See Them Run (Lucy Kendall Thriller Series #2): A Lucy Kendall Mystery Thriller (The Lucy Kendall Series)

by Stacy Green

  “We think you should hide.”

  “What?”

  Justin spoke so fast my addled mind barely kept up. “We thought about putting you on a plane, but they’ll track that. They might even catch you before you leave for the airport. Right now they think they can spring you out of sleep, but if your credit card is used, they’ll track you.”

  I finally sat down. He’d lost me several sentences ago. “Hide?”

  Justin sat next to me. He smelled like Aqua Velva. “I don’t know the details, but the guy behind this and his wife are willing to testify that you and Sarah had a bad relationship.”

  “That’s not exactly true.”

  “They’re willing to lie.”

  “To hide his crime.” I couldn’t even feel disgust at the wife’s choosing to aide her husband’s sickness. She wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last.

  “Plus other witnesses, and the phone thing and a bunch of other stuff Todd mentioned. He said if you get arrested, they’ll find a way to take it to trial. And then you’re screwed.”

  “Not if I get a good attorney!” I lied to myself again. “Chris will help me.”

  Justin winced at the name of the man who refused to acknowledge him, but he shook his head. “Todd said other people in the department know his theories about the Harrisons, whatever that means. They’ll start digging. He said you’d know what he meant. And that he’s sorry he didn’t keep that theory to himself.”

  My head dropped against the back of the couch. That’s why the district attorney felt so strongly. If he couldn’t get me on one charge, he had more to go after, and whoever was pulling the strings would be happy, because I’d be silent.

  “I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said. “My parents,” an involuntary shudder tore through me at the idea, “can easily be found. They know about my friendship with Chris. I’ve got some cash, so I can try checking into a low-rent motel, but that’s the first place police will look, and I don’t have enough cash to stay long.” And I didn’t want to face my mother’s smug attitude or see her revel in the glory of yet another child embarrassing her.

  “No. The best place to go is the shelter I volunteer at.”

  “Are you serious?” It wasn’t a bad idea. If I played the part, I could blend in. And I was good at playing a part.

  “It’s crowded with this cold, but I can get you a bed. No one’s going to think of checking there, at least not for a day or two.”

  “But what’s the point? I can’t run forever, and they’ll charge me when they find me.” Helplessness seeped into my system.

  “It gives you more time with this Riley girl, gives my brother a chance to keep investigating. I’ll help too. And Chris, if he’ll answer my call.” He grimaced. “You’ve got to listen to Todd.”

  Mousecop meandered in from the bedroom to check out the visitor. He jumped onto the couch and settled into my lap, gazing up at me with accusing eyes, as if he knew I was thinking about abandoning him.

  “My cat,” I choked out, rubbing the top of his head. “I can’t leave him.”

  “You won’t be gone forever, and I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

  “You’ll be seen coming and going. They’ll watch my apartment. If they see you…”

  “Then Chris will. You know he will.”

  I wanted to call him and ask what I should do, but he was working, and he wouldn’t want me to go to a shelter. He’d try to hide me in some fancy hotel, implicating himself. My attention shot back to Justin.

  “You can’t do this,” I said. “You’re trying to get your juvenile record cleared.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I won’t let you go to jail.”

  “Why? I tried to ruin your life.” These Beckett men had their priorities seriously messed up. What about revenge? Vengeance? The bitterness the rest of us lesser beings dragged around?

  “But you didn’t. And you helped give it back to me.” He set his jaw, and I knew he wasn’t giving in.

  My fingers wove through Mousecop’s long, silky fur. “You’ll make sure Chris takes care of him?”

  “I swear.”

  I didn’t want to go to the shelter. But it was a good idea, a solid plan. Better than the alternative. I wasn’t quite ready to give up. “I need to pack a few things.”

  “Light,” Justin reminded me. “No weapons, and nothing that looks like it’s worth anything. Hide your cash in your shoe. If you’ve got a backpack, use it. If not, I have one.”

  “I have one.” Valuable items were the least of my concern. If the police were planning on arresting me, they’d search my apartment. I couldn’t leave the cyanide and the insulin in the hidden compartment in case they found it.

  And I had a feeling I was going to need it.

  23

  Wearing my scratchy blond wig and the oldest coat I owned, I followed Justin onto the subway. We sat shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing. This time of night meant the train was mostly empty, save for the insomniac or night worker. Talking would have been safe. I just didn’t feel like it.

  How had my life derailed so fantastically in such a short amount of time? And why did all the people who should despise me want to help me? I wasn’t sure which question made me feel worse.

  Disappointed faces flashed through my thoughts, as real as the streaking lights on the other side of the train windows. My mother’s, laced with a smug satisfaction because she’d have something new to be a victim about; Mac’s, his skin gray and his heart weaker; Todd, because he’d really been hoping to be wrong about me; and Chris, because I’d made a stupid mistake and gotten caught.

  Except I hadn’t made a mistake this time. Had I? I slogged through my murky memory, knowing the answer waited. I just didn’t want to see it.

  I’d taken Sarah personally. Let my ego run the show. I wanted to embarrass her, to make her feel guilt. To make her understand I was the one in charge. And I’d gotten careless. I shouldn’t have allowed the confrontation. Shouldn’t have been so vain about the cashmere dress that shed so easily.

  I should have listened to Chris and not tried to bring down the ring. It was too big for one person, especially someone like me who wasn’t looking for legal justice. I’d just as soon kill them all. My mistake was not walking away from Exhale. If I’d listened to Chris, he and I would be together, searching for Mother Mary. We might be slamming into dead-end walls, but I wouldn’t be riding the subway in the middle of the night on my way to hide at a homeless shelter.

  We exited at Spring Garden station and walked the remaining blocks to the same shelter I’d found Justin at months ago when I was determined to pin Kailey Richardson’s kidnapping on him. My eyes teared up against the blistering cold, and my face felt like it was splitting in two. Finally the shelter loomed, its plain brick walls and dimly lit windows a glorious sight.

  “Follow my lead,” Justin said.

  “Whatever you say.” I didn’t have the energy or the right frame of mind to argue. My brain was more numb than my feet.

  Justin pushed open the heavy wood door. Meager warmth greeted us. The furnace in this old, poorly insulated building likely wasn’t big enough to keep up with the cold, but it was a hell of a lot better than standing out on the street. I shivered, and without thinking, tucked my hand in the crook of Justin’s elbow. He patted my gloved hand, and unexplainable tears singed my eyes.

  I’d nearly destroyed his second chance at life, and he was helping me. Not because I’d skillfully manipulated him or backed him into a corner, but because he wanted to. Like his brother, who no doubt risked his job tipping me off, Justin saw some kind of good inside me. I wished I could.

  Surely Todd had never shared his theories of Lucy Kendall’s double life with his little brother.

  “Hank.” Justin called softly through the dark foyer. “It’s Justin Beckett. I’ve got a lady here who really needs a bed for a few nights.”

  When I’d been here a few months ago, I’d barely taken notice of the interio
r. As my eyes adjusted, I searched for my bearings. Once a single family home, the shelter had been converted into a duplex before it had been turned into the space it was now. The front entrance was a narrow hall with an office to the side, and the stairs were directly in front of me. The men were to the left, I remembered. That’s where I’d found Justin, in a room by himself, painting.

  The office door opened and a man exited. He was the same man I’d spoken to in the fall. I shrank against Justin and hoped the wig was a good enough disguise.

  “Hey there, Jay.” Hank shook Justin’s hand. He smiled at me. “And you are?”

  “Meg,” Justin answered. “I met her a few nights ago. Down on her luck. Can we spare some room?”

  Hank scratched his chin. “We’re pretty full with this cold snap.” His watery blue eyes searched mine. What did he see in my face? Desperation? Resignation? The cold eyes of a killer?

  I shivered again.

  “I’ve got some extra blankets,” Hank said. “But I’d have to put you on the floor. Still warmer than being out in that wind.”

  “Thank you.” The voice that creaked out of my mouth sounded nothing like my own. It sounded like the helpless girl who’d lost her sister and spent years wandering trying to figure out the meaning of everything terrible that had happened in her life.

  I thought I’d left that girl behind a long time ago.

  “Women and children are upstairs,” Hank said. “Jay’ll show you the way. Of course, he’ll have to stay in the hall. We like all of our ladies to feel safe.”

  Justin took my hand. “Come on.”

  My too small boots–I’d chosen them because they were old and tattered–scraped against the wooden stairs. My footsteps were robotic, the timed thud sounding like a prison march.

  Upstairs, four large bedrooms housed countless women and children. Lights were out, but the whispering and occasional shuffling showed not everyone slept.

  “Which room should I go in?” I whispered.

  “I’d try this first one on the right,” Justin said. “Hank usually fills them up from the back of the house first. The bathroom is down the hall to the left.”

  I didn’t want to go into that room. I’d been in others like it. Cramped and humid with body odor and clothes that needed laundering, accompanied by the soundtrack of snores, coughing, and the occasional fussy baby. But those times, I’d been there to help.

  I knew I was being stupid. I still had an apartment and a fat cat waiting on me. This was just a disguise.

  But the sinking feeling refused to believe that.

  Justin squeezed my hand. “I’ll come back in the morning. We’ll go to breakfast. And hopefully I’ll have some more news from Todd.”

  “Chris?” A knot formed in my throat, and I couldn’t say any more. Never in my life had I wanted to see someone so badly.

  “I’ll get him here, I promise.”

  I nodded my thanks, patting his cheek because if I hugged him, I wouldn’t be able to let go. Then I headed inside the room.

  Cots were set up in an orderly pattern, with a couple of night lights on either side of the room. Feeling like an intruder, my palms sweating and my shoulder blades damp, I crept silently between the sleeping women. I tried not to look down, but I saw their faces. All ages, all colors. Too many little ones snuggled up to their mothers.

  Senator Coleman needed a task force for this tragedy too.

  I went to the farthest corner, quietly depositing the blankets Hank had given me. My old college backpack was still strapped to my back, and I wasn’t ready to take it off. I reached in my pocket for my phone before I remembered I’d left it. Justin was bringing me a pay as you go phone in the morning. My spot was far away from the nightlights, and I fumbled in the darkness, making a thin bed for myself. At first I tried to lay down with the backpack on, but my movement was too encumbered. Jumping up quickly wasn’t an option. I slipped it off and clutched it to my chest, tucking my face into the polyester.

  I wouldn’t sleep. Too much at stake, too much danger in my hands. One of the last things my sister said to me before she committed suicide was to remember to put myself first. Self-preservation, she’d called it. At eleven years old, I didn’t really understand what she meant, but it didn’t take long for me to learn.

  When I’d decided to take justice into my own hands barely more than a year ago, I’d believed I was doing it for the kids who couldn’t defend themselves. My freedom–my own life–was worth risking if I could make a difference. And for a while, I thought I had. Then I’d watched Brian Harrison die and realized I was no better than any other killer out there.

  I didn’t have the urge to kill. My urges were about making things right, about showing the world the truth. I didn’t lie in bed at night, visualizing new and better ways to end a person’s life. But I did spend hours thinking about my methods and how to get away with it.

  Self-preservation above all else.

  And look where I’d ended up. One foot in a jail cell despite my innocence in this particular case.

  I didn’t think any of it mattered anymore. Not my grand plans, or my pathetic justifications, or the lies I’d told myself about stopping and leading a normal life. I’d always known I would be caught and have to pay the price, but I’d never imagined it would be for a crime I didn’t commit. But that didn’t matter either. I would have killed Sarah. I daydreamed about it while I dealt with her whining customers. So perhaps I was getting what I deserve.

  The same didn’t go for the women and kids sleeping around me. Shame kept me overheated. What if some other woman who truly was down on her luck came in, and I had the last available spot, even if it was on the floor? All because I was too much of a coward to face the song I’d composed.

  My legs jerked, making my boots scrape across the floor. I shifted, bunching up the blanket so my shoulder wasn’t in so much pain. The idea of lying here the rest of the night, fighting to stay awake on the damned hard floor, threatened fresh tears.

  I’d get up and find Hank. Ask to use his phone and call Todd. Tell him I appreciated everything he was doing, but I wasn’t going to hide from the police. They could come arrest me at my place, and I’d fight. If my real murders were discovered, then I’d accept the consequences. After all, I’d always said I would.

  If I was convicted for my murders, I’d die in prison.

  The creeping fear of death came without warning. It seized my chest and my throat with spidery fingers, squeezing away my sanity. My breathing turned to gasps, my heart rate skyrocketed, and I saw only blackness. Would I know anything in the void? Is there a fade to black or simply an off switch? And what if there is an after-life?

  Where would I go? Who would be waiting for me on the other side? Certainly not my sister. But there were others, the men I’d killed. What if their spirits circled me, waiting for the moment I entered their dimension?

  I am going to die.

  I sat up too fast, my backpack skidding away from me. I lunged for it, snatching the straps like they were liquid gold.

  “Knock it off.” An angry voiced hissed out of the darkness. “We need to sleep.”

  Someone else grumbled agreement.

  Still breathing too hard and clutching the backpack, I lay back down.

  I wouldn’t sleep. Doing so would allow the familiar nightmare to take over. Me, dead. Cold and stiff and no longer existing.

  I don’t want to die.

  If I was convicted, I’d die in prison.

  Running made me look guilty. Go in with shoulders high, make them do their jobs.

  I thought of Riley. Her terror and my joy. I wanted to kill her, at least hurt her. And my plans for Preacher. Big plans for whoever pulled his strings.

  Either path I chose held nothing but certain death. The only difference was who administered it.

  A familiar scent surrounded me. Warm, summery. Sandalwood, maybe. Or the beach. My grandmother used to take us to the Jersey Shore before Lily died. Even my mother made th
e trip without too many complaints about her looks or the people or whatever else she could find to gripe about. My memories of those days are fuzzy, but I do remember walking hand-in-hand with my sister, eating cotton candy and hearing the delighted screams of the older kids on the rides. My mother usually walked behind us, chattering a mile a minute to my grandmother, who would cluck sympathetically from time to time. Grandma had taken the brunt of my mother’s criticisms on those days so my sister and I could enjoy ourselves in peace.

  My body jerked, shoulders thumping against the floor.

  “Luce.” Someone tapped my shoulder.

  Wasn’t I awake?

  “Lucy, it’s me.” A tug at my backpack.

  My eyes fought their way open. Sticky sleep blurred my vision for a second. Early morning light streamed in one of the windows. Unwavering blue eyes held my gaze.

  For a brief moment, I thought I’d fallen asleep on Chris’s couch. But the agonizing creak in my back quickly brought me back to reality.

  I licked my dry lips. “You’re here.”

  “Of course I am.”

  “You were mad at me.”

  “I’m usually mad at you. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to help.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me to a sitting position. My arms were still locked around the bag. He tugged one of the straps. “I take it you don’t have your best jewelry in here?”

  “No.”

  “Good thinking.” He glanced behind him. I saw Justin for the first time. “Which is the only smart decision you made last night.”

  My senses were coming back to me. “This is the women’s room. How come you guys are in here?”

  “They’re all down eating.” Justin said. “Hank told us we could wake you. Although your boyfriend didn’t give him much choice.” He scowled at the older brother he’d been trying to get to know.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I answered. “And he likes to get his way.”

  Chris glared at Justin. “You and Detective Dumbfuck brought her here instead of calling me. Why should I come in here like I’m on a Sunday visit?”