Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  In his native language, Felipe soundly and quietly cursed out his best friend.

  But Jim kept on laughing. “Just ask her to marry you and get it over with,” he said. “You’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel when you just give up the fight.”

  “I can’t, man,” Felipe said. “It’s not possible. You know it’s not possible.”

  “Rule number one,” Jim said. “Nothing is impossible. Don’t forget that. The first step is to wipe the street clean with Richter’s face, bring down his whole organization, including this sonuvabitch on the force. After that, you can work things out with Caroline.”

  “Sure,” Felipe said. Sure, he’d work things out by walking out. It was the only way.

  After Jim had been transferred to homicide, Felipe had gotten used to working alone. He found that he liked working alone; he liked being alone. But the thought of being without Caroline made him feel achingly lonely. He’d never been lonely before, but now he knew he’d never be anything but lonely again.

  “Remember, if you need transportation, the key to my car is on the right front wheel, where I always leave it. The car’s in the lot at the precinct,” Jim said. “I’m going to call you at this number same time tomorrow. Try to be here.”

  “I’ll be here,” Felipe said. “Or…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but they both knew how it ended. He’d be there, or he’d be dead.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “WHOSE HOUSE IS THIS?” Carrie whispered.

  “Don Swick,” Felipe said. “He’s a captain on the police force.”

  Carrie nodded. “Nice place,” she said.

  It was. It was very nice.

  It had beachfront, in a section of town where beachfront didn’t come cheap. Big and rambling, the single-level house sprawled across a well-manicured lawn with plenty of bushes and shrubbery to keep them hidden.

  “You think this Captain Swick is your Captain Rat?” Carrie asked.

  Felipe nodded. “Shh,” he said, pressing one finger lightly to her lips.

  It was hard to be quiet. Carrie was understandably nervous. This was the first time she’d ever broken into a police captain’s house. It was the first time she’d broken into anyone’s house.

  But Felipe seemed to know what he was doing. He used a tiny penlight he’d taken from the beach house to examine what looked like the access box to a complex security system.

  With a Swiss Army knife Carrie didn’t even realize he had been carrying, Felipe set to work. She watched for a moment, then he murmured, “Keep an eye on the street, cara. Tell me if a car is coming.”

  Carrie nodded.

  She was scared to death. She was scared that this Captain Swick was Richter’s partner and that they’d be in danger if they went into his house. And she was scared that he wasn’t, that they’d break into his house and still be no closer to clearing Felipe’s name.

  “Got it,” he said quietly.

  Carrie turned to see the door swing open.

  Gun drawn, Felipe went inside first. He flashed the same penlight around an enormous kitchen. It was nearly twice as big as the kitchen at the beach house.

  Carrie shut the door behind them, then followed Felipe out of the kitchen and down a long, carpeted hallway. They passed a dining room and a living room, both vast and quiet and dark and filled with expensive furniture.

  It was creepy being in someone else’s house like this. True, the beach house had been someone else’s, too, but they’d been there with Jim Keegan’s unspoken blessing. Here, there wasn’t even a hint of an invitation from the owners.

  Carrie followed Felipe into an enormous master bedroom suite. His penlight flashed around the room, revealing an unmade bed, clothes draped over the back of several easy chairs, laundry overflowing a hamper. The shades in the windows were all pulled completely down, as if Swick hadn’t bothered to open them in the morning.

  Felipe went over to the lamp on one of the bedside tables and switched on the light.

  There were Chinese food cartons on a TV tray, along with a half-eaten bag of chips and the TV remote control. Books and papers were piled on the half of the bed that Swick hadn’t slept in.

  “He better clean this up before his wife gets home, huh?” Felipe murmured. “Man, what a mess.”

  “Where do we start?” Carrie asked.

  “We’re looking for a calendar or a date book or anything that might mention some kind of meeting tomorrow,” Felipe said. “We’re looking for any mention of Richter’s name, or Walsh, or Mareidas and Dupree—”

  “Who?”

  “The men who were killed in the sandlot.”

  “Oh.” Carrie nodded. “How about any mention of the company that’s a front for Richter’s illegal businesses?”

  “L&R Co.,” Felipe said. “Good thinking. You’d make a good cop.”

  “No thanks,” Carrie said dryly. “This is not my idea of fun.”

  “You’d rather jump into a tank with a pair of killer whales, right?” Felipe teased.

  “I’d take Biffy and Louise over Lawrence Richter and Tommy Walsh any day,” Carrie said.

  “To each his—or her—own,” Felipe said with a smile. “Will you be all right in here by yourself? I’d like to go look for Swick’s office. He must have a desk or something, where he keeps a calendar.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Carrie said, already flipping through the papers on the bed. She looked up. “Don’t go far, though.”

  “I won’t,” he said. He moved toward her and kissed her, then disappeared into the darkness of the hall.

  SWICK’S OFFICE was a disaster area. His desk was covered by a mountain of papers and files and scraps of envelopes and napkins with notes scribbled on them. Cardboard file boxes were everywhere, even on top of a state-of-the-art stereo system, even on top of a large-screen TV.

  Felipe pulled down the shades and closed the curtains and switched on the desk lamp. Well aware of the time, well aware that they couldn’t risk staying here too much longer, he grimly set to work, searching for something, anything that would link Swick to Richter’s organization.

  Swick had a file on his desk for every case he’d worked on in the past—God, it must be the past three years. They seemed to be in no particular order, neither chronological nor alphabetical.

  Underneath a two-and-a-half-year-old arson case, Felipe found a desk calendar. It was mounted on a heavy marble stand, and there was a page devoted to each day of the week. It was open to the page dated January 3, which was more than two weeks ago, and probably the last date Swick had unearthed the calendar in this mess.

  Quickly, Felipe flipped to January 20. Tomorrow’s date. The date of Richter’s meeting with his Captain Rat. There was something written on the calendar.

  “Golf,” it said. There was no mention of the time or location.

  Was it some kind of code, or did it actually mean the game of golf? And if so, there were dozens of golf courses in St. Simone, dozens of possibilities for the game’s—and the meeting’s—location. Assuming, of course, that Swick was the Captain Rat he was looking for. Assuming that “golf” didn’t mean simply golf.

  One by one, Felipe opened the drawers of Swick’s desk. They were as disorganized as the rest of the room. He quickly rummaged through them, but they appeared to be filled with files and papers even older than the ones on top of the police captain’s desk.

  He reached down to pull out the lower left drawer but it wouldn’t open. He pulled harder, thinking it had jammed, but it still didn’t budge. It was locked.

  Using a letter opener he’d seen in the top center desk drawer, Felipe tried to jimmy the lock. He slipped the piece of metal in between the drawer and the frame, finally using it as a wedge and the butt of his gun as a hammer to splinter the wood and break the drawer open.

  Pay dirt.

  A manila envelope at the bottom of the drawer had “Salazar” scribbled across it in black marker.

  Felipe took out the envelope and opened it.
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  An unmarked cassette tape fell into his hands. It was the only thing in the envelope, but Felipe was willing to bet it was all he needed. He quickly cleared the file boxes off the stereo, then popped the cassette into the tape player and turned the power on.

  He hit the play button.

  There were several moments of silence, then Lawrence Richter’s voice came on, smooth and clearly recognizable.

  “I’ve got a problem,” he said. “A discipline problem.”

  “Tony and Steve,” said Tommy Walsh’s voice. “You want ’em snuffed. That’s no problem.”

  “This is very difficult for me,” Richter said. “Alfonse Mareidas has been a friend for a long time.”

  “Al knew his kid was as good as dead when word came through about the deal he and Dupree were making with the D.A.,” Walsh said flatly. “If that had gone through, it would’ve taken down your entire westside operation. It wouldn’t have touched you, but it would’ve been a mess. Al can’t blame you for what you have to do.”

  “What you have to do,” Richter said quietly.

  “Of course,” Walsh said.

  “Make it quick and painless,” Richter told him. “For Al’s sake. But make a statement.”

  “With pleasure,” Walsh said. “Consider Mareidas and Dupree permanently out of the picture.”

  “Have Julia send flowers to their families,” Richter said, and the tape ended.

  Yes.

  Yes!

  This tape was all the evidence Felipe needed to pin the Sandlot Murders on Richter and Walsh, and to clear his name. Now all he had to do was prove Donald Swick was Richter’s Captain Rat. That was, unfortunately, easier said than done.

  Felipe rewound the cassette tape and took it out of the tape player.

  “Felipe!” He looked sharply to see Caroline standing in the doorway. “There’s a car pulling into the driveway,” she said, her eyes wide. “I saw lights, and—”

  He stood up, stashing the tape in the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  “I didn’t find anything,” she said as they ran down the hallway toward the kitchen door. “I didn’t finish looking but—”

  “I found a tape,” Felipe told her. “A recording of Richter and Walsh planning the Sandlot Murders.”

  “My God,” Carrie breathed.

  Felipe saw it a fraction of a second too late. A backup laser alarm had come on, probably since the other system had been off-line longer than fifteen or so minutes. Caroline was in front of him, and she reached to pull the door open before he could stop her.

  The opening door interrupted the laser beam and all hell broke loose. The alarm shrieked, a high-pitched, keening sound that attempted to shatter their eardrums and announce an attempted break-in to the surrounding square mile.

  Felipe grabbed Caroline’s hand and pulled her out the door.

  Car headlights flashed in his face, blinding him.

  “Freeze!” bellowed a voice over the alarm. Swick. It was Swick.

  Felipe didn’t stop running.

  “I said freeze!”

  Shielding Caroline with his body, he took her with him as he dived for the bushes.

  The booming sound of a gun being fired drowned out for a moment the relentless sound of the alarm.

  Then, “God, Chief, you might’ve hit the girl!” Swick cried.

  “Radio for backup,” Chief Earley’s voice rasped. “We got that son of a bitch cornered now.”

  Branches and vines slapped at Felipe’s arms and legs as he and Caroline scrambled down the slight incline separating Swick’s property from his neighbor’s yard.

  Lights were going on all over the neighborhood.

  Felipe tried to stick to the darkness at the edges of the yards. He could hear Caroline breathing hard. He could almost smell her fear. Or maybe it was his own fear he could smell. Madre de Dios, she could’ve been shot. She still could be shot.

  “Can you swim?” she asked him, straining for air as they hit a stretch of darkened lawn and ran full out.

  “Yes,” he huffed. He could hear police sirens in the distance, lots of sirens, drawing closer. Man, maybe they were cornered….

  “Let’s head for the water,” Caroline gasped. “For the ocean. The tide should be pulling toward the south. We can swim down the coast.”

  Hope burst like a flare inside him.

  “Te amo,” he cried. “I love you! Caroline, that’s brilliant!”

  Cutting hard to the left, they ran west, toward the Gulf. Felipe’s leg was throbbing, drumming with pain again, but he ignored it. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. He could only think of getting Caroline to safety.

  Around them, the sound of sirens was growing louder and louder.

  Felipe could smell the ocean, see the glimmer of the surf in the darkness. They were close. They were so close. One more road to cross, one more neatly manicured yard and then they’d hit the beach….

  With a squeal of tires, a police car pulled onto the street and braked to a stop, cutting them off from the ocean and escape.

  Felipe jerked Caroline down with him, hard, into the darkness of some bushes. He could feel her heart racing, hear her ragged breathing.

  “I’m in position,” the police officer said. “There’s no sign of anyone out here. Shall I move on?”

  “Stay where you are,” the radio speaker crackled. “Keep your weapon loaded and ready. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and dangerous.”

  “What now?” Caroline breathed into his ear.

  Felipe shifted his weight off his injured leg. “I’m going to surrender,” he whispered.

  “No!”

  “While this guy is busy with me,” he said, ignoring her vehement protest, “I want you to sneak across the street and make it down to the water. Are you sure you’re a strong enough swimmer?”

  “I won’t do it,” she said tightly. “I won’t let you turn yourself in. You said yourself you won’t stay alive more than a day in protective custody—”

  He kissed her. “I’ll find a way,” he said. “I’ll beat the odds.”

  “Felipe—”

  “Caroline, I won’t have them shooting at you!”

  “And I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for me!”

  “Your safety is my priority,” he hissed. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  “If you give yourself up, mister,” Caroline said, her head at that determined angle, chin held high, “I’m going in with you. We’re sticking together.”

  She wasn’t going to give in. She wouldn’t back down.

  Felipe swore silently. He was going to have to find another way.

  She touched him gently on the face, a whisper of a caress on his cheek. Her blue-green eyes were colorless in the darkness. She looked otherworldly, angelic.

  When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper. “Te amo, too, you know.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CARRIE KEPT RUNNING, holding tightly to Felipe’s hand, splashing through the swampy underbrush.

  They’d managed to creep away from the police car, crawling back the way they’d come. Carrie had hoped that they would make it to the water by cutting across the road farther down. But other police cars had arrived, their bright headlights slicing through the darkness, lighting both the street and the surrounding yards, herding the fugitives back, away from the ocean.

  Dear Lord, let them reach the water.

  Then Felipe froze, holding out an arm to stop her, listening hard in the darkness.

  Sirens. She could hear sirens and shouting, and…

  Dogs. Oh, God, dogs. Someone had brought dogs, trained to track by scent alone. They were baying and barking frantically in the distance.

  Felipe was drenched with sweat and limping again. His leg had to be hurting. Hers ached from fatigue, and she didn’t have a three-day-old bullet wound making things worse.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse, and somehow,
somehow, he started running again.

  They didn’t make it more than fifty yards before they came up against a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence.

  The dogs were getting closer, and Carrie could also hear the throbbing of a helicopter in the distance. She swore. A helicopter with a searchlight would be able to pick them out of the water, no problem.

  If they ever made it into the water.

  Felipe was thinking the same thing. “When we hit the ocean, we’ll have to be ready to swim underwater,” he said.

  When? If was more like it. Carrie could smell the tang of the salt air, but the ocean was somewhere on the other side of this fence that was more than twice her height.

  They moved along the fence. It stretched out seemingly forever into the darkness.

  Carrie was all turned around. She’d lost her sense of direction. She had no idea where they were, except that the ocean was out of their reach. For all she knew, they’d been running in circles.

  “Caroline,” Felipe gasped, “do you have the access code to Sea Circus’s security system?”

  What? “Yeah,” she said. “Why?”

  And then it hit her. This fence was the fence that surrounded the perimeter of Sea Circus. Lord, she had no clue they’d come this far. If they kept going, kept following the fence, they’d hit one of the park’s three entrances. She could punch in the code, open the gates and they’d be inside. There must be a hundred places to hide in the marine park. And the dogs wouldn’t be allowed inside—they’d frighten and endanger the wildlife.

  And then, there it was, the entrance, one hundred yards farther along the fence. They’d have to cross part of a parking lot to get there, but the lights were out, and in the darkness they wouldn’t be seen. At this part of the park, a huge wooden barrier was behind the chain-link security fence. Once they were inside, no one would be able to see them.

  A police car passed on the street, going seventy miles an hour, heading up toward Swick’s house.

  Felipe ran across the lot, bent nearly double. Carrie followed close behind.

  She pushed the numbers of the alarm override into the control panel. It flashed green. Thank the Lord! She entered the numbers to unlock the gate, and it swung open with a soft whoosh.