Nowhere to Run

by Suzanne Brockmann

  She wanted to believe that they would survive tomorrow simply because Felipe wanted them to. But the real truth was, all they could be absolutely certain of ever having was right here and right now.

  “POTATO CHIPS, POPCORN OR PRETZELS?” Caroline asked.

  Felipe stared pensively at the row of vending and gumball machines. “How much change do we have?” he asked.

  “Enough for two bags and one can of soda,” she said, “with a quarter left over.”

  Felipe shook his head in disgust. He had nearly three thousand dollars in his wallet—in big bills. The smallest he had was a twenty. The bill changer took nothing larger than a five. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’m hungry, too. We could break into a machine,” Carrie suggested.

  “And have the police out here first thing to investigate?” Felipe said. “No thanks.” He smiled at her. “We’re going to have to distract ourselves until the concession stand opens in the morning, no?”

  Caroline glanced at him over her shoulder, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  She looked incredible. She was wearing her wet suit—a navy blue, form-fitting unitard that hugged her curves like a second skin. It zipped up the front and she wore it slightly open at the neck. Her hair was nearly dry, and it hung, shiny and blond, around her shoulders, down between her shoulder blades.

  She looked capable and in control and utterly, totally feminine.

  “Potato chips, popcorn, or pretzels?” Caroline asked patiently.

  “I’ll have the swordfish steak, grilled in lemon butter, with a baked potato and a house salad,” Felipe said. “And I’d like to see the wine list, please.”

  Carrie laughed. “We have a very nice root beer, dating from December.”

  “If the lady recommends it, how can I refuse? My goal is to wine and dine her with this gourmet meal in the hopes of finding out exactly what she is wearing underneath that wet suit.”

  “Aha,” Caroline said. “A meal meant to seduce. In that case, pretzels, my favourite.”

  She put the money into one of the machines and pushed the buttons that made two tiny bags of pretzels fall out.

  “Shall we dine alfresco?” she asked, taking the root beer from the soda machine. She handed him the can of soda and the last of their change—a solitary quarter.

  Felipe knew exactly what to do with it.

  In addition to the snack and soda machines, there was a row of six or eight gumball and candy machines, many of which held inexpensive toys in clear plastic bubbles. One boasted action-hero pencil erasers while another had cartoon-show tattoos. A third contained a collection of cheap plastic rings.

  “For such a fine meal, it’s only fitting that the lady be properly adorned with fine jewelry,” he said solemnly, dropping the quarter into the slot and turning the handle. One of the plastic bubbles dropped down. He flipped up the hatch and took out the bubble. Opening it with a flourish, he presented Caroline with a bright green plastic ring.

  It was small, but it fit almost perfectly on her ring finger.

  She looked up at him, her sea-green eyes wide.

  And suddenly, this was no longer a game they were playing. Suddenly, this was real. She was in love with him, and God, he’d just given her a ring.

  “I’ll keep it forever,” she whispered.

  “It won’t last forever,” he warned her, so afraid he was going to break her heart. He felt his own heart already start to crack. “The plastic will break.”

  “Not if I take good care of it,” she said. Her chin went up with that determined tilt that was becoming so familiar to him.

  “It’s not worth the trouble,” he said. God, he wished the words he’d spoken weren’t true. He wished he had a different life, a life that he could share with her. “It’s worth nothing.”

  “I know what it’s worth,” she said quietly. “I know exactly what it’s worth.”

  CARRIE WOKE BEFORE DAWN.

  Felipe was still asleep, stretched out on the lumpy sofa bed in the dolphin trainer’s room. He stirred and reached for her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly.

  Carrie felt safe in his arms, but she knew that that safety was only temporary. It wouldn’t be long now before they’d have to wake up, get out of bed and get ready to face this day—and Tommy Walsh and his sharpshooters along with the entire St. Simone Police Department.

  Last night, Felipe had called Jewel collect from the pay phones by the concession stand. She’d told Felipe that she had gone to see his brother.

  According to what Rafe had heard, Lawrence Richter had raised the price on Felipe’s head to a cool million, and Tommy Walsh had every available man out and looking for him and the angel—in other words, Carrie. The scuttlebutt was going around that things were going to get really intense. And word was spreading—if anyone sees Felipe Salazar, hit the dirt because bullets are gonna be right behind him. Rafe told Jewel to make sure Felipe knew what he was up against.

  What they were up against, Carrie thought.

  Jewel had talked Rafe into offering his halfway house to Felipe as a safe haven. That was good to know. That was very good to know.

  Felipe hadn’t done much more than report the contents of his conversation to Carrie, but she knew that Rafe’s support—no matter how grudgingly given—was important to him.

  Felipe had also told Jewel about the tape that incriminated Richter and Walsh in the Sandlot Murders, told her he’d hidden it underneath the sofa bed in the dolphin trainer’s room here at Sea Circus. He’d told her to give this information to Jim Keegan, to deliver the message in person and written on a piece of paper so that no one could overhear.

  And he’d told her to ask Jim to call him at Rafe’s at one Thursday afternoon—this afternoon.

  Richter’s meeting with Captain Rat was to be at three-thirty—two and a half hours later.

  They were running out of time.

  Felipe stirred again, and she could tell by the change in his breathing that he was awake.

  “Good morning,” she whispered.

  “Is it morning?” he asked. It was still dark outside.

  “Almost,” she said. “It’s nearly five.”

  “What time does the park open?” he murmured, running one hand lightly along the curve of her hip.

  “Nine,” she said, closing her eyes. “But the staff starts showing up around six-thirty or seven.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Carrie smiled. “Starved. And it’s another four hours ’til the concession stands open.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “I don’t suppose it’s any use, trying to distract you….”

  Carrie turned to look at him. His eyes were half-closed, the lower part of his face was covered by a day’s growth of dark stubble, and his hair was rumpled. He looked deliciously sleepy. He smiled, a slow smile that promised neither of them was even going to think about food—at least not for a while.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THERE WERE FOUR uniformed policemen, and God only knows how many plainclothes detectives, at each of Sea Circus’s gates. They examined the faces of the people leaving the park, searching for Felipe Salazar—“Rogue Cop.”

  Felipe checked the clock over the main entrance. Eleven-thirty. Up to this point, there had only been dribs and drabs leaving the marine park. According to Caroline, the bigger groups wouldn’t start to leave until after lunch—not much before noon at the earliest.

  He scanned the parking lot outside the main entrance. This was definitely the way to leave Sea Circus. Both of the other gates had obvious places outside for a sniper to hide. This gate had only the flatness of the already-crowded parking lot, no trees or bushes or cover of any kind except for the rows of cars.

  Of course, that also meant there’d be no place for Felipe and Carrie to hide, either, once they were outside the gate.

  Caroline sat near him, cross-legged in the grass, off to the side of the crowded walkways. She was wearing Jewel’s overalls ov
er her bathing suit, with her pants rolled up to just under her knees. She’d put her hair up into a braid rather than the ponytail she usually wore. He’d bought her a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap at the gift shop—there were quite a few of her co-workers around who could identify her—and she wore them with a certain attitude that made her look like a young teenager.

  Watching her, Felipe had an idea.

  “Those school buses in the parking lot,” he said, sitting down next to her. “Did you happen to notice if any of them carried a group of high school students?”

  Caroline bit her lower lip, thinking hard. “I saw some really little kids—first-graders maybe, and some older kids—ten-year-olds.” She turned to gaze out through the fence toward the parking lot. “There’s an awful lot of buses today—one of them must be for a group of high school kids.” She looked back at Felipe. “Why?”

  “We’re going to leave with them,” he said.

  “If they’re not seniors, if they’re younger, we’ll stand out,” Carrie said. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but he knew they were serious.

  “Cross your fingers,” Felipe said. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. “So far we’ve been lucky.”

  She lay back against him, her head in his lap.

  “I’m scared to death,” she admitted, peering through her dark glasses to look up at him. “We’re sitting out here in the open like this, and I keep thinking someone’s going to see me, someone’s going to recognize me. Or you. Lord, your face has been all over the papers and the TV.”

  “People see what they expect to see,” Felipe said. “They don’t expect to see St. Simone’s most wanted sitting on the lawn near the main entrance to Sea Circus next to the dolphin trainer. They expect to see some Hispanic kid from the ’hood and his pretty girlfriend sitting around in the shade, wasting time. So that’s what they see.” He touched the side of her face, stroking her cheek lightly with his knuckles. Her skin was so soft, so delicate.

  “Maybe we should separate,” Carrie said. “Meet back at Rafe’s by one o’clock.”

  “No.” The word came out with more force than he’d intended, and he made himself smile to soften its impact. “We stay together.”

  She was quiet, and he intertwined her fingers with his.

  “I’m still scared,” she finally whispered.

  Felipe nodded. He was scared, too.

  Looking up into the vast blueness of the sky, he prayed. He prayed for Caroline’s safety and for his own successful escape. And, failing that, he prayed for the ability to accept his death, to die at peace, knowing he had lived his life as best he possibly could.

  But had he?

  He couldn’t help but wonder how differently his life might’ve turned out had he gone back to Sea Circus and introduced himself to Caroline Brooks that day after he’d locked her in the trunk of her car.

  “Hello, my name is Felipe Salazar and I’m really a detective with the Fourth Precinct. Will you forgive me…and have dinner with me?”

  She would have. Maybe not that night, but eventually she would have forgiven him.

  And, as surely as she’d done over the past few days, she would have stolen her way into his heart.

  And then…

  What if…

  What if Felipe had said no thank you to the assignment to bring down Richter? What if he had said it was time to take some greatly needed—and greatly earned—vacation time? What if he had spent that time, a month, maybe two, with Caroline, living a regular, normal life? What if he’d taken her out to see movies and go dancing? What if he’d moved his toothbrush and an extra change of clothes into her apartment? And what if…what if he had liked it?

  What if his job had posed no threat, no danger? What if he had stayed away from undercover assignments for a while? What if he had transferred out of vice?

  He could imagine this Felipe, this other Felipe, spending much more than twenty-five cents on a ring that was neither green nor plastic. He could imagine this other Felipe taking Caroline Brooks someplace unbearably romantic for dinner, and after sitting down at the small, secluded table, he would take her hand and gaze into her eyes and…

  He could imagine their wedding day. Diego would stand up for him, slap him on the back and embrace him, happy that his best friend had also found what he and his wife, Emily, shared.

  Felipe could imagine saving their money and buying a house close to Caroline’s beloved ocean. He would plant flowers in the yard and bring her one every evening. And every night, he’d make sweet, perfect love to her and sleep with her in his arms.

  He could imagine her round and heavy with his child. A familiar flame of fear flickered through him and he squelched it. Small women married tall men all the time. Perhaps the baby would need to be born by cesarean section, but perhaps not. Caroline was strong and tough. Either way, he’d see that she received the best possible medical attention and all the tender loving care she could possibly need.

  Time moved faster in his mind, the years blending together, their children growing tall and strong. Sons he could be proud of, daughters with his dark hair and eyes and their mother’s beautiful smile. His life became a blur of happiness and love, a blend of passion and tenderness, a mosaic of laughter and song.

  Felipe stared up into the blue, blue sky, allowing himself to live that life, the life he had not chosen.

  The life he never would have chosen—because he never would have turned down the assignment to put Richter away. He knew damn well that if he hadn’t taken on Richter’s organization, no one else would have. And he couldn’t have lived with himself, knowing that such a man continued to run free, hurting innocent people.

  But…

  There had been something else, some part of his fantasy…

  He closed his eyes, trying to rewind his daydream until at last he touched upon it.

  What if he had transferred out of vice?

  Felipe sat up suddenly, and Caroline, who’d been dozing, jumped.

  “What?” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, shh,” he said. “It’s all right.”

  But his heart was pounding. What if he transferred out of vice? Not had—did? What if he did? Damn, if he lived through this mess, he’d have to transfer. There wouldn’t be a crime lord or a drug dealer this side of Florida who wouldn’t recognize his face. However he looked at it, he was washed up as an undercover detective for the vice squad—unless he moved to another town, another state. And he couldn’t see doing that. St. Simone was his home.

  He would transfer out of vice.

  And what if he transferred to a less dangerous job, one that would pose less of a threat to Caroline, one where revenge and counterhits weren’t part of the norm?

  Jim Keegan had done it. He’d left vice and was happy with his new job. He was still making a difference by being a police detective.

  Or hell, who said Felipe had to be a detective? He could transfer to youth services, follow in his mentor’s, Jorge Gamos’s, hard-to-fill footsteps.

  The possibilities were endless.

  He looked down at Caroline. She was watching him, concern on her face.

  What if…? What if?

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know where to start. But when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were the words that he’d been unable to speak for so long. “I love you,” he said simply.

  She was quiet, just gazing up at him.

  “Do you think…” he started to say. He cleared his throat and began again. “Do you think, after this is over…”

  “Yes,” she said, no hesitation in her voice.

  Felipe had to smile. “You don’t even know what I’m asking,” he said. “How do you know I wasn’t going to ask you to spend four solid weeks with me making mad, passionate love?”

  She grinned back at him. “Well, that’s an easy yes.”

  She took off her sunglasses and he m
arveled at the love he could see in her beautiful eyes.

  “I want to spend time with you after this is over,” he said quietly, seriously. “I want to find out if you’ll still love me without all the intrigue, without all the danger.”

  There was another big if here—an if they both weren’t bothering to mention: if, after this was over, Felipe and Caroline were both still alive.

  But Caroline was thinking about it. He could see it in her eyes.

  Death. His death. Her death.

  The possibility was very real.

  “Are you asking me to dinner or to move in with you?” Caroline asked. She was trying desperately to ignore the shadow of the Grim Reaper that was hanging over them.

  Her words caught him off guard. Move in with him? His mother would have a heart attack. His father would turn over in his grave. But Felipe hadn’t meant dinner, either. What had he meant?

  Felipe knew what he meant—he just couldn’t say the words. But the thought that after today he might not be alive to speak loosened his tongue.

  “I’m asking,” he said slowly, “for you to think about…considering the possibility of…marrying me. Taking my name, bearing my children.”

  God, he wanted that so much. He wanted that life he’d imagined, that sunlight and laughter. He wanted the warmth of Caroline’s love forever.

  Except…who was he kidding? The odds were that he was going to die. Tommy Walsh, or one of his men, was going to blow a hole in his head and that would be that. No marriage, no children, no laughter.

  He’d have the forever—in the form of eternal rest.

  And Caroline…God, Walsh would kill her, too.

  Felipe closed his eyes, unable to stand the sight of the hope that was blooming on Caroline’s face.

  God give him the strength to die gracefully.

  But Felipe knew with a powerful sense of certainty that if in the course of the next few hours he were to leave this world, he’d go out kicking and screaming and fighting every step of the way.

  AT SEVEN MINUTES after twelve, Felipe could hear them coming. At least three busloads of teens, ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen, were heading directly toward the Sea Circus main entrance. He hastily rose to his feet.