“Yeah.”
She heard his chair push away from the table. He walked to the glass door and looked around. Carrie looked, too.
No Zach in sight.
Her stomach dropped.
Jamansky slid open the door. “Zach?” He whistled loudly. Bretton and Felix came racing back. Zach followed a few seconds later, out of breath.
“I said to stay by the patio,” Jamansky snapped. “Out of sight.”
“Sorry,” Zach said, huffing. “We were just playing on the side of the house.”
“Where people could see you? Are you an idiot?” Jamansky slammed the door closed and locked it. “No more going outside—for either of you. Bretton and Felix will be fine.”
Zach and Carrie looked at each other.
David grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the table. “I’m late for a meeting. I’ll be back later.”
“Back with Amber?” Carrie said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Hopefully.”
That didn’t sound hopeful to her at all.
Her eyes lowered to the floor, wondering how much Greg could hear. Maybe by the time Jamansky returned, they would all be gone.
David stood in front of her. “Hey, I’m sorry I snapped at Zach just now. I have a lot going on right now. But if things go well in my meetings, I’ll have time to negotiate for Amber’s release later. My meeting is near Joliet, and she’s over that way. How about to celebrate, I cook a special dinner?”
She looked up. That sounded more hopeful.
“Okay,” she said.
Jamansky glanced behind him. “Hey, Zach, what’s Amber’s favorite dinner?”
“Pizza,” Zach said without hesitation.
Carrie rolled her eyes. Since when had Amber liked pizza?
Jamansky seemed to suspect the same thing. He turned back to Carrie. “What does your sister actually like? I can cook anything.”
She looked up into his ice-blue eyes, trying to read him. His words sounded so confident that, without meaning to, she became excited. He really could have Amber back. In eight hours, her family could be reunited. Amber. Zach. And Greg.
Smiling, she said, “She loves pasta.”
“Perfect.” Lowering his voice, he leaned toward her, giving her a whiff of his strong aftershave. “Maybe after dinner we’ll put on a movie for your siblings and go for a drive, just the two of us. What do you think?”
While his offer implied several things, there was also a challenge in his eyes. She had turned him down many times. By dinner, they’d all be long gone anyway, so she forced brightness into her tone. “Okay. Thank you, David.”
Her response seemed to surprise him—and please him. With a slow smile, he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “See you tonight, Carrie.”
Then, so fast she wasn’t sure it happened, he leaned down and kissed her. It was a quick kiss, barely a second long, but heat flooded her cheeks. Her lips burned.
Zach’s mouth dropped.
Whistling softly, Jamansky headed out to the garage.
Minutes later, Greg tapped on the glass. Carrie had nearly finished cleaning up, but her skin still felt flushed. Keeping her back to Greg, she rubbed her lips to erase the lingering, eerie feel of David on them.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Greg said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Turning her to face him, he kissed her soundly.
“I’m gonna puke,” Zach said. “First Jamansky. Now you. Gross.”
Carrie stiffened, waiting for Greg to jerk back. But when he finished kissing her, he was smiling. He hadn’t heard. He brushed some hair away from her still-warm cheek. “You know, Zach, someday you might change your mind. Maybe when you know Delaney a little better.”
“Greg!” Carrie said in dismay.
He laughed. “Sorry. Hey, Zach, what do you think about finding your baseball today?”
“My baseball?” Zach asked. “Where?”
“I have a hunch it’s in Jamansky’s garage. Actually,” Greg turned, taking in the luscious interior of Jamansky’s house, “maybe we’ll find a lot more. Man, just when I thought I couldn’t hate the guy anymore. Here I’ve been worried nobody was surviving in this economy. Apparently, some are thriving. I say we do some hunting while Jamansky’s at work. I’ve got a few items…that…”
Greg stopped, gaze slowly swiveling back to Zach. “Hold on. What did you mean, ‘First Jamansky, now you’?”
Carrie picked up a napkin from the floor and shot Zach a warning look.
“Uh…nothing,” Zach said lamely.
“Speaking of searching for things, Greg,” Carrie said quickly, “I forgot to tell you something last night. I found some papers in Jamansky’s office that you need to see. Maybe they’ll help us figure out how to get Oliver. Watch the road, Zach. Make sure he doesn’t return while I show Greg.”
But when she looked at Greg, he had frozen in his spot. “Oliver?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I found a letter from the Department of Investigations, including the one with a required repayment amount. I think Oliver and Ashlee are behind it.”
Greg looked around the kitchen, suddenly urgent. “Wait. What day is it?”
“Wednesday,” she said, confused by his sudden change of mood.
“Wednesday. No. It can’t be Wednesday yet. Are you sure?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
In answer, Greg started shuffling through the papers on Jamansky’s counter. “Does Jamansky have a map anywhere?”
“Wait! Stop.” She grabbed his arm. “He’ll know if you move things around.”
“A map, Carrie. I need a map!”
Fear clawed at her. “There’s one in his office. Here.” Finding her wire hanger, she let them inside. “Why do you need a map? What’s going on?”
He traced the lines on the map until he tapped on a spot south of them. “He said he had a meeting near Joliet?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
He glanced down at a watch she hadn’t noticed before. “I’ll never make it in time, but I’ve gotta try.” He backed up, finally looking at her. “I’m real sorry, Carrie, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back soon.”
“What? Where are you going? You said you would stay.” She couldn’t keep the panic from her voice. “You promised to stay with me, Greg.”
He raced into the kitchen. “Where does Jamansky keep his spare keys?” He started throwing open Jamansky’s cupboards and drawers.
“You’re leaving?” Zach asked, curious.
“Keys!” Greg said. “I gotta go now if I’m gonna make it.”
Carrie pointed to a small box near the phone. “Make it where?”
Greg snatched out some keys and ran to the door that led to the garage. She ran after him.
“Greg, stop! What is going on?”
Once in the garage, he finally answered. “I may or may not have agreed to meet with Jamansky this morning.” He grabbed a box and tossed it aside. Then he moved another one.
Her eyes popped open. “You did what?”
He hefted a small couch up and out of the way. “Jamansky’s letting me meet with Oliver as well, but don’t worry. I’ll be back long before Jamansky returns.”
He pulled a few more things out of the way until he revealed what he was looking for.
Her mouth dropped. She started shaking her head. “No. No way! You can’t take that, Greg. You can’t be serious!”
With a slow smile, he ran a hand over the seat of a shiny blue, very expensive-looking motorcycle. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? I found her yesterday when I was tryin’ to break outta here. Barely a scratch on her.”
“Whoa,” Zach said, pushing out into the garage beside Carrie. “That’s sweet! Do you know how to ride it?”
“Hopefully,” Greg said. “My friend had one back in the day. This one can’t be too different.”
“Are you crazy?” Carrie exploded.
“Do you really have to ask?”
He pulled out a sh
iny black helmet. He and Zach grinned like kids on Christmas morning. With the path cleared and motorcycle free, he tugged on the different parts to figure out what was what.
“Front brake. Clutch. Throttle,” he said, nodding.
He was serious. He was leaving.
On that motorcycle.
Carrie resorted to begging. “Please, this is ludicrous. Can’t we just talk first?”
His eyes finally met hers. “It’s Oliver, Carrie. This might be our only chance to get him out. You really want me to miss that chance?”
“I…” She was at a loss for words. She couldn’t keep up. Greg was going to meet with Jamansky. For some reason. And Oliver? It didn’t even make sense.
Pulling on the helmet, Greg swung a leg up on the motorcycle. “Come on, baby. Work for papa. Come on.” He turned the key, finagled a few things, and the motorcycle sputtered to life.
“That is so cool,” Zach crowed.
Carrie couldn’t even glare at her brother. Her heart pounded over the roar of the engine.
“Greg,” she said in a whisper he couldn’t hear. But he seemed to hear it anyway.
Smiling at her, he called, “Love you!” Then he pointed to Zach. “Push that button on the wall for me.”
Zach did.
The garage door opened.
In a state of shock and horror, Carrie watched Greg peel down Jamansky’s street.
fifty-one
JAMANSKY’S TOY WAS a little conspicuous, but one sweet ride.
The wind whipped Greg’s clothes as he sped down the road. He stalled a few times, but eventually figured out the bike. From then on, he only stopped to check the map. The roads were empty, which let him push the bike to its limits. He flew so fast he could barely catch a breath. Mostly he passed abandoned farmland, the same land he had passed on his way to Logan Pond, though he passed it now at an exhilarating speed.
After about ten minutes, he spotted Jamansky’s patrol car in front of him.
Greg slowed down, hanging back to keep Jamansky in sight only when necessary—which was a shame since the engine below him could easily double his current speed. He noted every landmark, sign, and anything else that could get him back to Jamansky’s house should they get separated. At the same time, he ran through everything he needed to ask Oliver. It had felt like a lifetime since he’d seen his patrolman friend at the hospital. He just had to figure out how to talk to Oliver without Jamansky eavesdropping.
He leaned right, taking a small bend in the road faster than necessary, and then he nearly ran off the road.
Jamansky was gone.
Greg hit the brakes. Somewhere, somehow, he’d missed a turnoff. Rather than trying to make sense of the map in his pocket, he spun around and sped back the way he’d come, checking every side road for the patrol car.
He only saw one road, virtually hidden by overgrown trees. He chose it, hoping he was right. When he still couldn’t see Jamansky, he went full throttle until he spotted the patrol car ahead of him.
Greg slowed. Unless he wanted to walk back to Jamansky’s, he couldn’t lose his ride home by having Jamansky recognize the bike in his rearview mirror.
The second the Joliet State Penitentiary came into view, Greg pulled over. He wheeled the motorcycle down into a low ditch and hid it in some tall weeds. Then he sprinted the rest of the way on foot.
JSP was huge, twice the size of the Rockford Women’s Penal Institution, and enclosed by not just a fence, but a huge concrete wall. According to Jamansky’s instructions, Greg was to pass the outer wall, go to the next structure, and meet the patrol chief at the first entrance. But the instructions were unnecessary.
Jamansky waited for Greg in the parking lot, leaned against his patrol car in full uniform, arms folded, typical sneer on his pretty-boy face.
“Pierce,” Jamansky called. “It’s been a while. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
Every moment, every memory from the last month—the last year—slammed into Greg. His mom. Carrie. Oliver. Rockford vs. Rochelle. His entire body felt stiff with rage, but he forced himself to remain calm as he approached the patrol chief. Sweat ran down his face.
“How was the walk?” Jamansky said, noting how out of breath Greg was. “It’s quite a ways from Shelton, isn’t it?”
“No worries,” Greg said. “Somebody gave me a lift.” That seemed to surprise Jamansky, but Greg went on quickly. “Where are the papers to get me inside?”
“So,” Jamansky said, “you’re still dead? When will you be done with your supposed secret mission? The trial isn’t far off now.”
Greg said nothing. Just glared, waiting.
“I have the papers,” Jamansky said, finally giving in. “First, give me the money.”
“Money?”
“I left you a note at that house. JSP is charging $500 for visits. If you want in, that’s the price.”
“Do you ever quit lyin’?” Greg said. “Or do the lies just roll outta your mouth when you sleep?”
Jamansky just smiled. “Fine. That’s my fee for getting you in to see Oliver Simmons.”
It took every bit of restraint for Greg to keep from pounding the guy. Even if he had the money—or a tenth of it—he wouldn’t use it to pay off Jamansky’s debt. If what Carrie found was correct, Jamansky and Mayor Phillips would be locked away in JSP soon enough.
Jamansky’s expression darkened. He must have realized Greg wasn’t paying up because he reached into his pocket and pulled out some permits. Greg flipped through them, noticing his authorization number at the bottom, along with his full name.
Greg looked up. “I get ten minutes alone with Oliver. That’s what we agreed to.”
“What exactly do you need to say to Oliver Simmons?”
“You’ve got a score to settle with him,” Greg said evenly. “So do I.”
Jamansky glared. “Not a chance. You talk, I stay.”
“Fine. See you in hell.”
Spinning on his heel, Greg marched back the way he’d come. Jamansky was desperate for his testimony against Oliver—at least, Greg hoped he was. But with each step, he started to wonder if he had underestimated David Jamansky.
“Five!” Jamansky finally shouted. “You get five minutes alone with Simmons, but only if you sign the papers first.”
Greg couldn’t help but think how ironic it would be when Jamansky turned in the testimony from a dead special op. How well would that go over? Hopefully not well at all.
“I sign after I meet with Simmons—alone,” Greg said. “That was our deal. Take it or leave it.”
Jamansky’s eyes narrowed to murderous slits. “I swear, Pierce, if you pull any stunts, anything whatsoever, you’ll never see Carrie or her siblings again. Daylight either.”
“Funny,” Greg quipped. “I was about to say the same thing. Let’s go.”
As the two of them started across the parking lot for the building, Greg asked, “When do I get Carrie and her siblings back?”
“Next week at the courthouse, as planned,” Jamansky said.
Unbelievable. But Greg kept up his side of the charade.
“I expect everything with the deed to her home is in order?” he said.
“Of course. I told you that I won’t force Carrie to return against her will. If she and her siblings want refuge, I’m more than happy to offer it. I get the feeling she has moved on anyway. She got over Oliver pretty fast. She’s over you, too. I’m thinking she’s ready for a real man, someone who can fulfill all her…needs.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Carrie will never give you the time of day.”
“You’re wrong. She already did. Twice.” Jamansky smiled. “Gotta love those conjugal visits.”
That did it.
Greg grabbed his arm and, in one fluid motion, twisted it behind his back. Before Jamansky knew what hit him, Greg rammed him up against the nearest car.
“You really think I believe a single repulsive word you say?” Greg hissed in his ear. “You just keep dreamin’
, ‘cause that’s the only place you’ll be with Carrie.”
Greg shoved him once more into the car before he turned and strode toward the building.
A group of prison guards came running out, drawing their guns. “Is there a problem, officer?” they called.
Straightening, Jamansky wiped his mouth. “No. We’re here for an appointment. But do me a favor. Frisk him before we go in. I’d hate to have him pull any fast ones.”
As one, the guards jumped Greg and shoved him against the brick wall. They searched every part of Greg, finding nothing. Not even the tattered map, since he’d left it with the bike. As if Greg was dumb enough to bring anything with him.
When it was clear he was unarmed, two guards led them inside and down a long hallway, through several series of locking doors, and finally to an open area.
Another set of guards stood.
“Full treatment,” Jamansky said to the next set of guards.
For a second time, guards frisked Greg. But the second search ended differently. They clamped cold metal restraints around Greg’s wrists. He had no time to question why they were handcuffing him. They were on before he realized what was happening. All he could think was what an idiot he was, willingly walking into another of Jamansky’s traps.
“What’s this?” Greg asked, holding out his bound hands.
“Prison rules,” Jamansky said easily. “They come off after the visit.”
Sure they would. But Greg tried to keep his cool.
A last guard opened a door and ushered them into a long, small room with stools running up and down one side. A few people sat on the stools, talking on phones to inmates on the other side of a glass partition.
“Station number eight,” the guard said.
For some reason, Jamansky followed Greg inside.
“I said alone,” Greg growled, even though having his hands cuffed proved that he had no say in anything now.
“I just want to say a quick hello to my old friend,” Jamansky said. “I’ve missed him.”
Greg sat on the stool while he waited for Oliver to appear. None of the other visitors wore handcuffs.
Jamansky.
But Greg couldn’t worry about that. He had several objectives in this meeting, and with only a few minutes, he ran through them quickly, organizing them in his mind to be the most efficient.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 124
