No Place to Hide

by Lynette Eason

  “We?”

  “I have a friend with me.”

  “Is he guilty?”

  She sighed and studied the man she’d known so well once upon a time. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Right.”

  A slight pause. “Did you have anything to do with the man who was shot and killed at a little gas station off 85?”

  “What? No. Who was killed?”

  “He hasn’t been identified yet. Clean your gun if you used it.”

  “Ron, come on.” She frowned as though he could see her. “I’m telling you I didn’t. I don’t know anything about anyone getting killed. We’ve been too busy dodging death ourselves.”

  “Okay, good. That’s good to know. So why won’t your friend go to the cops?”

  “He says even the cops can’t help him. They’ll just lock him up and the people he’s running from will have him knocked off in prison.”

  Ron paused and she knew he was thinking. “He might be right,” he said. “Even if the cops do happen to believe him, the proof against him is pretty tight. They’ll still put him behind bars until it’s proven he’s innocent.”

  “I know. Which is why I’m still helping him.” She sucked in a deep breath and forced her tired brain to produce a coherent thought. “Okay. Can you get us to New York?”

  “New York?”

  “I have my reasons and will share them with you as soon as I have permission.” She shot a glance at Ian who rubbed his eyes and continued to frown as he listened.

  “Fine. I’m going to make a few phone calls,” Ron said. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll call you back.”

  Jackie hung up and filled Ian in on what was going on. Ian paced, his agitation clear.

  “Don’t worry, Ron’s not going to turn us in. He’s going to help us.”

  “How?”

  “I want to share the email with him. And the FBI and whoever else needs to know about it.” She tapped a hand against her thigh as she thought. “If you’re being accused of terrorism and that accusation is tied to that email, then it stands to reason that the email may be part of a plan related to a terrorist act. And if it’s code, then it needs to be deciphered as soon as possible.”

  The air left Ian’s lungs and he buried his face in his hands. “This is crazy. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to people like me.” He shook his head. “I’m going to try Holly again.” Jackie handed him the phone and waited while he dialed. When she didn’t answer once again, frustration and fear for his cousin glinted in his eyes. He hung up. “I’m going to call the cops and have them go check on her.”

  She nodded. “Yes, please do.”

  He hesitated. “No, they’ll know it’s me and might not take me seriously—or try to bargain with me.”

  “Bargain with you?”

  “Like they’ll check on her if I’ll just turn myself in.”

  She raised an eyebrow, proud of him for thinking of that. “That’s true. Good point.”

  “I’ll call her dad.”

  “That might be a bad idea. The FBI have no doubt contacted him. You know he’ll cooperate with them. They may be listening.”

  He paused and frowned. Then he finally drew in a deep breath. “I have to try. Holly could be in danger because of me. I have to at least try. Can you at least understand that?”

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “I can.”

  He dialed and Jackie listened via speakerphone. The phone clicked on the third ring. “Uncle Dean, it’s me. Don’t hang up.”

  A slight pause as though the man were debating whether to do exactly what his nephew had asked him not to. “Turn yourself in, kid,” he finally said. “What goes around comes around, eh? Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

  Jackie wanted to be snarky right back, but Ian ignored the jab. He waved a hand as though to say it wasn’t important. He was right, so she bit her lip.

  “I need you to check on Holly and Lucy,” Ian said.

  “They’re fine. You leave those girls alone.”

  “You don’t understand, Uncle Dean. I sent Holly something. She could be in danger. Lucy too.”

  Silence. Then swearing. Ian flinched. “What did you do, you moron?”

  Ian closed his eyes. “I didn’t know—never mind. Please check on them and make sure they’re all right.”

  “I will.”

  Click.

  Jackie lifted a brow. “That was harsh.”

  “He has his reasons, I suppose.”

  “Will he really check on them?”

  “Yes. He will. He and Holly don’t get along, but he’ll track her down.” He cleared his throat. “The only thing is, I won’t know if she’s okay because he won’t tell me and she won’t know to call me until she listens to my voice mails.” He nearly growled. “Why won’t she answer her phone?”

  “Sounds like we need to find that out ourselves.” He handed her the phone and it vibrated. Ron. “Hey.”

  “I’ve got you bus tickets. You need to be on it first thing this morning. I’ll text you the information.”

  “To New York?”

  “To New York.” Ron paused. She heard the clicks on the keyboard of a computer. “When do we get to bring in the team on this?”

  “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Ron.”

  “Check in with me, Jackie. I’ll keep quiet until you say I can share.”

  A small measure of tension released in her shoulders. She’d made the right decision to call Ron. “I know. Thank you.” She disconnected the call and turned to look at Ian. “We’re going to New York.” Her phone buzzed with the promised travel information from Ron.

  He shivered. “Okay, I think that’s what we need to do. But it’s cold up there.”

  She snorted. “It’s cold here. And if that ‘NY’ in the email stands for New York, then we might find some answers there.”

  “And we can check on Holly and Lucy.”

  “And we can definitely check on Holly and Lucy.”

  “But that ‘NY’ could stand for anything.”

  “True. It could be code for something else entirely. But everything seems to be pointing to New York.” She pursed her lips. “Hopping on a bus may be the best thing we can do. I want to get away from these guys who are accusing you of being a terrorist and trying to kill you.”

  “Us.”

  “What?”

  “They’re accusing—and trying to kill—us.”

  “Okay.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “When you’re right, you’re right. Us if that makes you feel better.”

  “It does. I’ve never liked being in trouble by myself.” She snorted and he shrugged. “Sorry. When I get scared, I crack stupid jokes.”

  She softened. “Yeah, I seem to remember that about you.” She gave him a small smile. “I suppose that’s better than freaking out.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m doing that on the inside.”

  8

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23

  6:45 A.M.

  MOONACHIE, NJ

  FLOAT DECORATING WAREHOUSE

  Maria Fox stood on the float platform and ran her hands over the belly of the framed-out and burlap-covered dragon. One of the five first-year clients for Hands Down Parade Company, Manguson’s Toy Factory had chosen a dinosaur toy–themed float for the upcoming parade.

  The fire-breathing dragon attached to the belly stood twelve feet tall. His jaw was permanently open and his jagged teeth were fearsome. She smiled. The kids would love him. Bubbles would spill from his mouth, taking the place of flames. Maria could already envision the children’s delight in popping them as they drifted over their heads. “Looks great.”

  “All that’s left is the painting,” Henry Franklin said. “You’ll work your magic and make it come alive.”

  Maria smiled. She took great pleasure in her job. Painting floats for parades was a dream come t
rue. She’d gotten her degree in portraiture from Pacific Northwest College of Art. She had the responsibility for the details such as carving heads, painting faces, and making signs. Henry was the organizer. He handled the larger aspects of the floats, like overseeing the initial decoration that included covering the structure with burlap and constructing decorative pieces. All of which Maria would paint. “The countdown is on.”

  “It’s going to be long days and nights.”

  A flicker of apprehension darted through her. “I know.”

  “Leo’s been working quite a bit too, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes. A lot.” She frowned. They’d argued about that just a few days ago. She knew she shouldn’t badger him about staying home more, but when poor Lewis constantly nagged her about why his father had to be gone so much, she almost couldn’t help it.

  “You have someone to watch Lewis?”

  Lewis, her five-year-old son. A little boy who needed his parents to be there for him. “My mother’s moved in with us for the next few weeks.”

  “You’re fortunate to have her.”

  “I know.” Maria’s heart ached at the schedule she and her husband were required to keep. He worked for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms as an explosives expert and had just been assigned an extremely complex case. Unfortunately, his hours were even worse than hers lately.

  And all they seemed to do was argue when they were together. It was killing her. Killing their marriage.

  But he’d promised to try harder and she wanted to give him the opportunity to do so.

  “What about your father? Is he still living?”

  “No.” She breathed in. “He died when I was twelve. He was murdered, actually. Along with my brother and younger sister.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped and he gaped at her. “I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yes. Me too. We were living in Russia at the time. Thieves broke into our house and I’m sure my father fought back. My brother was sixteen, my sister was seven.” Maria had escaped because she and her mother had decided to go shopping at the last minute. When her mother had gotten a phone call from her father, they rushed home to find the carnage. The police tried to keep them from entering, but her mother pushed her way through and Maria had followed. She blinked against the memories and blew out a slow breath. It had been almost fifteen years ago, but she could still see her father, brother, and sister lying on the floor, their blood black beneath them. Nausea swirled. Why had she told him all of that?

  The door to the studio opened and Maria turned to see three men enter. Grateful for the distraction, she studied them, curious. She glanced at Henry, who caught her silent question. He shrugged.

  She walked toward the visitors. “Hello.” She held out a hand. “I’m Maria Fox. May I help you?”

  The older, gray-headed man stepped forward and grasped her fingers. “Drew Manguson. We’re here to see the progress on the float.”

  “Of course. Mr. Manguson of Manguson Toys, I presume.” She turned to look at the float, and as always, pride and awe filled her that she had a hand in creating it. “This is a magnificent piece. I’m looking forward to getting it finished.”

  “Excellent.” Maria noted the other two men flanking the gentleman she’d spoken with. For some reason, an icy warning slithered up her spine and she shivered. She frowned at her reaction and told herself not to be silly. Mr. Manguson approached the masterpiece he’d paid well over a hundred thousand dollars for.

  The man examined every inch, including the platform the float was built on. He turned to his two associates and nodded. To Maria, he said, “Everything looks great. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

  She flushed. “Well, thank you, Mr. Manguson. I appreciate that.”

  “We’ll be by early the morning of the parade to examine it one more time.”

  “Of course. We’ll have a full house that day and it will seem very chaotic.”

  “Organized chaos, I’m sure.”

  “Exactly. Yes sir.”

  He tilted his head and gave a small smile. “Until then.” He turned on his heel and nodded once more. His friends fell into step beside him and followed him from the building. Maria frowned. Something—

  “What is it, Maria?”

  “Something about him bothered me.”

  “What?”

  “Well, for one thing, why bring two other men with you when all they’re going to do is stand around and watch? What was their purpose?”

  “He’s rich, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Bodyguards.”

  Maria shrugged, but couldn’t stop frowning. “I guess.”

  “What else is bothering you?”

  “His eyes.”

  “His eyes?” Henry frowned at her.

  “Didn’t you notice?”

  “Notice what?”

  She heard his exasperation and sighed. “Nothing.”

  But it wasn’t nothing. While Mr. Manguson had smiled and seemed kind enough, his eyes had been empty pools of black tar.

  And that sent more uncomfortable shivers dancing up her spine.

  7:00 A.M.

  VIRGINIA

  By seven o’clock, Ian had let Gus out and proceeded to raid the pantry. He’d managed to find several bags of chips, every kind of canned bean known to man, a tin of crackers, a jar of Cheez Whiz, and a box of chocolate Pop-Tarts still within the expiration date.

  Jackie emerged from the back bedroom, freshly showered, dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday—and looking entirely not like herself. He blinked. “Wow.” Jet black hair cut about three inches shorter had turned her into another person. “You did a good job.”

  “Your turn.” She handed him a box of hair dye.

  He grimaced. “Gray?”

  “The older you look, the better off you are. If you could develop a few wrinkles and lose a lot of muscles over the next little bit, we’d be in good shape.”

  A grin tugged the corners of his lips. “I’ll do my best.” She’d noticed his muscles. He felt downright silly at the pleasure he took in that. He gripped the box. “I was thinking.”

  “About?” She grabbed a Pop-Tart and took a bite of it. Cold.

  He grimaced. “Don’t you want to toast that?”

  She stopped chewing and looked at the pastry, then back at him. “And ruin a perfectly good Pop-Tart? Are you nuts?”

  “Definitely.” He sighed and dropped his chocolate rectangle into the toaster. Then he let Gus in and fed the dog the leftover meat from the night before. With a full tummy, the animal seemed content and stretched out on the kitchen floor to watch them.

  “He’s really smart, isn’t he?” Jackie asked.

  “Scary smart.”

  Jackie leaned over and scratched Gus’s ears. The dog’s eyes dropped to half-mast. “So what were you thinking about?” she asked.

  “New York. And not just because I’m worried about Holly and Lucy, although they’re the top priority.”

  “Okay.” She finished the first pastry, grabbed a bag of chips, and hoisted herself up onto the counter. “And?”

  “Cedric Wainwright is in New York where his father started the company. But, Wainwright Labs has facilities in South Carolina, Atlanta, Chicago, Los Angeles, Montana, and Honolulu too.”

  She crunched a handful of chips. “But that might mean something. It might be a place to start.”

  “Maybe. Or NY could stand for nuclear yield or … or—”

  She held up a hand. “I get it. But unless you’re willing to take this to the cops, we’re kind of on our own here.”

  He stiffened. “No. No cops. I just can’t take that chance yet.” He hefted the box of hair color and nodded to her handful of chips. “Since when did you become such a junk foodie?”

  She frowned. “How dare you insult such yumminess?” He rolled his eyes and she smirked, then shrugged. “I’m not usually into junk food, just when I’m super stressed.” Her hand went back in the bag.
“And if this situation lasts for more than a day or two, I’ll have to find something else to battle the stress.” She held up a chip and studied it. “Like running marathons.” She sighed and munched the chip, then closed the bag and brushed her hands on her jeans. “It’s all about control. I can quit any time.”

  “Promises the addict,” he said.

  She slid from the counter and made a shooing motion. “Go. I don’t know how much time we have before we’ll have to bolt. I don’t know how they would track us here, but we’re going to assume they can and be ready.”

  He shook his head, took the box of hair color, and slipped into the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, when he came out, Jackie gave a nod of approval. She had two bags packed and Gus’s leash snapped to his collar. The dog looked at him with mournful eyes. “He hates the leash.”

  Jackie reached down and scratched Gus’s ears. Ian interpreted the sudden blissful expression on the dog’s face to mean as long as Jackie kept scratching, the leash could stay on.

  “He’ll be all right,” she said, then frowned. “You know, we may have to leave him somewhere. He stands out in a big way.”

  Ian shook his head. “I don’t want to do that if I can help it.”

  “There hasn’t been anything on the news yet about him traveling with us, so we may be all right for a bit.”

  Ian rubbed Gus’s head. His hand collided with Jackie’s and he let his fingers wrap around hers. Their eyes met. “I promised my sister I’d take care of him.”

  She breathed in and he appreciated the fact that she didn’t pull away. “Well, at least it won’t be a problem getting him on the bus.”

  “No, it won’t be a problem, not if he has his service animal vest on.” He released her fingers and mourned the loss.

  A light went on in her eyes. She stared at the dog, then him. “He’s a service animal. Then his disguise will be … a service animal. Let me rummage in my grandfather’s shed for just a minute, then we’ll go.”

  7:30 A.M.

  ATLANTA

  “Can you picture the widespread panic that’s going to happen if this gets out?” Center for Disease Control director Tobias Freeman ran a hand through his short-cropped Afro, then tightened his tie and studied his face in his bathroom mirror. His dark eyes reflected his keen intelligence—and infinite worry. Stress had pressed new lines alongside his mouth and he thought he might have developed a few more gray hairs. He could only pray that by the time this was over he wasn’t completely white-headed.