At all costs

CHAPTER FIVE

“Bullshit!”

Chief Sherwood couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “They’ve made a mistake.”

Agent Rivers’s face glowed crimson and her hands trembled with rage. “It’s no mistake, Sherwood! A perfect match on his prints. Your friend’s client is Jake Donovan. The Jake Donovan. God damn it!” Irene moved her arms randomly, as if searching for something to throw. “Number one on the Ten Most Wanted list, and I let him go.”

Sherwood felt numb; and, frankly, a little shocked by the profanity that spewed from this petite yet apoplectic young lady. As royal screwups went, this one was certainly the blue-ribbon winner. Surely, it was a mistake. There it was, though, right there at the bottom of the sheet: “Wanted for murder.”

As Irene ranted and danced around Sherwood’s office, trying to comprehend the instant implosion of her career, the chief stopped listening, concentrating instead on the dog-eared Wanted poster. Sure enough, the resemblance was there if you looked hard enough. Especially around the eyes.

In the picture, Jake Donovan was a kid. While the man he’d spoken to only minutes before had a full, graying beard and soft features, this picture showed a clean-cut young man in his twenties, with a strong chin, a fighter’s nose, and piercing blue eyes. Sherwood used the edge of his hand to cover up everything but the eyes and the hairline, and magically, Jake Brighton appeared.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sherwood mumbled.

“Damned my ass!” Irene exploded. “We’ll be crucified!”

Sherwood regarded Irene with the expression of a disappointed father. The oh-so-sure-of-herself savior of the law enforcement world now looked suspiciously like she might cry. If she hadn’t been such an asshole, Sherwood might have felt sorry for her. Someone knocked on his office door.

“What’s this ‘we’ shit, Irene? Donovan was never my prisoner.” He stood up and opened the door to reveal a clerk standing nervously on the other side. Barely out of his teens, the young man clearly knew he was interrupting. “Sorry, Chief, but Agent Rivers has a phone call.”

“Tell whoever it is that I’m in a meeting,” Irene snapped without looking. “I’ll call them back when I get a chance.”

The kid seemed to shrink as he stood there. “Um, I tried that, ma’am, but he said I should tell you it’s Peter Frankel. He said you’d take the call.”

Color drained from Irene’s face, like someone had pulled a plug. “Oh, shit,” she groaned.

Sherwood cringed on her behalf, wondering if he should help Irene into a chair. Instead, he offered his own. “You can take it at my desk, if you’d like,” he said. “I’ll have the dispatcher check to see if Donovan’s still with my patrolman.”

She looked confused for a second, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Sherwood smiled. Peter Frankel’s reputation in the law enforcement community was not one of love and understanding. The call rang through just as he closed the door. Right now he wouldn’t have traded places with Irene for a million dollars.

The story was believable enough, Jake thought. Rather than having this cop go to the trouble of taking him all the way out to the boonies, why not just drop him off at the hospital? “My mother’s there getting some outpatient surgery done,” he’d explained. “It’d be a nice surprise for her, and she’d probably love to have the company.”

The cop bought it all the way, oblivious to the tremor in Jake’s hands and the slight crack in his voice. And why wouldn’t he buy it? If nothing else, it got him off the hook for a long drive to nowhere. And who wouldn’t be a bit jumpy after spending the last few hours under arrest? That’d unnerve anyone.

The outpatient clinic shared an entrance with the emergency room. Officer Slavka pulled right up to the entrance, his badge and light bar buying a few extra yards that would have been off limits to civilian vehicles.

“Here you go, Mr. Brighton,” Jason announced. “Doorto-door service.”

Jake shook hands with the patrolman, then climbed out of the car. “Thanks for the ride,” he said.

“I hope your mother’s okay.”

Jake smiled nervously, searching the cop’s tone for signs of sarcasm. “Thank you,” he said again. “I’m sure she will be.”

He walked purposefully through the door labeled “Admissions,” just like he belonged there, and continued all the way to the receptionist’s desk before pausing at a water fountain to see if he’d been followed. He took a long drink-long enough to convince himself that he was alone-then started working his way nonchalantly toward the front door.

Outside again, and free at least for the moment, he fought the urge to run. He was in the open again, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were tons more cop cars out on the street today than usual.

Keep it together, he told himself. Three more blocks and you’re home free.

He turned left at the corner of Jefferson Street and William amp; Mary Avenue, and there it was: the staging area. If Carolyn hadn’t left yet-and he was certain, now, that she hadn’t-in five minutes they’d all be a family again, and then the most immediate crisis would be over. Once they were together, they’d be infinitely mobile; and with mobility came freedom.

The sign for U-Lockit Storage rose a good fifteen feet over the sidewalk. The light inside the plastic sign hadn’t worked for as long as Jake had been using the place; much like the automatic wooden arm which was supposed to keep unauthorized visitors out. Apparently, one visitor-authorized or otherwise-had taken on the challenge, splintering the wood all over the driveway.

Units 626 and 627 lay all the way in the back of the complex, well out of the way from all but a few similar concrete storage bays. Of all the bills the Brightons paid each month, U-Lockit always got top priority. As long as the account stayed current, he figured no one would feel compelled to look inside and see just how hugely noncompliant they’d been with the rental covenants.

Jake slowed his pace as he approached their units and stopped completely before turning the last corner. He saw nothing; heard no sounds; but the massive, pin-tumbler lock was missing from the right-hand door. That meant either that Carolyn was inside or that she’d already left him.

No, she was there, all right. She knew better than to leave without locking the place back up. Checking cautiously over both shoulders, he hurried down the last fifty feet of roadway. As he reached for the handle to lift the door, he stopped abruptly, remembering the firepower stored inside. Everybody was a bit tense right now. Startling Carolyn could be a very big mistake.

Stepping away from the door, with his back pressed against the concrete fire wall that separated their two units, he rapped lightly with his knuckle. “Carolyn, it’s me!” He shouted louder than he wanted to, but it was important for her to know that he wasn’t a stranger.

“Jake?”

He heard the recognition in her voice; she was just making sure. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m opening the door, okay?”

She answered by opening it for him. As the overhead door rumbled loudly to waist height, he bent low and scooted inside.