s face, like
someone had pulled a plug. “Oh, shit,” she groaned.
Sherwood cringed on her behalf,
wondering if he should help Irene into a chair. Instead, he offered
his own. “You can take it at my desk, if you’d like,” he said.
“I’ll have the dispatcher check to see if Donovan’s still with my
patrolman.”
She looked confused for a second, then
nodded. “Thank you.”
Sherwood smiled. Peter Frankel’s
reputation in the law enforcement community was not one of love and
understanding. The call rang through just as he closed the door.
Right now he wouldn’t have traded places with Irene for a million
dollars.
The story was believable enough, Jake
thought. Rather than having this cop go to the trouble of taking
him all the way out to the boonies, why not just drop him off at
the hospital? “My mother’s there getting some outpatient surgery
done,” he’d explained. “It’d be a nice surprise for her, and she’d
probably love to have the company.”
The cop bought it all the way,
oblivious to the tremor in Jake’s hands and the slight crack in his
voice. And why wouldn’t he buy it? If nothing else, it got him off
the hook for a long drive to nowhere. And who wouldn’t be a bit
jumpy after spending the last few hours under arrest? That’d
unnerve anyone.
The outpatient clinic shared an
entrance with the emergency room. Officer Slavka pulled right up to
the entrance, his badge and light bar buying a few extra yards that
would have been off limits to civilian vehicles.
“Here you go, Mr. Brighton,” Jason
announced. “Doorto-door service.”
Jake shook hands with the patrolman,
then climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the ride,” he
said.
“I hope your mother’s
okay.”
Jake smiled nervously, searching the
cop’s tone for signs of sarcasm. “Thank you,” he said again. “I’m
sure she will be.”
He walked purposefully through the
door labeled “Admissions,” just like he belonged there, and
continued all the way to the receptionist’s desk before pausing at
a water fountain to see if he’d been followed. He took a long
drink—long enough to convince himself that he was alone—then
started working his way nonchalantly toward the front
door.
Outside again, and free at least for
the moment, he fought the urge to run. He was in the open again,
and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were tons more cop cars out on the
street today than usual.
Keep it
together, he told himself. Three more blocks and you’re home
free.
He turned left at the corner of
Jefferson Street and William & Mary Avenue, and there it was:
the staging area. If Carolyn hadn’t left yet—and he was certain,
now, that she hadn’t—in five minutes they’d all be a family again,
and then the most immediate crisis would be over. Once they were
together, they’d be infinitely mobile; and with mobility came
freedom.
The sign for U-Lockit Storage rose a
good fifteen feet over the sidewalk. The light inside the plastic
sign hadn’t worked for as long as Jake had been using the place;
much like the automatic wooden arm which was supposed to keep
unauthorized visitors out. Apparently, one visitor—authorized or
otherwise—had taken on the challenge, splintering the wood all over
the driveway.
Units 626 and 627 lay all the way in
the back of the complex, well out of the way from all but a few
similar concrete storage bays. Of all the bills the Brightons paid
each month, U-Lockit always got top priority. As long as the
account stayed current, he figured no one would feel compelled to
look inside and see just how hugely noncompliant they’d been with
the rental covenants.
Jake slowed his pace as he approached
their units and stopped completely before turning the last corner.
He saw nothing; heard no sounds; but the massive, pin-tumbler lock
was missing from the right-hand door. That meant either that
Carolyn was inside or that she’d already left him.
No, she was there, all right. She knew
better than to leave without locking the place back up. Checking
cautiously over both shoulders, he hurried down the last fifty feet
of roadway. As he reached for the handle to lift the door, he
stopped abruptly, remembering the firepower stored inside.
Everybody was a bit tense right now. Startling Carolyn could be a
very big mistake.
Stepping away from the door, with his
back pressed against the concrete fire wall that separated their
two units, he rapped lightly with his knuckle. “Carolyn, it’s me!”
He shouted louder than he wanted to, but it was important for her
to know that he wasn’t a stranger.
“Jake?”
He heard the recognition in her voice;
she was just making sure. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m opening the door,
okay?”
She answered by opening it for him. As
the overhead door rumbled loudly to waist height, he bent low and
scooted inside.