As she paused to quickly dry her feet on the towel and slip on her shoes—any protection from the cold, treacherous ground was better than none—she realized that she was shaking all over. Gritting her teeth, she tried to will the tremors away. Having finished with the towel, she dropped it and kicked leaves over it until she was as certain as it was possible to be that it would stay hidden from view once the sun came up.
Straightening, looking fearfully back at the house, she realized that her escape was tenuous at best. They could miss her at any moment. Then they would come looking. . . .
Her heart thundered at the thought.
I’ve got to get a plan. No way can I walk from here to my car. No way can I ride a bicycle that far. I can’t steal Ryan’s car. She distinctly remembered him taking the keys. Or the other car, either. What am I going to do?
Unless she could put miles between the people in that house and herself first, they would be on her like a pack of wolves on a doe as soon as they discovered she was gone. On her own, on foot, how far could she possibly get in just a few hours?
The answer clearly was, not to her car. Not even into D.C.
Her choices, then, came down to this: hide or find a ride.
The woods were out. They were too close. They would be searched. Jess had a hideous vision of herself running (lurching) away from pursuers following her trail with packs of baying bloodhounds. If she were caught, by whatever means, she had little doubt she would be killed. Shiny Shoes had tried it once before, and there would be nothing to stop him from trying again, and probably succeeding.
Nothing except Ryan. But she couldn’t count on that. She couldn’t count on him. To do so would be to risk her life.
The previous plan—which was, basically, trust Ryan to get her out of this alive—obviously had to be scrapped, too.
Which brought her back to the previous previous plan. Go to the media. More specifically, to the reporter she knew at the Post. During the last year, she had dealt with Marty Solomon on at least a dozen occasions when Davenport had met with him to provide deep background on certain stories, or had her call him with judicious, client-favoring “leaks.” Presented with the scoop of a lifetime, Solomon would be ecstatic. He would also be prepared to roll instantly out of his warm bed and drive like a bat out of hell to pick her up.
Did she remember his number? Jess thought for a second, then felt a glimmer of triumph. Yes, she did.
The back door opened. Just like that, with no warning whatsoever. Jess jumped at the suddenness of it, then took a couple of silent steps back into the inky black protection of the nearest tree as Ryan came out onto the stoop. All she could see of him was his tall form silhouetted by the light pouring out around him, but she knew with no possibility of mistake who it was. She could hear voices—whoever else was in the kitchen talking—and as another gust of wind hit her she could smell, just faintly, bacon. Eyes widening, heart slamming against her ribs, Jess flattened herself against the rough bark of the tree trunk and watched as Ryan closed the door behind him and headed toward the RAV4.
He was alone.
I could run to him, tell him that the person who tried to kill me in the hospital is one of his friends in there. We could jump in the car and get out of here together. We could . . .
No.
She could not run to him, although she realized dismally that she wanted to with every fiber of her being. She realized, too, that the crush was alive and well and possibly in the process of morphing into something more.
Something dangerous, considering that Ryan had summoned to his house the person who had tried to kill her in the hospital. For the purpose, perhaps, of setting her up for another attempt on her life.
It would be stupid to assume he wasn’t in on it, too.
Trusting him could cost her her life.
So she pressed closer against the tree and watched him open the door of the RAV4, watched the light inside the vehicle come on and illuminate his fair hair, his handsome face, his broad shoulders, watched him close the door again and start to walk away before clicking the lock shut over his shoulder. He was carrying something, she saw before the interior light in the car went out, something small that he could hold in one hand. Then he reached the stoop, knocked, and was let in by someone she couldn’t see. The door closed and he was gone.
Alone again in the chilly darkness, still staring at the now closed door, Jess was disgusted to realize she felt totally bereft.
Get a grip.
Wasting time mooning over Ryan was nothing short of idiotic. Any one of them could go upstairs at any moment and discover that she was missing. The bedroom door didn’t lock. The window was open. Figuring that she had gone out of it would not require much of a mental stretch. Then the chase would be on.
Icy prickles of fear raced over her skin at the thought.
I’ve got to get out of here.
She wasn’t going to get far on foot. At this point, her legs were totally unreliable.
Her gaze went to the bicycle. Could she pedal? The driveway had a gentle downward slope. As far as she remembered, the road was pretty much downhill, too. Certainly there was no big hill she would have to pedal up that she could remember. Under those circumstances, yes, she thought she could.
Keeping a wary eye on the house—and mindful, too, that there might be danger from another source lurking unseen anywhere around, behind her, on the other side of the garage, crouched in any shadow or hidden behind any tree—she made her way through the woods until she was even with the garage. Then, heart pounding, she crept across the cursedly moonlit yard.
This was the most dangerous part, she realized as she reached the bicycle, which leaned in deep shadow against the garage’s clapboard wall. If there was anyone at all around, anyone to see, she would be caught now. Pulling it out with clumsy haste, turning it to face down the driveway, trying to be as quiet as a little mouse, she slid her purse over the handlebars, hitched up her skirt, and hopped on, casting scared little glances around all the while. There was, simply, no place to hide.
It was a girl’s bike, a ten-speed, presumably his daughter’s. Taking a deep breath, knowing that anyone coming out the back door or who happened to be in the vicinity (what if one of them had gone out to check the perimeter again, for example?) would spot her instantly, she took off, her shoes slippery on the pedals as she forced her still-dodgy legs to pump as best they could.
It was enough to get her going.
There was no outcry, no rush to stop her, nothing. She rolled silently down the driveway with the crisp, rain-scented wind nipping at her cheeks and her hair flying behind her and her bare legs and hands already tingling with cold and threatening to quickly grow as numb as her feet. Her back ached. Her head throbbed. Her breathing came in short, frightened pants. Still she pedaled doggedly, hating the rattle of the chain, the whisper of the tires, battling the urge to look over her shoulder and thus possibly upset her balance. If anyone was back there, she would find out soon enough. The thought was terrifying.
Shoulder blades tensing, she leaned closer to the handlebars, half expecting to be stopped by a bullet in the back at any moment.
It didn’t happen. Nothing happened. The night remained calm and cold, its peace undisturbed. The road, when she reached it, unfurled in front of her like a silver ribbon in the moonlight. On it, she discovered with a quick upsurge of fresh fear as she turned out of the driveway, she was hideously exposed. She could only pray that no one would come looking for her until she’d had time to meet up with Solomon and be whisked away.
Putting her head down, she coasted, occasionally pedaling to keep up her speed, thankful for the momentum the downward slope of the driveway had given her, concentrating on putting as much distance between herself and the house as she could.
Much as she hated to, though, as soon as she judged she had gone far enough to make immediate discovery unlikely, she braked, pulling over to the side of the road. She could not place the call she had to pl
ace while racing away. She had too much to lose if she crashed trying to juggle the phone and handlebars while keeping the bike on the road. Finding herself at the top of a gentle slope, she decided that this was the place. As she slid off the seat, straddling the bike and stretching her aching back, the woods on either side of the road suddenly seemed to close in. Darkness settled over her like an all-enveloping blanket. She felt very small, very alone. Very scared.
Aware of her surroundings with every nerve ending she possessed, pulse pounding so loud in her ears that she could barely hear the night sounds all around her, she fished her phone out of her purse, opened it, and punched in Solomon’s number with shaking hands.
What if he doesn’t answer? What if I get his voice mail?
The call seemed to take an inordinately long time to go through. She listened to it ringing with her heart in her throat. The glow from the phone unnerved her. It undoubtedly could be seen for a long way. Plus, she knew that using a cell phone was a risk in and of itself, that the signal could act as a tracking device, giving her position away. But she was counting on the fact that no one was looking for her yet, and by the time they started looking for her she would be so far away from here that the problem would be moot. The hard truth was that sooner or later Ryan and the others in the house were going to discover that she was gone. Then they were going to come after her. At least one, if not more of them, wanted to kill her. In her opinion, her best chance at survival lay in getting as far away as possible before they missed her. Calling Solomon and having him pick her up and drive her to her car was her best chance of making that happen.
After placing this one call, she would not use her cell phone again. She would throw it away. She would . . .
“Jessica? Jessica Ford?”
Solomon’s voice in her ear made Jess jump. Of course, her name had popped up on his caller ID. She was so rattled she hadn’t thought of that. No wonder he ’d answered so quickly. Right now she had to be the flavor of the month among journalists.
“Yes, Marty, it ’s me.” Although there was no one around to hear, she kept her voice low, glancing around apprehensively. Overhead, the sky was vast and black and lightly sprinkled with stars. The woods rose up on either side of the narrow road like tall black walls. Eerie was a word that came to mind. Terrifying was another. “Listen, this is urgent. I need you to—”
“I don’t fricking believe this. Where are you? Did you hear about Davenport?” he interrupted, sounding surprisingly alert considering that she must have woken him up. She pictured him, probably sitting up in bed, his bald head with its fringe of black hair shining in the light from a bedside lamp he’d switched on, thrusting his wire-rimmed glasses onto his beaky nose. He was maybe fifty, short and stocky, and she ’d seen the outline of a wife-beater beneath his dress shirt on more than one occasion. He probably slept in that and—never mind. She didn’t want to go there. “He killed himself last night. Jumped out his office window.”
“Yes. I was there. That ’s why I’m calling. There’s something—” she broke off, debating how much information she should give him over the phone. After all, once he had the story he would no longer need her. And every instinct she possessed screamed that she needed to get off this dark and potentially deadly road fast. What she had to do was entice him to come for her as quickly as he could. “Can you come and pick me up? Right now? I’ll tell you everything then. An exclusive. About Mr. Davenport and the crash and everything. But you have to hurry.”
“Baby girl, I’d come to the ends of the earth to pick you up right now.” Jess could practically hear him salivating at the prospect of the story he was hoping to get. “Just give me directions.”
Jess recalled the exit Ryan had taken and told him how to get there. Then she asked what kind of car he would be driving.
“A blue Saturn.” He gave her the plate number: EGR-267.
“I’ll be looking for it. Pull in at the 7-Eleven that’s right there as you get off.” It was maybe six miles from where she was at that moment, she guessed. How long did it take to bicycle six miles? She had no idea. “Park and wait. If I’m not at your car in five minutes or so, come looking for me. I’ll be somewhere down a little two-lane road that ’s”—she tried again to recall the route she and Ryan had taken; coming up with the name of the road was impossible because she ’d never known it—“to the left of the intersection. Head northeast.”
“I’ll find you,” he promised, and she knew he would. Davenport had always said that Solomon was a pit bull in the pursuit of a story. “I can be at the 7-Eleven in, say, half an hour.”
“Okay.” Jess had a momentary qualm. Once he knew the story, his life might very well be in danger, too. Until it became public knowledge. Then they’d both be safe. “Marty, there ’s a lot going on here. Dangerous stuff. Be careful.”
“I live for this shit,” he said happily. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
He disconnected. Jess looked down at the still glowing phone, then turned it off and stuck it back in her purse. Time enough to throw it away once she connected with Solomon. Until then, there was no way to know if she might need to make another call. In case he didn’t show, or—well, who knew.
They couldn’t track her if they weren’t looking for her, Jess reminded herself when her pulse started racing out of control as various horrifying scenarios of triangulating cell phones flashed through her mind. Deliberately dismissing them, she took a deep breath and climbed back on the bike again. Gripping the handlebars hard, she pushed off and started to pedal. Her legs felt weak, her back hurt like crazy, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
Some ten minutes later, just as she was resting her aching legs, coasting as she sailed around a curve, something caused her to glance back over her shoulder. What she saw nearly caused her to run off the road.
A car was coming toward her fast, its headlights slashing through the dark like twin white laser beams.
Jess’s blood ran cold.
Dear God, is it them?
20
Braking, practically falling off the bike, Jess realized she had no chance of making it to the woods. The car was coming too fast, swooping down toward her like a bird of prey, already at the top of the curve she’d just coasted around. Thank God for the tall grass! Half running, half stumbling, her heels catching in the soft ground, pushing the bike with her because she was afraid to leave it, afraid it might be spotted and give her away, she plunged into the nearly waist-high weeds, covering just a few measly yards before she realized, with a quick, terrified glance over her shoulder, that the car was almost upon her. Dropping the bike, throwing herself down in the grass, she covered her head with her arms so that the paleness of her face wouldn’t give her away and peeked out as the headlights swept over the wheat-colored grass, over her, just a flash and then they moved on. The car itself—the RAV4, Jess was almost sure—followed with a whoosh of tires. Then it was gone.
Jess wasn’t aware she was holding her breath until she let it out. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she could actually feel it beating against her ribs. Her stomach had knotted tight.
It’s okay. The car’s gone.
Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, trying to figure out just how far she was from the 7-Eleven—probably not more than two miles, a walkable distance if she could only walk properly—Jess realized that taking to the road again verged on suicidal. As much as she wanted to believe that the vehicle that had just passed wasn’t the RAV4, she couldn’t. The only smart thing to do was assume she had been missed far sooner than she had expected and they were now looking for her.
Oh God, what do I—
Jess never finished the thought. She was still staring dry-mouthed down the road after the SUV when she saw the red flash of its brake lights.
She froze.
The thing was stopping—turning, a wide, fast U-turn, its headlights sweeping the woods—and coming back.
Coming back for what?
/> Jess was horribly afraid she knew. Whoever was driving had seen something to tell them she was there.
What? It didn’t matter.
Heart thumping, hands flattening on the cold, wet weeds on which she lay, she scrambled up into a crouch as the SUV barreled back toward her. Careful to keep below the top of the grass, bending almost double, she turned and scurried toward the woods, her shoes sliding on the slippery grass, her heels sinking in the mud, catching herself with her hands when it seemed she might fall. Wet stalks slapped her in the face. Insects rose buzzing around her. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything except the pale curtain of grass directly in front of her eyes—and, in her peripheral vision, the bright blaze of headlights closing fast behind her.
A screech of brakes. The slam of a car door. Heart thundering, Jess dared a quick, hunted look back over her shoulder.
The SUV had pulled off onto the soft gravel shoulder just yards away, and was now stopped with its headlights still slicing through the dark, pointing back the way it had come. A man walked around the hood, a tall man, moving fast. The headlights gave her a glimpse of black dress pants and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
“Jess!”
Oh, God, she ’d known it was Ryan as soon as she’d seen the car. Sucking in a quick gulp of air, she dropped to her knees, afraid that the movement of the grass as she plunged through it would give her away.
“Jess!”
Cringing, making herself as small as possible, she turned just enough so that she could watch him easily and then held very still, like a rabbit in the presence of a dog. What did he want with her? Her stupid heart urged her to run to him, to trust him, but her head told her she dared not. If she was wrong about him, it could cost her her life.
A small circle of white light appeared out of nowhere like an unblinking eye. A flashlight. He was holding it, looking around, scanning the area where she had left the road. How was he able to pinpoint it so precisely? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Somehow it seemed he just knew.
Pursuit Page 20
