ON The Run
An Ozzie Novak Thriller
Book 6
Redemption Thriller Series - 18
(Includes Alex Troutt Thrillers, Ivy Nash Thrillers,
and Ozzie Novak Thrillers)
By
John W. Mefford
ALSO BY JOHN W. MEFFORD
Redemption Thriller Series
The Alex Troutt Thrillers
AT Bay (RTS #1)
AT Large (RTS #2)
AT Once (RTS #3)
AT Dawn (RTS #4)
AT Dusk (RTS #5)
AT Last (RTS #6)
The Ivy Nash Thrillers
IN Defiance (RTS #7)
IN Pursuit (RTS #8)
IN Doubt (RTS #9)
Break IN (RTS #10)
IN Control (RTS #11)
IN The End (RTS #12)
The Ozzie Novak Thrillers
ON Edge (RTS #13)
Game ON (RTS #14)
ON The Rocks (RTS #15)
Shame ON You (RTS #16)
ON Fire (RTS #17)
ON The Run (RTS #18)
The Alex Troutt Thrillers
AT Stake (RTS #19)
AT Any Cost (RTS #20)
TBD (RTS #21)
TBD (RTS #22)
TBD (RTS #23)
TBD (RTS #24)
1
Seconds before my life crumbled into mere dust, my senses sizzled from downing too much spicy corn salsa.
I coughed and grabbed my water glass.
“Are you going to keel over, old man?”
That was Nicole, my wife of one year to the day. We were celebrating our anniversary. A year of peaks that I’d naively thought we would own until death us do part. A year of astonishing valleys that initially had felt as though my organs were shutting down. But after surviving the valleys and after a great deal of self-reflection, we’d both learned the most valuable lesson anyone can learn in a life: true, enduring love conquers all. We had, once again, become an unbreakable team.
I downed two mouthfuls of water, wiped my forehead with a napkin, and somehow kept my phone to my ear. I was sitting at Giovanni’s, an Italian café along the banks of Austin’s Lady Bird Lake, while the ever-adventurous Nicole was positioning herself on the South Congress Avenue bridge, stalking several hundred thousand bats. Actually, the number was closer to one point five million—the largest sanctuary of bats in North America.
“I’m good.” My voice sounded like I’d eaten one of the Mexican free-tailed bats that spent half the year under the bridge—during the cooler months, they migrated south across the border, finding safe haven in Yucatan and Mexico City.
Typically, right around dusk, they’d emerge like a black, flapping tidal wave, their high-pitched chirps sending a chill up your spine, even if you’d seen it dozens of times. I’d grown up in Austin, so this exercise wasn’t new. Nicole, though, was hell-bent on capturing this scene—all because of the bizarre sunset we were experiencing. A fiery sun clung to the lip of the horizon as gray, ominous fists of clouds rolled in from the north. The fusion of colors and weather conditions brought with it an eerie vibe—the air so very still, yet the smell of rain lingered. Being partially deaf, my non-olfactory senses were more animal-like than human, which I considered to be a blessing rather than a curse.
I could see Nicole’s silhouette as she approached the railing on the northeast side of the hundred-year-old bridge. It appeared she had on some type of all-weather coat. It was late March, a chill in the air. My wife was cold if it wasn’t ninety degrees outside, but on her way to the restaurant—she was late leaving work—she’d spotted the sunset and said this was a vista she couldn’t pass up.
“You don’t want to get caught in the storm, babe. I can tell it’s going to rain in about two minutes,” I said, taking a bite of the toast—minus the corn salsa this time.
“You’re like a soothsayer, Ozzie. Predicting the future based upon your freaky intuition.”
“Actually, I’m just looking at the sky and imagining what you’ll look like after the downpour starts and you’re yelling and laughing while running back to your car.”
We both chuckled, knowing how right I was.
“Oh, cool,” she said, sounding more like the girl I’d met as a sophomore at Cal-Berkeley. “I see one bat. Just a few more seconds, and the rest will come screaming into the sky. We can get Mackenzie to create a painting for us. Won’t that be awesome?”
Mackenzie, my nine-year-old daughter, who I didn’t know existed until a few months earlier, had mad artistic skills. She’d been called a child prodigy. I just called her the light of my life.
“Awesome,” I said. “It is our anniversary, you know. And I might have a present for you here at Giovanni’s.”
I could see her raise her arms, probably aiming the phone camera. “You’re not the only one who might have a surprise. I’ll take a few shots, then run to my car, and be at your side in less than five minutes.”
My eyes picked up a figure moving toward Nicole. The person, larger and taller than Nicole, was walking but quickly—no time for bats or sunsets.
“Sir, can I go ahead and open the bottle of champagne?”
I flipped my head around to see the waiter lifting the bottle out of the ice bucket.
Before words crossed my lips, a shriek sliced my torso right down the middle. It was Nicole.
I jumped to my feet, my eyes unblinking. That other person was up against Nicole. Were they wrestling?
“Nicole!” I yelled into the phone. “Nicole, are you there?”
I could make out only a few grunts.
“Sir, is everything okay?” the waiter asked.
I shoved the chair back and tripped over the ice-bucket stand. It crashed to the floor, shattering the bottle. I kept my eyes on Nicole and this person on the bridge—I didn’t see the ice cubes. My legs went out from underneath me, and I landed on my tailbone. The waiter had his hands all over me, helping me up, apologizing. I ignored him, got to my feet, and put the phone back to my ear.
More struggling grunts. Those were from Nicole. “No, no…don’t!” she yelled. I had no idea who this person was, why they were assaulting her. I yelled into the phone, “Nicole. Run, dammit!”
I lunged for the back door and jumped down several steps at once to hit the ground running. Phone still to my ear, I heard three muffled thumps. All air was sucked out of my lungs, and I shuddered, eyes on the bridge.
“Nicole!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
A moment later, I saw a smallish figure topple over the side of the bridge, flipping several times until splashing into the lake.
I yelled again, but no sound came out. It felt like an ice pick had just pierced my heart.
I was frozen, couldn’t take another step. I wasn’t a religious person, but I’d believed there was a greater power who was an agent of goodwill, if nothing else. I’d never given much thought as to whether the devil existed. But I now knew. The devil wasn’t just real—he had delivered a cataclysmic blow to everything I knew that was good in this world. My forever, my Nicole, had just been taken from me. She’d been murdered right before my eyes.
2
Despite everything I’d just seen and heard, I refused to admit it to myself. There was still hope.
I swallowed back a mouthful of bile and took off in a sprint. Every few strides, I slowed down and looked at the water, hoping to see Nicole finally popping her head up. Nothing, although the surface of the water was dark. My eyes shifted up to the bridge. The assailant had van
ished.
What the hell had I just witnessed?
Oxygen wasn’t reaching my brain.
I brushed off the dizziness and dashed out of my jog, swinging my arms so hard one might think I was trying to take flight. Anything to move quicker. I had to get to Nicole. There was a chance she could have survived the fall. I wouldn’t let go of that chance, no matter how remote. No, I wouldn’t let go. I kept running.
What were those muffled thumps I’d heard, though? They’d sounded just like gunshots made through a silencer. I was no firearms expert, so I couldn’t be sure.
I just wanted my wife to be alive.
I kept running.
I sped past a dog-walker, and I thought of our two dogs. Baxter, a Great Dane, had saved our lives a few months back, and our newest addition was a lovable border collie that Mackenzie had picked out. Rainbow was her name.
No time for sentimental thoughts. I made it halfway up the path to Congress Avenue. I stretched my neck and squinted toward the spot where Nicole had been standing. The person who’d fought with Nicole, shot her, tossed her over the…
Vomit surged into my throat. Hands on my knees, I took in two breaths.
Chill, Oz. That’s the only way you can help Nicole.
I looked up and verified that the person wasn’t there. No one was there.
“Dude, did you see that person jump off the bridge?” I flipped around and saw a teenager holding a skateboard. He raked his floppy hair out of his eyes. “That’s the most rad shit I’ve ever seen. You think they did that on purpose?”
My jaw clenched…every muscle, tendon, and joint tightened to the point where I thought something might snap. I hadn’t imagined the whole thing, after all. One second I was talking to Nicole, the next she was fighting for her life. Gunshots, and then she was tossed over the side like a sack of potatoes.
I coughed out a breath. “Call nine-one-one. Make sure they send a dive team.”
He mumbled something at me, but I didn’t ask for clarification. I burst out of my stance, retracing my steps down the ramp toward the shoreline. I bumped into another walker, a man, who said, “Watch out, will ya?”
I ignored him, cut around a few trees, made a beeline toward the shore. I skidded on gravel and dirt, stopping just next to some brush. I peered at the water near the spot where I thought she’d landed. It was still. Unlike my heart. I glanced up toward the bridge and then back at the water.
Someone touched my arm.
“Dear God, tell me you didn’t know that person who jumped off that bridge.” A woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, wearing a pink jogging suit and holding a folded umbrella, had stress lines all over her face.
“I did. I do.” I wasn’t making any sense, my mind seemingly out of alignment with what I was saying or doing. “She didn’t jump.”
A boom of thunder, and Pink Lady chirped and jumped. I blinked, and the skies opened up. Rain poured down, drenching me in horizontal sheets. Winds howled, bending every tree and shrub around me. Pink Lady opened her umbrella, leaning into the blustery storm. “You want to get under here?”
I heard her, but I didn’t care about being drenched…or the winds or the thunder or the crackles of lightning blitzing the sky. I cared only about getting to Nicole. I flipped to look over my shoulder. I saw flashing lights up on Congress. Could be the first responders, but maybe only the uniformed cops or paramedics. The dive team was what I wanted.
Without another thought, I tore off my blazer and shoes, took three steps, and launched myself over scrubby bushes. I landed in the water just like my days on the high-school swim team—a couple of fish kicks, and then I came to the surface and churned my arms and legs at a speed I’d never attempted. My adrenaline was on full throttle. I was holding nothing back. Thirty seconds into my swim, though, I realized the conditions were imposing their will on me. The rushing water current thrusted against my body. I altered my angle, but it was like swimming directly into a twenty-foot storm surge.
I dug deep and plowed my arms and legs with even more vigor. My lungs burned. I glanced up and saw a light from the bridge. I’d made progress, but it was slow. Still, it was progress. I beckoned every ounce of energy and focus I could muster and willed myself to cut through the lapping lake water.
I stopped and looked up again. More lights on the bridge. People in yellow slickers, maybe the cops, were pointing down at the water. I waved my arms. “Down here!” I yelled. “She landed in this area!”
More pointing. Could they hear me over the storm? “Get a dive team in the water…quick!” I screamed so loud I thought my head might burst a blood vessel. More pointing and waving. I couldn’t tell who was doing what, but first responders were on the scene. How long it would take for them to get a rescue dive team in the water was anyone’s guess.
Lightning flickered near the shoreline, illuminating the water as though fireworks had gone off. I saw more yellow slickers, more people pointing.
My mind reeled. No one was doing anything except pointing, it seemed. Stop pointing! Get down here, dammit! I plunged beneath the water, headfirst into the darkness. The sounds of the storm were instantly muted. I reached for my back pocket, hoping to use my phone as a flashlight—I had one of those phones that you could operate underwater. But the damn thing wasn’t in my pocket. I’d lost it along the way somewhere. I cursed the entire world in my mind.
This part of the lake wasn’t very deep. Maybe twenty feet, give or take. The pounding rain probably added to that with every passing minute. I thrust my arms all around me like the blades of a helicopter, frantic. Part of me hoped that my hand might bounce off Nicole; another part of me hoped that it hadn’t been her who’d fallen off the bridge. As I kicked to change locations, I wondered if she’d been able to rise up from the water in some other area and was now huddled up on the banks of the shore or maybe clinging to one of the bridge’s concrete support pillars. It was possible. There was a chance.
I kept swimming.
I churned in the water for as long as I could hold my breath, kicked to the surface, and gasped for fresh air. The rain pounded my head. The surging waves had already pushed me off-target by a good twenty yards. Treading water, I spun around, looking for any sign of her.
“Nicole!” The lake felt as big as an ocean, my voice lost in the turmoil all around me. “Nicole!”
No time for analysis. I took in a gulp of air and dove in again. The sudden lack of sound was welcome—I could hear my own thoughts, at least—but the endless abyss of black made me feel completely alone. So alone that the worst of all thoughts entered my mind: Nicole’s dead body could be floating near me, and I didn’t feel the magnetism that had always drawn us toward each other.
A surge of emotion invaded my senses. Dear God, have I really lost her forever?
As my air supply ran out, I could feel my insides quiver. I wasn’t sure I could face the cold-blooded reality that she probably hadn’t lived.
But there’s always hope. There’s a chance.
I bucked and kicked until I reached the surface. Panting for oxygen, I saw more lights on the shore. More people too. Is that a boat? I thought I heard an engine and then lights started bouncing up and down. Oh, please let that be a rescue boat.
I took in another mouthful of air and went back under, this time spreading my radius even farther. I flailed my arms, kicked my legs wildly, wondering if I’d clip her coat. I clung to that hope. If I found her coat, then that could mean that she’d torn it off in order to give herself a better chance to swim away. Maybe she was on the shore.
My lungs begged for more air. Back to the surface. I could see the boat moving closer. One more dive. I went under, kicking and swooshing my arms. I headed straight down, or as straight as the strong current would let me. With every foot I dropped, the air pressure made it feel like my eardrums might burst. But I didn’t care. I swam with everything I had until I reached the muddy bottom. I scurried along the bottom of the lake. I came across rocks of all sizes, sticks an
d large branches. But nothing from Nicole.
My oxygen had just run out. I wanted to keep feeling along the bottom of the surface until every square inch of the lake had been covered, but it wasn’t humanly possible. As I coughed and sputtered, drinking more lake water than I thought possible, I finally cracked the surface.
A rocking rubber boat was almost on top of me, lights flashing in my face. I was coughing up water as someone leaned over the side.
“Do you know the victim?” a man screamed. He had a healthy blond beard and was wearing a wetsuit.
I tried to speak, but I couldn’t stop coughing up water. I pointed at the water below me. A second later, two other men on the boat grabbed my arms and dragged me onto the rubber boat. They pelted me with questions. It took a few seconds, but I finally found my breath.
“It’s my wife, Nicole. She was shot, pushed over the side of the bridge,” I yelled as the rain slapped the boat and the water.
The three men glanced at each other and then at me. I saw only doubt. The one with the beard asked, “How many minutes ago?”
I’d completely lost track of time. “I don’t know. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.”
They asked for a quick description. I told them she had on an all-weather coat, was five-six with light-brown hair, and was wearing a blue pantsuit. “She’s the only fucking person in this lake right now!” I finally yelled.
Two guys gave me the thumbs-up. That’s when I saw they had on oxygen tanks. They slid masks over their eyes, inserted the breathing apparatus in their mouths, and fell backward into the water.
“You got another tank?” I asked Beard Man.
He held up a finger as he relayed what I’d told him over a shoulder radio.
As I waited, three more boats descended on the area. Six more divers entered the water from two of the boats. The other boat apparently was looking only on the surface—the lights coming off that larger boat could have been seen from the moon.
ON The Run (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 6) (Redemption Thriller Series 18) Page 1
