Okay, so when he put it that way. “Uh, no,” I said timorously. “But you could get disbarred. Go to prison. Your ex-wife and children could go hungry.”
I paused to eye him. Apparently his reckless reputation had been well earned. But then considering his unpredictable behavior, could I really trust him? He was being nice-Johnny for the moment. What if evil-Johnny resurfaced? I reconsidered getting him involved, but what other option did I have? He was the only person, at the moment, offering to help.
“You do realize all that. Right?”
“Relax,” he drawled. “Look, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. But there’s no denyin’ that you’re tangled up with a group that you and I both know have friends in pretty high places,” he said, slipping a ring of keys from his pocket. “And don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got plenty of money socked away where not even my ex-wife can find it.”
Sifting, one by one, through the ring of keys, he stopped on the smallest one and held it up like a kid who’d deftly fished the prize from a cereal box. In the dim light, it took me a moment to focus in on what he was holding, but when I did, it was my turn to look incredulous.
“You have handcuff keys?”
He flashed me a wry smile. “Purely for recreational use, I assure you,” he said, leaning over the bar to lift my wrist, and the lock on the cuff, into view.
I studied his attractive face and mysterious eyes, as he worked on the lock. Images of a carnal nature rose out of nowhere, lighting a flame to my cheeks. Raising a hand to cover my eyes, as if blocking my sight would rein in my thoughts, I said, “I don’t even want to know.”
Johnny freed my wrist and stood back with a false look of surprise. “What?” He dropped the keys back into his pocket. “The very idea offends your homicidal heart?” he said with a facetiously raised brow.
Alternating between making a fist and straightening my fingers to get the blood flowing again, I gave him a dour look. “Also not funny.”
He made an inch again with his fingers. “A little bit?” He shot me a tricky smile. I shook my head, and he quickly shifted into a more urgent mode. “Okay!” He clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. His eyes took on the faraway look of a man concocting an ingenious plan. “You stay put and I’ll be right back,” he said, hastily heading for the door.
My chest started to pound again at the thought of being left alone. “Where are you going?” I asked, a hint of neediness cheapening my question.
“Unless you have a cloak of invisibility hidden somewhere under that gown,” he said as he took a hold of the door handle, “and I’m guessing you don’t, you can’t exactly walk out of here dressed like that, now can you?”
I closed my hand tightly around the bed rail to keep from leaping after him. “Hurry,” I said in a pitiful voice.
Johnny stopped and looked back at me with a clever smile. “Be back in a flash.”
“Wait—” I tried, but he winked, and then he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The faux wood paneling on the door spun like a kaleidoscope—a shifting barrier that linked my hope for freedom with the fear of imprisonment. What if running makes me look even guiltier? I can still opt to stay put and take my chances with the justice system. But then the possibility that Daniel might be at home right now shredding every last piece of evidence I would need to exonerate myself urged me to stay my present course.
I grabbed hold of the handle. “Nice try, Paul, but you haven’t won yet,” I muttered into the bleakness and pulled the door back. The bright light of the corridor stabbed my pupils, making my lids flutter. When I could see clearly, I assessed the path ahead. The hall was empty except for Johnny and a police officer.
Standing about eight yards ahead of me, Johnny had his hand on the officer’s shoulder, turning him away from me while he inquired as to the specific location of the men’s room. So far, Johnny’s plan was progressing as expected. First, he’d smuggled scrubs, lab coat, mask, hat, ID badge, and stethoscope into my room. While I had changed, he imparted the remainder of his master plan for escape.
I patted the pocket of my scrubs, double-checking the position of Johnny’s car keys. My brain told my feet to start moving. They resisted at first, but then complied and I began to walk forward, one foot carefully in front of the other. As I drew closer, I pressed Johnny’s phone to my ear to conceal the bruise on my face just like he’d told me to and opened my mouth to speak. Johnny had said that I should speak “doctorly.” What do doctors talk about? I asked myself, knowing it was a little too late to be wondering what to say now.
Johnny widened his eyes at me mouthing, “Say something,” and I shrugged back at him. A quick roll from his eyes, and he turned his attention back to the officer.
“These places are almost as twisted as my great me-maws walkin’ stick,” he was saying as I came closer.
I sent up a speedy prayer for inspiration, which came back to me in record time with the suggestion that I make use of all those hours I’d spent watching medical dramas on TV. Clearing the gunk from my throat, I took courage in the sudden burst of inspiration.
“The patient was suffering from . . . scoliosis of the liver,” I started, inclining my head away from Johnny and the officer as they both turned in my direction. “And when we attempted to aspirate and his heart, um, defibbed . . . we, err, intubated but then his . . .”
His what? I mentally pounded my brain as I rounded the corner, heading away from them and toward where Johnny had said the stairs were located.
“Tumor!” I said, my pace increasing as I passed a nurse coming out of a patient’s room. “Ruptured and well, we’re very sorry, we did all we could, but we just couldn’t save him,” I added with a penitent tone as I knocked the security door with my hip and sidestepped into the stairwell.
The door closed behind me. I dropped my shaking hands to my knees, my head between my shoulders, and gasped for breath. If there’d been anything left in my stomach, it would have come up right there. Stupid! Tumors don’t rupture. Breathing in deep a few times, I knew I had to keep moving. Straightening, I started for the steps when the phone in my hand shattered the still air with the slow twang of Marty Robbins singing Streets of Laredo.
Startled, the phone flew from my fist, bobbing from one hand to the other before I regained control and saved it from hitting the cement floor. Pressing a palm to my sweaty forehead, I glared down at the display—Candy Barrington. What if it had rung while I was fake talking on it in the hallway?
“Thanks a lot, Johnny boy,” I mumbled as I took to the stairs.
Looking back, I felt a moment of regret over my decision to run. Suddenly, the thought of being chained to a bed felt much more secure than running aimlessly into the unknown. But then I thought about the boys, about my parents and sister. How could I put them through an arrest, a trial? Even if it meant taking Daniel down in the process, I had to get to Anna-Beth, had to shut this down and save myself before Daniel and Paul’s snare had a chance to close around me forever.
I hit the bottom of the stairs and swung open the door to the parking garage just as the distant hum of an alarm pushed through the thick cinderblock walls. The sound had my feet tripping over each other as I breached the threshold and out into the parking garage. They were looking for me.
I turned back to the door. If I went back inside and found a place to hide, maybe I could wait it out, escape when things cooled down. I pushed down on the handle, but the latch didn’t release the door. The hospital was locked down. My only option was to find Johnny’s car, lay low, and hope he got out in time.
I scanned the line of cars trying to remember where he’d said his was parked. Why was panic such an inconvenient emotion? One would think the fight or flight instinct would heighten awareness and deductive thought, not suppress it. Another matter I wanted to bring up with the Almighty if and when I finally met Him.
A few hurried paces later, and I was relieved to find Johnny’s car, a silver Aud
i, right where he’d said it would be. The car next to Johnny’s suffered a nasty ding as I gave no thought to finesse while yanking his passenger door open. I fell into the plush leather seat and slammed the door shut. Peering through the driver’s side window, I looked out to the security hut and saw a guard glance my way. I ducked my head into the driver’s seat.
Where is Johnny, and what will I do if he doesn’t show?
How much longer would it be before those parking guards figured out there had been an escape? How much longer should I sit here and wait for Johnny to show? I decided to give him four breaths. If Johnny didn’t come in the space of four breaths, I would be on my own. I didn’t want to go it alone, but at this point, I had no choice except to face the hard fact that he might not have gotten out in time.
What were the chances I could slide into the driver’s seat and simply drive out of here? If they knew there’d been an escape, they probably knew to look for a woman. Since my face didn’t match the one on the ID tag Johnny had stolen for me, I wouldn’t get through unless I was willing to run at least one of them down. I considered the possibility. No, I wasn’t that desperate, not yet anyway. I needed another option.
If I stayed low I could make my way on foot between the rows of cars and slip out. It was worth a try. I sat back against the seat and closed my eyes. Okay, I had a plan. “Four breaths, Marlie, and then you’ll go,” I ordered myself.
The breath filled my lungs, I held it a beat, and then let it go. “One.” I drew in another. Let it out. “Two.” And then again. “Three.”
I closed my eyes on the fourth. Feeling along the armrest, I found the release for the door and gripped it tight. This is it! “Four!” I said, my eyes flying open as I yanked back on the handle and slammed my shoulder into the door—
“Four what?” Johnny’s breathless voice pulled me back.
Startled, my hand slipped from the door handle but not before the latch gave.
“What are you doin’? We gotta go,” he said. “You can count later.” He reached over me and pulled the door closed. Snatching the keys from my lap, he jammed the largest one into the ignition and the Audi revved to life.
“Buckle up,” he said, and I reached for my seatbelt. He shifted into reverse. The car jerked back. With the palm of one hand working the steering wheel, the hand of the other on the gearshift, he headed toward the exit.
I braced my feet against the floor as the car surged forward. Up ahead, two guards were moving what looked like an oversized orange sawhorse to block the exit. As we sped toward them, a red siren-type light ignited and whirled. An instant later, a metal grate began to lower from the ceiling.
Johnny’s arm stiffed against the steering wheel. “It’s gonna be close,” he called out. A muffled scream vibrated against my lips. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” Johnny apologized as we whizzed past the blockade, missing one of the men by inches.
The closing gate lowered in front of us.
“We’re not gonna make it!” I hollered as the hood of the car breeched the path of the descending gate. Johnny and I both ducked, like that would help us clear the metal bars.
One high-pitched scraping noise from the roof of his car later and we were shooting out of the parking structure. The back of the car fishtailed as Johnny cranked the steering wheel hard to the right, sending us barreling onto the street.
Bracing one hand on the dashboard, the other holding tight to the strap of my unfastened seatbelt, I was pressed against my seat. I felt frozen like the final frame of film, clipped and waiting to be spliced, as Johnny took one turn after another with incredible speed. The car hugged tight to every turn, the wheels gripping with efficiency to the rain-drenched road. I held firm to my current position a few more turns before reclaiming the use of my arms. Pulling hard on the strap, I locked my seatbelt into place.
“Do you think they got your license plate number?” I managed to gasp.
Johnny’s gaze shifted to the review mirror. “Doubt it, we were going too fast and my lights were off, so the plate wasn’t lit.” He veered onto a side street, reducing his speed and hitting the control for the lights.
I turned in my seat for a glimpse out the back window. “But they probably noticed what kind of car it was and they’ll figure out you drive an Audi,” I said, my voice shaking. “And they have cameras all over the place nowadays, so sooner or later they’ll track us down.”
Johnny turned onto a darkened residential street. Through the falling rain, I could barely make out the 1950-styled homes. Compared to the brightly lit streets of California, the neighborhoods here in Tennessee, with their sparsely placed streetlights, felt dark and almost creepy to me.
“Probably, so we don’t have much time,” he said. A devious spark lit his gaze.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said.
“What can I say, Marlie. Hangin’ out with you is very excitin’.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The wipers swept the windshield, repeating one clean swipe after another. My eyes tracked the movement, the rhythmic motion lulling me into a temporary state of calm.
Johnny took a few more turns, slowed, and pulled into the driveway of a Craftsman-style house. I squinted through the rain-spotted window at the structure. Homey, it had a deep front porch with white rockers on one side, a comfy-looking porch swing on the other and multiple hanging baskets overflowing with flowers along the front.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Navigating the thin driveway with a confident ease, he said, “Home sweet home.” He pulled the car into a detached garage and killed the engine. Before he extinguished the lights, I caught sight of a sleek little Porsche and a Harley motorcycle.
“This is where you live?” I asked, skeptical. “I thought you lived downtown in a trendy condo or something.”
“Actually, it’s a loft, but this place is where I come when I don’t want to be bothered.” He came around to my side, opened the door and reached down to help me out. “Sooner or later they’ll catch up to us here, but hopefully not before we’ve made other arrangements.”
“I see,” I said to Johnny’s casual insinuation that my life on the run was only just beginning. “How much time do you think we have? I mean, you were the last person to see me, won’t they suspect that you were the one who helped me escape?”
Johnny took me by the hand and led me along a stone path and up a few wooden steps to a screened-in back porch. “I estimate we have about twelve hours, give or take.” He unlocked the door and then stood back for me to enter. “After you went into the stairwell, I continued on to the men’s room before going back to your room where I found—to my complete aghast—that you were gone.” He flipped a switch and the room was bathed in soft light.
I looked around at a small kitchen, renovated and functional with granite countertops, painted wood cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. Johnny tossed his keys to the counter. The sound startled my attention back to what he was saying.
“That’s why it took me so long. I had to make sure to give you enough time to find my car before the cops and security started lookin’ for you while not enough time for them to make their way to the parkin’ garage, then wait until there was enough commotion to slip away,” he said as he headed out of the kitchen.
I followed him through a dining area with walls painted in a deep red.
“Breaking one out of police custody is tricky business,” he added.
Again, I puzzled over Johnny’s motivations. Sure, deep down inside, most men wished they were brave and invincible. But how many had the guts to pull off a real life escape? And do so with so much panache?
“And yet you’re so good at it,” I said, following him into an adjoining living room where he switched on a table lamp.
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he evaded, giving me a wink. He turned a knob, igniting the flame of a brick fireplace.
“Uh huh,” I hummed through pursed lips, and then glanced around, taking in
my surroundings.
Minimal but tasteful, the furnishings consisted of weathered wood, metal, and leather with small splashes of color, and a few well-placed pieces of unique artwork, atop a beautiful hardwood floor. Modernized while retaining its original charm, Johnny’s hideaway was exactly the type of house I’d always dreamed of owning.
“Still, what if they track us here before we can come up with a plan?” I asked.
“Well, that’s the beauty of an old house. It has a lot of cool hidin’ places.” He gave me a sneaky look as he walked over to a coat closet just off the main living room. Opening the door, he reached under the top shelf. I heard a click. The back wall popped back, and after a gentle push, swung open. “Voila,” he said. “If anyone comes, just duck in here and no one will be the wiser.”
I stepped in for a closer look. My fear of confined spaces sent a shiver of dread down my spine. “There’s a release latch on the other side isn’t there?” I asked, stopping just shy of the threshold. “Or is this how you catch unsuspecting women? That’s not a torture chamber, or some other sordid devise for misogyny, is it?”
The smile Johnny gave me was nearly shy. “No, there’s nothin’ misogynistic about it. And yes, there is a latch to get out.” He reached in to pull the false wall closed again. “The people who owned this home before me made their living, let’s say, the non-traditional way, so they used it to hide their stash of money among other items of a paraphernalia nature.”
He swung the closet door closed as he pinched an invisible reefer between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it to his lips. “Warning, don’t stay in there too long unless you bring a snack. Munchies, you know.”
“Thanks, I’ll try to remember to swing by the kitchen while I’m frantically racing to hide for my life.”
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