“That’s what it boils down to,” Walsh replied.
Ninety.
“You know, man, there’s always option C,” Felipe said. “You give yourself up to me and plea bargain for your freedom in return for testifying against Richter—”
“Three more miles,” Walsh interrupted him. “You pass the next exit, and we do it the ugly way.”
The phone line was cut as Walsh hung up.
Carrie was still watching him. Felipe smiled ruefully. “I don’t think he liked option C,” he said, reaching over to put down the telephone.
“I want to get out,” she said. “Just pull over and let me out. I’d rather take my chances with him.” She gestured with her head back toward the car that was still following them.
One hundred. How much faster could this car go? Or a better question—how much faster could the limo Walsh was in go?
“I’d reconsider,” Felipe said. “He just offered to put a bullet into your brain.”
“That’s what you say,” Carrie said. “And we both know I have absolutely no reason to trust you.”
Felipe nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “You don’t. But if I were you, I’d test this situation with something smaller and less important than my life.”
One hundred and five. One hundred and ten.
The exit was approaching, the green sign reflecting their headlights in the darkness. It was the point of no return. Madre de Dios, don’t let him regret this. The thought of having to watch and listen as Walsh tortured Caroline Brooks was excruciating. But to simply pull over and quit…No. If they were going to die, they’d die fighting.
They shot past the exit, and sure enough, the shooter in the limo opened fire, trying for one of their tires.
At nearly one hundred and twenty, if they lost a tire, they’d be smeared across the road. But at nearly one hundred and twenty, the limo was hard-pressed to keep up. If only this car could go a little faster, they’d lose Walsh. Unfortunately, Felipe, too, had maxed out, with the gas pedal to the floor. Now all he could do was pray.
Pray, and turn off the headlights and rear running lights. Why give them a lighted target?
They were barreling into the darkness, with only the lights from the other cars and trucks to guide them.
But then, suddenly, the shooting stopped.
Felipe glanced into what was left of his rearview mirror.
He could see inside the limousine. The interior lights were on and Tommy Walsh was on the phone again. Walsh hung up and the limo began to slow.
As Felipe watched, Walsh moved into the right lane. As he raced up to the crest of a hill, he looked back and saw the limo’s headlights turn away as the car exited the highway.
What the hell…? Was Tommy Walsh giving up? Man, what just happened here?
Felipe had a sudden bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he lifted his foot from the accelerator and the car began to slow. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong. The only time he’d ever seen Walsh back away was when his prey was dead. The implication was that in Walsh’s eyes, Felipe and Caroline were already dead.
Still, Felipe hit the brakes and turned his lights back on. He could feel Caroline’s eyes on his face as he searched the rearview mirror, watching for some sign of a trap. But there was nothing. There was no sign of the limousine, no sign they were being followed by anyone else.
He exited at a rest stop, pulling onto the ramp at the last instant, keeping his signal light off.
Caroline peeked over the back of the seat. “Did we lose them?”
“No,” Felipe said tersely. “They lost us. Something’s wrong.”
“Something’s wrong?” she echoed. “They’re not shooting at us anymore. I’d consider that to be something right.”
“Tommy Walsh shouldn’t have given up so easily,” Felipe said, glancing at her. He had to make a phone call, find out what the hell was going on.
He saw a row of pay and credit-card telephones that could be accessed without leaving the car. That was good, because now that the immediate danger had passed, Felipe’s leg was starting to hurt like hell. He parked next to one of the phones, leaving the car engine idling.
But even before the car had stopped moving, Carrie was out the door like a shot.
Felipe swore. He’d pulled up to these phones because he hadn’t wanted to get out of the car. His pants were wet with blood and his leg was throbbing with an unholy pain. Despite the agony, he slid across the bench seat, leaving a smear of blood on the fancy leather upholstery. Carrie hadn’t closed the door, and as he left the car after her, he hit the pavement running. Man! His leg hurt like a bitch, but he ran after her anyway. If he didn’t catch her, she was as good as dead. Worse, he thought, remembering Walsh’s threats.
The parking lot was mostly empty. There were a few cars but no people around. She headed toward a brightly lit fast-food restaurant.
“Caroline, wait!” Felipe called, but she only ran faster, harder.
She was fast, but she was small, and her stride was only three-quarters the size of his, even with a bullet in his leg.
He caught her before she reached the wheelchair ramp up to the front door of the restaurant, and pulled her down with him onto the soft grass that lined the sidewalk.
“No!” she cried. “Let me go!”
She took in a deep breath to scream and he covered her mouth with his hand, trying desperately to ignore the fire of pain shooting up and down his thigh.
“Stop it!” he hissed into her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, but Tommy Walsh will. By now, he and Richter know who you are and where you live. You go home, you’re dead.”
There was fear in her eyes as she looked up at him. But was it his words, or was it he, himself, that frightened her?
He realized with a sudden stab of awareness that he was on top of her, covering her with the full weight of his body. Mother of God, she was so very female, so very soft, and he was crushing her.
Keeping a tight hold on her arm, he rolled off her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”
But now she was looking at him with new horror in her eyes. “Are you bleeding?” she breathed. “My Lord, you are.”
Her dress and part of her leg were streaked bright red with his blood.
Still holding her with one hand, Felipe pulled himself to his feet before helping her up. “I need to make a phone call,” he said, “and then we need to get out of here. We’re not out of danger yet, Caroline.”
He winced as he put his weight on his wounded leg. But he tried not to limp as he led her back across the parking lot toward the car. On the off chance someone was watching, he didn’t want them to know he was injured.
“Lord above,” Carrie said, “you were shot.”
He glanced at her. The expression in her eyes begged him to tell her otherwise, but Felipe nodded his head. “Yes,” he said. He had her full attention, and he pressed his advantage. “This is not a game we’re playing here. The bullets are very real, and Tommy Walsh is saving one or two of them especially for you, do you understand?”
He watched her steadily, seeing the doubt and mistrust on her face. What he would have given simply for her to trust him. But she didn’t believe him. She didn’t buy into what he was telling her. Even so, behind all that mistrust, he could see her concern.
In her mind, he was the enemy, yet she was concerned for his health. Felipe found himself smiling as he gazed at her. Despite her tough-guy exterior, she was soft-hearted. She was as sweet as she looked. Dear heaven, even with her dress rumpled and stained, and her hair windblown and messy, she still managed to look incredibly sweet.
“You better do something to stop the bleeding,” she said, glancing up at him. She quickly looked away, but not before Felipe caught the answering heat of attraction in her eyes. Maybe sweet wasn’t quite the right word….
“You know,” he said softly, “instinctively, you want to trust me, Caroline. Instinctively
, there is this powerful attraction between us—”
Carrie laughed. “I’d be willing to bet that instinctively, there’s a powerful attraction between you and every woman on earth,” she said, carefully not meeting his eyes.
He smiled again. “Not like this,” he said. “Never like this.” He closed the car door and led her around to the other side. He opened that door and, still holding her wrist, shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. He handed it to Carrie. “Use this to wipe off the seat, please, and then get in.”
To his surprise, she took it and tore it cleanly down the middle. She handed him back one of the halves. “Use this to tie around your leg to try to stop the bleeding,” she said. “It is your leg that’s hurt, isn’t it?”
Felipe nodded, once again touched by her concern. Still, she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Thanks.”
But he wouldn’t let go of her wrist to tie the jacket around his leg.
“I won’t run away,” Carrie said.
Felipe just laughed.
In frustration, she took the torn fabric from him and tied it herself, folding a piece of the sleeve against the gash on his upper thigh, forming a bandage that applied pressure to the wound. Damn, it hurt. He had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. He must have made some sort of sound, though, because she glanced up at him.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
And she was. She was tending to him with as much compassion as she’d give a wounded manatee—or shark. Yes, Felipe could imagine her coming to the aid of an injured shark and disregarding its sharp, deadly teeth in the name of compassion.
Her hands were unquestionably gentle, but there was a hole in his leg where the bullet had entered. A hole, with a bullet still inside, that hurt like hell.
If she noticed the new layer of sweat that was glazing his face, she didn’t mention it. “I’ve never been shot,” she said, tying the bandage into place, “but my brother has—in a hunting accident. It was barely a scratch, but my other brothers had to carry him down from the mountains on a stretcher.”
Brothers. Felipe realized in a flash just where they could go to hide. To his brother’s. Of course. He’d cut himself off so thoroughly from Raphael, no one in the police force, including Jim Keegan, knew he had an older brother. Not even Richter would be able to track him there.
The pain had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. Felipe forced his face to relax, then even managed to smile at Caroline. “Well, my brothers are not here right now,” he said, “so I’ll have to carry myself.”
“You should go to the hospital,” she said. “I didn’t get a really good look at your leg in this light. I can’t tell if the bullet’s still in there. If it is, you’re risking serious infection. If it’s not, you still need stitches.”
“The hospital can’t treat a bullet wound without reporting it to the police,” Felipe said. “I can’t go in yet. Not until I know that it’s safe for both of us.”
“Please,” she said, still looking up at him. “Just turn yourself in. You’re clearly a man of integrity—”
“I’m so glad you’ve recognized that,” Felipe said with a wry laugh.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “I’ll make sure no one hurts you. I’ll help you get an attorney—”
“Caroline, I’m a cop,” he said. “I don’t need a lawyer.”
“If you let me go right now,” Carrie said as if she hadn’t heard him, “I’ll ask them to dismiss any kidnapping charges.”
“I’m cop, a police detective,” Felipe said again, looking down at her. “There will be no kidnapping charges. I wish you would believe me.”
She still gazed up at him. “If you’re a police detective, then let’s go to the police station,” she said beseechingly. “Right now. Let’s just get in the car and drive over—”
“I can’t.”
She stood up. “Because you’re not a cop.”
Felipe shook his head. “No, because we’re dealing with organized crime,” he explained, “and they’ve bought someone in the department. Neither of us would last a day in local protective custody. Richter would be tipped off as to our every move, and he’d bring in a hit man to finish the job. And God knows how many good men and women would die trying to protect us.”
Caroline didn’t buy it—he could tell from the set of her mouth. “That’s a convenient excuse,” she said.
They were standing so close, she was forced to tilt her head to look up at him.
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said.
She only laughed. “Are you sure you even remember the truth?” she asked. “Or maybe you simply change it with your name, Carlos. Or should I call you Raoul? No, wait, it’s Felipe, isn’t it? Yeah, Felipe Salazar, undercover cop.”
“If you would get in the car, please, and sit down,” Felipe said, feeling his patience start to slip, “then I could sit down, too. And I really, really would like to sit down.”
She climbed into the car, and still holding tightly to her wrist, he followed her, closing the door behind him.
It was cool inside. With the engine running, the air conditioner kept the temperature down to a comfortable level. Caroline was silent as Felipe pushed the button that lowered the window, then reached outside the car for the telephone. He dialed Jim’s direct number, glancing over at her.
It was so easy to imagine this woman sitting next to him in his own subcompact car, smiling instead of looking at him with this mixed expression of wariness and mistrust. He could imagine the sound of her laughter; he could picture amusement dancing in her beautiful eyes. And he could imagine bending to kiss her smiling mouth, her face upturned in anticipation of his lips.
“Jim Keegan, Homicide,” said a familiar, husky voice on the other end of the line.
Felipe pulled his gaze away from Caroline’s face. “Diego, it’s me.”
“Phil! Jesus! Thank God you’re alive.”
“Look, man, I need—”
“I’m sure you realize that this line’s tapped,” Jim said, cutting Felipe off and talking fast, “and that I’ve got to try to keep you on as long as possible so we can track you.”
“Of course,” Felipe said. My God, he’d had no idea. His heart sank. Obviously, Jim wasn’t in any position to help him.
“An APB came in just a few minutes ago,” Jim said. “All available men are looking for you and a stolen car, New York plate HTD-761.”
In other words, ditch the car.
Jim Keegan was one of the few people who knew that Felipe had been trying to infiltrate Richter’s organization. Why would he make hints for Felipe to stay away, to keep running, to stay hidden?
“You’re wanted for the Sandlot Murders, pal,” Jim said. “It’s not my case, but the word is we’ve got evidence that ties you to the crime scene.”
The Sandlot Murders? They’d happened less than a week ago. Two men with mob connections had been killed in a vigilante-style execution after they’d been released from prosecution on a technicality. Word on the street was that they’d been prepared to deal with the D.A. Now they were DOA and a very obvious warning to the other underlings who worked for the crime bosses.
The media had sunk their teeth into the case because the murders were committed in a vacant lot next to an inner-city elementary school. The children were traumatized, the parents were in an uproar and the newspapers and TV stations were searching for someone to blame.
The triggerman could’ve been any one of a number of hired assassins. It was a high-profile case with virtually no chance of being solved.
It was the perfect case to use to create a frame.
It was so obvious. Richter’s man in the police department, this partner of his, this “Captain Rat,” had worked hard and fast to set Felipe up. It was such an obvious frame, it was almost laughable.
Almost.
But maybe, if he could stay alive long enough, the last laugh could be Felipe’s. He may not know exactly who Captain Rat was, but he did know that ther
e was a planned meeting between this man and Richter in less than three days, at three-thirty in the afternoon. But he couldn’t tell Jim about it—not with the line being tapped and God only knows who listening in.
“I’m supposed to try to talk you into turning yourself in,” Keegan said. “Just stay where you are, stay on the line and we’ll come to you, you hear me?”
In other words, get out of there fast.
“I hear you, man,” Felipe said. “Loud and clear.” He hung up the phone.
Caroline Brooks watched him in silence.
“Diego can’t help us,” he told her, even though she had no idea who Diego was.
Diego couldn’t help him, but maybe Raphael could.
It was time for a Salazar family reunion.
CHAPTER FIVE
CARRIE HEARD THE SIRENS in the distance at the same time Felipe did.
But instead of starting the car the way she expected, he opened the door.
“You’re wearing sandals, not heels, am I right?” he asked, looking down the length of her legs to her feet. “Good,” he added, not even waiting for her to answer. “Come on.”
He was still holding on to her wrist, and he tugged her gently out of the car.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The police are looking for this car,” he answered, leading her across the parking lot toward a grove of trees, beyond which shone the lights of a suburban street. “We’re better off on foot.”
“The police,” she said. “I thought you were the police.”
“I am,” he said.
“Then how come they’re looking for this car?” she asked. “And you, too, I assume?”
“Because they don’t know that I’m one of the good guys, and that one of the bad guys is in the department,” Felipe said.
His hair had come free from his ponytail, and it curled around the shoulders of his snowy white tuxedo shirt. He’d untied his bow tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of the shirt, its perfection now marred by darkening stains of blood. He was still shockingly handsome, despite the lines of pain Carrie could see on his face.
His eyes were as soft and as dark as the night sky above her, and equally mysterious. If she could suspend all disbelief, it would be easy to see him as one of the good guys. In a more perfect world, no criminal could possibly have eyes so kind, so warm. If she looked at him for too long, she felt as if she were being pulled into some kind of vortex—spinning, imprisoning, consuming.
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