Can't Hide From Me

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  “That wasn’t an accident.”

  “It would be a pretty enormous coincidence if it were.”

  Ángel steeled himself. “I’ll call Campos and tell him what I did—”

  “No way,” said Charles. “You can’t do that, Ángel. He’ll have no choice but to suspend you. You’ll probably end up getting fired.”

  “It’ll be worse for me if someone else finds out than if I come forward now,” Ángel said. “I’ll look like a suspect in his death!”

  Charles was silent for a moment, worrying his bottom lip. “Walk me through exactly what happened last night.”

  Ángel described his visit to the hospital step-by-step, leaving nothing out, even the way he’d threatened Buzz.

  When he finished, Charles asked, “Did you grab his throat hard enough to leave bruises?”

  “I doubt it. It was only for a few seconds, and not much more force than you’d use sparring.”

  Charles nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “So you didn’t tell anyone your real name, didn’t sign anything. There’s no solid evidence you were there at all.”

  “The two women I spoke to would be able to describe me,” said Ángel, though he already felt much steadier.

  “They won’t have any reason to. You were there at 10 p.m.; Buzz didn’t die until early this morning when he got his shot before breakfast. Even if the investigation reaches back that far, they’ll be asking about people who were out of place, which you weren’t.”

  “What about the security cameras?” Ángel asked. He hadn’t been too concerned about them last night, since he hadn’t been behaving suspiciously and nobody would go back to check them unless something went wrong.

  Well, something had gone very, very wrong, and now he was rebuking himself for not being more careful.

  “Wiped,” Charles said.

  Ángel raised his eyebrows. “Far enough back to cover me?”

  “For the entire twelve hours preceding Buzz’s death.”

  “That’s . . . convenient.”

  “Maybe it was easier to erase the recordings in one huge chunk,” Charles said with a shrug.

  “Maybe.” His skin crawling, Ángel said, “Or maybe the stalker knew I went to the hospital and deliberately got rid of the recordings to protect me from being implicated in Buzz’s death.”

  He and Charles looked at each other with shared unease. “That’s a very disturbing thought,” Charles finally said.

  “God, I could have led the stalker right to him,” Ángel said. “I could be the reason Buzz is dead.”

  Charles shook his head. “The stalker wouldn’t have needed you to track Buzz down, and he was probably planning to kill him no matter what. Otherwise there wouldn’t have been any point in killing him after you’d already talked to him.”

  “True.” Ángel shifted from foot to foot, starting and stopping his next sentence several times before he said, “So what now—I just pretend I was never there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “I’m not okay with any of this,” Charles said sharply. “You snuck around behind my back, put yourself in danger, and took stupid, senseless risks to do something you’d been specifically ordered not to do. None of that is okay, Ángel.”

  Ángel lowered his eyes to the floor. Charles was right, but even if Ángel could rewind time, he wouldn’t make a different decision. He’d done what he believed he had to do.

  “But absolutely no good will come out of you telling anyone else that you went to see Buzz,” said Charles. “The stalker will already be the primary suspect, so we’ll just make sure it stays that way.”

  If anyone found out that Charles had helped Ángel cover this up, it would be his ass on the line as well. Ángel would never throw Charles under the bus, but there were other ways his complicity could be discovered. Involving Charles in this was Ángel’s only real regret; he should have controlled his reaction to the news of Buzz’s death.

  “All right,” Ángel said. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Charles glanced at the clock on the microwave and sighed. “Turns out I have to work today, after all—we’ve got a ton of arrest warrants ready to go and they need the bodies. I won’t be able to help you unload your stuff.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take a cab to the airport to pick up Jesenia; she should be more than enough help.”

  “Ángel,” Charles said, closing the distance between them, “if you pull shit like this again, I might not be able to help you.”

  Annoyed, Ángel snapped back, “I didn’t ask you to help me now. Maybe I do tend to take certain risks, but when have you ever known me not to take responsibility for their consequences?”

  Charles blinked, and his shoulders slumped just a bit. “Never. But I can’t accept the consequences for these particular decisions, okay? So please try to keep a cool head.”

  He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Ángel at a loss for words.

  “I’ll make sure Jade gets Buzz’s voice mails,” Charles said over his shoulder when he reached his bedroom.

  “Thanks,” Ángel said, but Charles had already closed the door.

  “Are you sure you want to take point?” Sakura asked, sitting shotgun beside Charles. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

  “No, it has to be me,” said Charles.

  The house he’d parked in front of had peeling yellow paint and a sagging, rotted-through front porch; the lawn was dried-out and patchy, showing through to bare earth in more places than not. Its rusted mailbox listed precariously on its post, the door long gone.

  Steeling himself for the unpleasantness to come, Charles got out of the car and pushed through the squeaky gate in the yard’s chain-link fence. He cautiously mounted the porch steps, half expecting them to give out at any moment, and knocked on the screen door. Sakura lent silent support at his right shoulder.

  Charles had to knock several more times before Amber finally opened the front door, her head tilted so her hair covered half her face. Her dull eyes swept Charles from head to foot, taking in his gun and ATF windbreaker.

  “He’s not here,” she said before Charles could speak. “He took off yesterday as soon as he heard about the raid.”

  That was a chance they’d had to take. Most of the Jackals arrested in the raid had been convinced to snitch on their fellows to reduce their own charges, and the ATF’s first priority had been to reel in the big fish, the ones higher up in the chain of command who had been previously untouchable. The delay had given some of the foot soldiers a chance to scatter, leading to Charles and Sakura being charged with cleanup detail.

  Charles opened the screen door as well so there was nothing between them. “Do you know where he went?”

  Amber shook her bowed head, anxiously picking at the sores on her left arm.

  “Amber,” Charles said, and waited for her to look him in the eye. Very slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, he reached out and tipped up her chin. Amber didn’t protest as her hair fell back to reveal the massive bruise purpling her eye and cheek.

  Charles withdrew his hand, biting back the first words that sprang to his lips.

  “I know you love Johnny,” he said instead. “It’s in his best interests if we bring him in as soon as possible. He can’t hide forever, and the longer he runs, the greater the chance that this will end badly for him.”

  “Is he gonna . . .” Amber blinked away tears. “Will he find out about all the things I told you about him?”

  “Never,” Charles said firmly. He and Amber had been over this dozens of times before, but reassurance never hurt. “You won’t be named in any court documents, and you’ll never have to testify. You can tell your neighbors that you told us to go straight to hell, and they won’t have any reason to doubt you. But you know that it’s better if I’m the one to arrest Johnny than a random cop he runs into on the street.”

  Amber scratched her arm harder. “I really don�
��t know where he is, but he took my car. He barely has any cash, and there’s nobody he trusts outside the city, so he couldn’t have gotten that far.”

  “Thank you.” Turning to Sakura, Charles said, “Could you give us a minute?”

  Sakura hesitated, eyes flicking between Charles and Amber, before she nodded and stepped off the porch. She only went as far as the fence—out of earshot, but well within range to intervene if Amber made a threatening move.

  Charles dug a wad of folded bills out of his pocket and pressed it into Amber’s nonbloody hand. She looked down in surprise.

  “You can still call me if you need anything, okay?” Charles said. “Anything at all.”

  “Thanks,” Amber mumbled, giving him a watery smile.

  Charles squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, then released her and let the screen door swing shut. As he rejoined Sakura, the front door closed behind him with a thump.

  “I’ll drive,” said Sakura.

  Charles tossed her the keys without argument.

  Once they were inside the car, she said, “You know this isn’t your fault.”

  “I know I’m not responsible for Johnny’s decisions, or Amber’s,” Charles said, buckling his seat belt. “And I know I couldn’t have warned her. But it still feels like I betrayed her somehow.”

  Sakura sighed, turning the key in the ignition and shifting the car into drive. “There’s plenty of things in life to feel bad about that actually are your fault—what’s the point in taking on more?”

  They put out an APB on Amber’s car, and in less than two hours, local police had tracked it down at a Motel 6 in La Mesa. The sun was setting when Charles and Sakura pulled into the motel parking lot, but it was still plenty light enough for Charles to see the man hurrying down the exterior stairs with a panicked look on his face.

  Sure enough, it was skinny, raggedy-ass Johnny, making a beeline for Amber’s white Honda Civic.

  “Amber called him,” Charles said, unbuckling his seat belt and popping the door open before the car had even stopped moving.

  “Still feel guilty?” Sakura asked.

  “Stay in the car!” Charles snapped as he jumped out. At least Amber had waited as long as she had.

  The sound drew Johnny’s attention; he took one glance at Charles’s jacket, blanched, and spun on his heel, bolting in the opposite direction. Charles cursed and gave chase.

  “Johnny Sinclair!” he shouted, pursuing Johnny around the corner of the motel. “ATF! Freeze, you’re under arrest!”

  That didn’t work, of course—it rarely did—but Charles had to say it anyway. With the formalities out of the way, Charles focused on controlling his breathing while he pounded after Johnny, who vaulted the low fence that separated the Motel 6 from the Chevy dealership behind it.

  “Siren, we need you,” Sakura said over Charles’s earpiece.

  “I’m here,” came Jade’s bone-melting voice a few seconds later.

  Johnny tore down a lane of gleaming trucks and SUVs, startling a salesman and the couple he was showing around. They yelled in alarm and jumped back when Charles came barreling right after him.

  “Griffin and I are in pursuit of a suspect,” Sakura said to Jade. “He’s on foot and I’m on wheels. Get a lock on our positions and give us an idea of what we’re looking at here.”

  Though the dealership lot wasn’t exactly jam-packed with civilians, pulling his gun at this distance would be an unacceptable risk. Charles had to close the gap, but Johnny had a significant head start and was running on the adrenaline of fear.

  Johnny’s straight route took him right between the narrow aisles of parked cars—not a true barrier, but still a hindrance. Charles scanned the lot as he ran, noting a broad, empty lane that curved around to the side. Banking on the probability that the lane encircled the entire lot, Charles changed course and put on a burst of speed as he was freed from the worry of pinballing between the cars.

  “I’ve got you,” said Jade. “His only choice is to keep running east to west. Past the access road to the north is a four-lane highway, and the embankment to the south is way too steep to climb.”

  “Should I stay on the access road?” Sakura said.

  “Yes, definitely. You should be able to cut him off in the RV resort coming up.”

  Charles rounded the final curve of the lane just as Johnny emerged from the mass of cars, a small stretch of flat asphalt all that remained between them. Johnny’s eyes widened, and he threw himself at the tall chain-link fence at the end of the lot, scrambling up and over like a squirrel.

  “Goddamn it,” Charles said on a groan. He jumped up and grabbed the fence as well, hissing as the thin wires bit into his flesh. Heaving himself over the top, Charles tucked and rolled when he hit the ground, then leaped to his feet and continued the chase.

  They’d entered the RV resort Jade had mentioned, a tidy grid of tight rectangular lots, most of which were occupied. Charles spared little attention for the shocked residents he and Johnny blew past; his breathing was labored now, his legs aching and his pulse thundering in his ears. He focused on Johnny’s back and pushed himself a little harder.

  Johnny veered south, into the wooded area that bordered the resort. Charles was close enough that he heard Johnny’s dismayed curse when he realized that the sheer grade of the slope offered no hope of escape.

  “Fury, turn into the resort on Beach Street,” Jade said.

  Racing back onto the street, Johnny cut through a few tiny yards and ended up on a long road that was one straight shot through the resort. Charles pumped his arms harder and ran at a dead sprint.

  Sakura roared out of a side street, tires screeching as she swung the SUV in a neat semicircle, blocking the road. Johnny skidded to a halt mere feet from the front tire, his arms windmilling, and whirled around just in time to see Charles bearing down on him. Though Johnny lashed out with a wild punch, Charles blocked it easily and drove his own fist into Johnny’s face. He felt a very unprofessional surge of satisfaction at the crunch of bone beneath his knuckles.

  Johnny staggered backward, falling to his knees. Charles kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling, then bent down and flipped him onto his stomach. He yanked Johnny’s arms behind his back and slapped a pair of handcuffs on him. Sakura jumped out of the car and ran toward them with her gun drawn.

  With Johnny safely restrained, Charles stumbled off to the side and doubled over, his chest heaving. His throat burned, his vision was graying, and it was through pure force of will that he didn’t vomit all over the ground.

  “You okay?” Sakura asked, resting a hand on Charles’s back.

  “I need to start doing more cardio,” Charles gasped.

  At the end of the day, once they’d tied up as many loose ends as possible and put out alerts to neighboring law enforcement agencies about the few Jackals who’d managed to slip the net, Charles’s team headed out to a local bar for celebratory drinks.

  “By the way, I called Ángel,” Jade said in the elevator. “He’s going to meet us there with his friend.”

  Charles grunted noncommittally; he himself hadn’t heard a single word from Ángel all day. Then again, he hadn’t reached out to Ángel, either.

  Charles volunteered to be the designated driver—his judgment was impaired enough these days as it was—so everyone piled into his car. As they unloaded in the bar’s parking lot, his teammates in giddy high spirits, Charles’s attention was caught by the approaching rumble of a motorcycle engine.

  “Oh no,” he muttered.

  They all fell silent as a sculptural red Kawasaki Ninja zoomed into the parking lot with two riders on board. The bike parked not far from Charles’s car, and the rear rider hopped off first, removing her helmet to reveal a lanky Latina woman who had to be Jesenia.

  Ángel switched off the bike and dismounted as well, shaking out his hair as he pulled off his own helmet, his eyes crinkling with amusement at whatever Jesenia was saying to him. He wore a black leather
jacket that Charles hadn’t seen since Tucson, and his face was glowing with exhilaration.

  “Oh God, I’m not coming back from this,” Jade said, staring at Ángel with a half-open mouth.

  “I’m not coming back from this,” said Shane, his eyes wide.

  Ángel gave them a wave and headed in their direction, stripping off his leather gloves as he walked. Charles watched in astonishment; it seemed that a thousand pounds of pressure had been lifted off Ángel since that morning. This was the Ángel of Charles’s past, all sparkling eyes and easy smile, his posture loose and relaxed. Was it getting his stuff back that had brought such a change, or had it been spending time with Jesenia?

  “Hey, guys,” Ángel said when he and Jesenia joined their group. “This is Special Agent Jesenia Santos of the DEA.”

  “Just ‘Jesenia’ is fine,” she said with a laugh.

  She shook hands all around as Ángel introduced her to everyone, but her friendly smile cooled when she came around to Charles. He wasn’t surprised, if she knew about his and Ángel’s history.

  “Sweet bike,” Sakura said to Ángel. “She handling okay after two years in storage?”

  “Just needed a little TLC.”

  Charles tuned out their ensuing conversation—he’d never shared Ángel’s fascination with motorcycles and cars—and trailed along at the back of the group as they entered the bar, thrown off-kilter by the improvement in Ángel’s mental state. Unless this was all an act, Jesenia had been able to comfort and cheer Ángel up after spending only a day in his company, something Charles hadn’t been able to accomplish in a full week.

  Well, of course he hadn’t. He’d been too busy fucking Ángel and then pushing him away in a vicious cycle, more selfishly concerned with how Ángel’s return had affected him than how it was affecting Ángel. No wonder Ángel was doing better with Jesenia in town.

  Their group finagled one of the larger high-tops, and everyone settled in except for Ángel, who unzipped his leather jacket but kept it on over his shoulder holster. “First round’s on me,” he said, digging out his wallet and flashing a credit card. “Not only do I finally have access to my bank accounts again, I just got paid two years’ back salary, plus hazard pay and an undercover bonus.”