Word of Honor

by Terri Blackstock

  “He gave up on me,” she said.

  “He’s a complicated guy. Just hang in there. I still think you two are meant for each other.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “Thanks for the encouragement, anyway.”

  “But you’re not encouraged.”

  Tears came to her eyes again. “It’s been a long few days.” She choked back the emotion in her throat. “I’ll see you later.”

  She crossed the lawn to her car. A mud-splattered pickup truck passed her as she got in, and she closed the door and started the car. The truck pulled to the side of the road as soon as she got behind him. He honked at her, and she wondered if she had done something to make him angry. Were her bright lights on? She checked and saw that she had not even turned her lights on. She passed him feeling uneasy. He pulled out behind her, tailgating her and honking and flashing his lights. A chill went through her.

  Frank Harper had found her.

  She slammed her foot on the accelerator and flew around the corner and into the left lane, almost hitting another car. The truck pulled up beside her, still honking and weaving, and she saw the man behind the wheel motioning to her to pull over. He didn’t look like the pictures she’d seen of Frank—no beard, shorter hair—but he looked crazed, and that was enough for her. His eyes were wild and his teeth were bared, and his mouth moved in vicious dialogue as he tried to make her stop.

  She made a quick left turn, and the truck cut across a busy lane of traffic and followed.

  Trembling, she groped for her cell phone. She found it and pressed 911 with her thumb, then pressed send. The phone only beeped. She glanced down and saw the words “Low Battery” displayed on the small screen.

  The truck bumped her, just like on the bridge, and she almost ran into the opposite lane of traffic. She crossed in front of him and got in the right lane, and again, he bumped her, trying to run her off the road.

  She wove in and out of traffic, trying to decide what to do, but the truck stayed with her, weaving and honking and bumping her, trying to run her onto the shoulder. He didn’t care who saw him, she thought. Cars were stopping and pulling off the road, and drivers were cursing and yelling as they flew by them. She skidded around a corner, and the truck came after her.

  She had to find people out of their cars, she thought, people who could protect her. She had to drive into a well-lit area where lots of people were, and run for help. But her fear of stopping was too great.

  The truck made its way up beside her, and the driver waved his hand at her, telling her furiously to pull over, as if the words would force her to comply.

  She skidded around another corner, and was back on Jacquard, the main strip through town. But the traffic and visibility didn’t stop him. He kept bumping her, urging her off the road, and she realized with a chill that he wasn’t going to give up, and she couldn’t lose him. She saw him reach under his seat, and he came up with a gun, waved it at her. She swallowed back a scream. Any minute now he would start shooting.

  Not knowing what else to do, she skidded into the parking lot of a convenience store where several people stood outside at the gas pumps. She swerved to a stop, then threw the door open and ran for the door. The truck slid to a halt behind her, and the driver stumbled out.

  Patricia Castor, the mayor, was inside paying for gas. She looked up as Jill bolted through the door.

  “Help me!” Jill screamed. “He’s after me! Please!”

  The mayor pulled her into her arms, but her surprised eyes were locked on something outside the door.

  “Call the police!” Jill screamed. “Hurry! That man—” She pointed out the doors, and saw the man from the truck. He wasn’t running, and he wasn’t coming in after her. Instead, with his gun in one hand, he opened her back car door and reached in, and jerked a man out of her backseat. It was Frank Harper.

  Jill started screaming. He had been in her car. Frank Harper had been close enough to cut her throat, but that man…that truck driver…had stopped him. She couldn’t stop screaming, and Pat Castor tried to calm her down. Outside, the men were struggling. Frank Harper knocked the gun out of his hand. He swung his right fist across the trucker’s jaw, knocking him back, and took off running.

  Jill bolted through the doors. “Catch him!” she screamed. “That’s Frank Harper! Don’t let him get away!”

  A squad car pulled up with its siren on and lights flashing. Someone witnessing the traffic violations had probably called him, she thought, and R.J. Albright jumped out. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “R.J., go after him! Please, go after him. Frank Harper…He was…in my car…my backseat…”

  R.J. ran back to his car and radioed for help.

  The truck driver’s lip was bleeding, and he stumbled toward Jill. “Lady, I was trying to tell you. I drove by you when you were getting in your car on Purchase Street, and your light came on and I saw him hunched in your backseat.”

  She covered her mouth, unable to stand the horror of such a chilling brush with death. “But I put my briefcase in the backseat. I looked. He wasn’t there!” She realized then that she had left the car unlocked as she had talked to Nick. He must have gotten in then. “I thought you were him! You had a gun!”

  “I’m a deputy in Ouachita Parish, so I always have a weapon. Ma’am, when you didn’t stop, I thought I might have to shoot him myself. I could see him risin’ up in the back.”

  She began to sob, and Pat Castor bustled out. “R.J.,” the mayor said, “you go after that man, hear? Don’t you let him get away.”

  “I’m not, ma’am,” the chubby officer said. “I’ve got folks chasin’ him down as we speak.”

  But something about that didn’t sound good to Jill. R.J. was too out of shape to chase down a perpetrator, and she feared that too much time had been wasted. Frank Harper was going to get away again.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Celia’s contractions were ten minutes apart, but when Stan got to the house, he had spent half an hour looking for a baby blanket Celia insisted on taking with her. When he’d finally found it, he had hurried her into the car.

  Celia didn’t seem to understand the urgency as keenly as he did, a fact that baffled him. Didn’t she know that this baby was coming with or without that blanket? Didn’t she understand that they’d never make it to New Orleans on time if they didn’t get on the road now? “You know, it’s crazy, us taking time to go all the way to New Orleans, when we can be in Slidell in ten or fifteen minutes. I’m calling the doctor and telling him we can’t make it.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Celia said. “We can make it. We agreed that the latest technology and that neonatal unit were at the New Orleans hospital, and we wanted to make sure we had everything we needed in case of a problem.”

  “There isn’t going to be a problem! Everything’s great with the baby, so why can’t we just—?”

  “Stan, my doctor is in New Orleans. And Pete’s at the same hospital, so I can check on him. Now, calm down.”

  His hands trembled as he cranked the car and pulled out of the driveway. He ran over the garbage can, bashed it in, and dragged it several feet before it rolled out from under the car.

  “Stan, are you all right? Do you want me to drive?”

  He shot her a disgusted look. “You can’t drive. You’re in too much pain. No, I’m fine.”

  “Actually, I’m not having that much pain yet.”

  “Then why are you sweating?”

  “Because you haven’t turned the air conditioner on.”

  He caught his breath and cut it on, then aimed the vent at her. “Is that good?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Uh, Stan, you’re running a red light!”

  He slammed on the brakes, almost sending her through the windshield. “I’m sorry, honey!”

  “Stan, you may be a little too nervous to drive. Why don’t you just let me?”

  “II’ll calm down,” he said, panting. “I’ll do better.”

  He turned on the ra
dio, a classical station from New Orleans, hoping the music would calm him down. “They say Mozart makes babies more intelligent. I heard that in some states they give every mother a Mozart tape to take home from the hospital with her.”

  “Is that Mozart?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  She smiled. “Yes. It does.” She reached across and took his hand.

  They heard a siren pulling out of Purchase Street, and Stan quickly turned off the radio and cut on his scanner. He focused immediately on what was going on. Frank Harper had been seen at a convenience store on the corner of Jacquard and Clearview, but he got away. They were combing the woods, trying to catch him.

  “They’re gonna get him!” he shouted, then shot her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  She was still sweating, and leaning her head back on the seat. “You need to go there, don’t you?”

  “Go where? Don’t be silly. We’re going to the hospital.”

  “But this guy…you need to catch him. You know, you could turn around and go back to Aunt Aggie’s, and she could take me. It’s probably going to be hours before I actually have the baby. By then you could lock this guy up and get to the hospital in time.”

  He hesitated a moment, giving that some serious thought. What he wouldn’t give to be there when they caught Frank Harper. What if they weren’t thorough and he got away? What if they didn’t catch him?

  Then he realized that worse than that would be missing the birth of his baby. No, he thought. He wouldn’t turn back now. “There’s nothing in the world that would make me turn back now. Not even the chance to wrap up this case.”

  “Are you sure? I really would understand.”

  He turned off the scanner and touched her stomach. He felt it slowly tightening as she entered a contraction. His baby would be here before the day was out. Suddenly, his heart soared joyfully, and he couldn’t wait to hold it in his arms.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said.

  Chapter Sixty

  The moment Lisa came to pick him up, Dan realized what a mistake he was making. The dark clouds in the sky gave him a foreboding sense of doom, as if this date was a mistake he would soon regret. He wasn’t in the mood, didn’t even like the idea of riding in the car with her, much less going to a dinner as her date. He didn’t want to act charming or funny; he didn’t want to laugh at her jokes, or tell her she looked nice.

  They got to the dinner and were seated at a table of ten people. Then he realized what an idiot he was. His very presence here was a nail in the coffin of his relationship with Jill. What had he been thinking? Conversations abounded around him, and every now and then Lisa would look back at him and ask, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” he’d say, irritated. “I’m fine.” He was getting tired of her asking, but he supposed he didn’t blame her. She wasn’t being forced to go out with him, after all. If he hadn’t accepted, she would have found someone else, and she would have had a better time.

  He tried to concentrate on his food, but wound up just stirring it around on his plate, wondering where Jill was staying tonight, hoping she wasn’t alone somewhere, hoping that she wasn’t in danger. And then he realized that she was in danger, that Frank Harper could walk right into that hotel, shoot down the guard, bust through her door, and take her life before she even had a chance to react. His stomach tightened and his eyes misted over at the thought of that. Then how would he feel? Vindicated, because he’d been right? Validated, because she’d deserved it?

  She didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserved it. He didn’t deserve it, either. Yet he was doing this to himself. Instead, he could have been spending this evening with her, keeping her out of harm’s way. Instead, he was sitting here with another woman, realizing what a cowardly jerk he was. He made himself sick.

  He looked over at Lisa. “Uh…I need to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded as if she couldn’t care less. He didn’t blame her. As a date, he was sadly lacking tonight. But he couldn’t help himself. He got up, went to the foyer, and found a pay phone. He deposited the coins and quickly dialed Jill’s cell phone.

  A recording came on. “The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not available at this time.”

  He slammed the phone down. She was trying to avoid him. He was sure Allie or Mark had told her about the date by now. Did he blame her for avoiding him? No, he didn’t, he thought. But if she was avoiding him, why had she tried all day to call him? Maybe his avoidance of her had made her so angry that she’d given up on him entirely. What had he expected?

  He dug some more coins out of his pocket, deposited them into the phone, then quickly dialed Mark and Allie’s number.

  “Hello?” It was Allie.

  “Allie, is Jill there?”

  Allie hesitated. “I thought you were having dinner with Lisa Manning.”

  “Allie, please let me talk to Jill.”

  “I didn’t say she was here.”

  He didn’t like the taunting tone in her voice. “Is she, or isn’t she?”

  “What do you care?” Allie asked.

  “I care,” he said. “That’s why I’m calling. Please. Is she there or not?”

  “You know, if you ever wanted a relationship with her, this is not the way to do it, Dan.”

  He tried to calm himself, and hit his forehead into the phone. “Look, I realize that. But I need to talk to her, okay? She made me really mad last night, but I’ve been worried about her, and I’m tired of worrying about her when I don’t have to. If she would just be more careful and quit doing such stupid things!”

  “She does such stupid things?” Allie asked. “What about when you went on calls before the doctor cleared you? You’re one to talk, Dan.”

  “Okay, so I do it, too. But it doesn’t make it easier when it’s the person you’re having a relationship with.”

  “Yeah, tell Jill about it!” Allie said. “But you didn’t see her going out with another man just because she couldn’t manipulate you into doing everything she wanted.”

  “Look, I’m not used to the constant struggle. She made me mad and I reacted.”

  “Well, grow up!” Allie shouted. “It’s time you learned how to have a real relationship, and you don’t do it by going out with some other woman every time you get mad at the person you care about.”

  He was sorry he’d called. “Look, if you see Jill, will you please tell her I called, and I’ll call back later.”

  Before she could answer, he slammed the phone down.

  Dan went back to the table and took a seat beside his date. She shot him an annoyed look. “Everything okay?”

  “Uh…no,” he said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t embarrass her. “It’s not okay, as a matter of fact. I never should have come out with you tonight.”

  She grunted. “You sure know how to make a girl feel great.”

  “I’m sorry, but this has nothing to do with you. None of it. But I do have to go.”

  “Go? You’re gonna leave me here?”

  “You have your own car,” he said. “I’ll take a cab. You know a thousand people here. You’re not alone.”

  “Well, sure, but it’s a little embarrassing.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry, but this was really stupid. The whole thing was stupid. I shouldn’t have come here with you. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

  “All right, then,” she snapped. “Go then. I’m sorry I called. You can bet I’ll never do it again.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “I think that’s the best thing.”

  She looked at him like he was crazy.

  “Look, I’m out of here, okay? Thanks for inviting me. And…I’m really sorry.” With that, he was out the door.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Frank Harper heard the sirens and knew they were after him. He ran through the woods as
fast as he could, determined to do what he did best: survive. But then he heard dogs barking and voices from several different directions. He pulled his shirt off, then flung it into the trees, hoping to slow them down as the dogs came upon it. Then he took off in another direction. But he saw flashlights coming toward him.

  Somehow, he had to throw the dogs off. He ran, crouched, then leaped to a high branch and scurried up a tree. He crawled out on one of the strongest branches, then dropped his feet and hung there, swinging. The branch protruded over the bayou, and Spanish moss draped it on either side of him. He swung harder, making sure he had enough momentum to launch directly into the water without touching the ground. The dogs would smell him on the tree, but they wouldn’t be able to tell where he’d come out.

  He swung and let go, and fell into the warm, muddy water of the bayou. He came up on the opposite bank and ran, crouched down, from bush to bush and tree to tree.

  The barking got closer, and he leaped to another branch and pulled himself up. His legs and arms were as strong as a cat’s, and he knew that even the dogs couldn’t keep up with him.

  But then he saw a dozen flashlight beams crossing through the woods, too close to him. They came from all sides, and there were dogs on this side of the bayou, too. He was surrounded, and they were growing closer. His head hit a catalpa nest, and he brushed it off.

  He swung again, trying to hit the water again and make a run for it, but the splash sent the dogs into a frenzy, and all of the flashlight beams shone on him. He let out a blood-curdling, torture-chamber yell, then tried to run through the water as its mud bottom pulled and sucked at his feet.

  “It’s him!” someone cried. “We got him!”

  Someone grabbed him and fought him to his knees, the nasty seaweed and skin-sucking mud pulling at him harder. He was handcuffed and jerked to his feet, and someone read him his rights as they dragged him out of the water. All the while, he kept his eyes closed and his face down to his chest, refusing to engage with the enemy. He had been through this before. He knew how to hold his secrets.