Running Scared

by Linda Ladd

  Boos and catcalls began, gained momentum as Booker dropped to the ground. A bunch of the players were gathering around the fluttering mascot, helping him up, laughing, thinking it a new part of his act.

  “Go for the tunnel,” Booker told Kate, dragging her along as Fredbird grabbed one of the Cardinals’ shirts and hysterically pointed a wing at them.

  They jumped down into the nearly empty dugout, making it to the door of the locker-room ramp before they were accosted by a huge black security guard.

  “Hey, you? What the hell you think you're doin'? You can't come down on the field!"

  “I gotta get my kid to the hospital, he's sick! C'mon, man, the security guard up there told us it'd be quicker to go out this way!"

  Kate held out the cooler and Joey cooperated by yelling bloody murder, obviously deciding to join the crowd.

  “He ain't got no authority to send you down here,” the guard grumbled, but Kate grabbed the front of his shirt with her fist, displaying panic that was extremely real.

  “Please, sir, please let us through, we've got to get him to the doctor. He'll go into convulsions if he doesn't get help."

  The man didn't hesitate long. “Okay, I guess you can go in but don't be touchin’ nuthin'. The locker room's at the far end. The team physician's in there. Maybe he can do somethin’ for the kid."

  “Thank you, thank you so much!"

  Booker didn't waste time on conversation. He and Kate ran like hell for the locker room and found it deserted except for the doctor and a couple of team trainers sitting on a bench eating hot dogs and drinking Cokes. They didn't say anything, just stared at them, as Booker and Kate ran past them and headed for the exit door.

  Outside, plenty of people were wandering around, hoping to catch sight of their favorite players. Kate was glad Booker slowed to a walk, giving her time to catch her breath. He pulled her along with him, his hand gripped tightly around her upper arm, his eyes searching the sidewalks for Saracino's henchmen. They crossed the street, jaywalking at midblock, evading the honking traffic until they reached the other side. They'd left Mac's car in a parking garage, one chosen because it didn't have a nosy attendant who might recognize Kate and the baby.

  Fortunately there weren't many people returning to their vehicles as Booker rushed Kate through the parked cars on the bottom level, most fans wanting to see the end of the game. Kate's heart was beating like crazy, and she kept turning back to see if anyone was after them. She didn't think so but she knew Saracino had to have people outside the stadium, too. They had to hurry, do something to help Mac. The parking garage was lit by yellow vapor lights, sending a sickly pall over the ugly gray concrete walls and low ceilings, and Booker chose to use the ramps instead of the stairwells, no doubt afraid of getting trapped in one.

  They reached the third level without a problem, but when they were almost to the Mustang, a man with a gun suddenly stepped out from behind a black van. She recognized him at once as one of the men with Dmitri down on Current River. Booker pushed her aside as the man opened fire but Booker managed to get him first. Hit in the chest, the man went down between the cars, and Booker wasted no time, grabbing her arm and sprinting for the car.

  Clutching Joey in the cooler, Kate ran for the passenger's side of the Mustang as Booker headed around to the driver's door. Before she could get inside, another man materialized behind Booker. Kate screamed and Booker ducked and swiveled but not before the killer fired twice into his chest at point-blank range. Booker was thrown down hard and didn't get up, and Kate ducked behind the concrete pillar in back of the car as the assailant turned the gun on her.

  Heart in her throat, sobs choking her, she crouched down and darted behind the next parked car. Joey was crying, and she could hear the man's running footsteps echoing hollowly off the walls. Surely someone would come, would've heard the shots, and she dropped down to hide, desperately scrambling underneath the bed of a white pickup truck, pushing Joey's cooler in ahead of her. Panting hard, she squirmed on her stomach to the other side, trying to conceal herself behind the rear wheel. Booker was hit, oh, God, he was dead, but how could he be? He'd had on a Kevlar vest like the police wore, both of them did. Why hadn't it worked? Had one of the bullets penetrated it, or hit him above it, in the throat? Oh, God, God, the man would find her any minute now; he'd find her and kill her.

  She couldn't hear his footsteps anymore. Where was he? Had he stopped? Or was he just moving around more stealthily, stalking her? Her heart was slamming like a trip-hammer, so hard she shook with it, and she peered out from underneath the truck, trying to see anyone walking between the cars. She couldn't stop seeing the way Booker had been cut down. She lay still, holding her breath, trying not to give in to wails of grief and fear, but Joey was scared, crying louder. They'd hear him, find him. It was over. She was going to die.

  She shrieked shrilly when someone grabbed her foot and tried to kick him loose but he had too hard a grip on her ankle. She let go of Joey, left him under the car in the cooler, clawing hysterically at the killer's hold as he jerked her out. He was too strong, and he grabbed her up by her T-shirt as if she weighed nothing and forced her back against the hood of the next car. He got her by the throat, his fingers clenched around her gullet, squeezing, squeezing, until she choked and struggled for breath.

  “We aren't in the woods anymore, are we, bitch? Aren't any yellow jacket nests up here for you to play tricks with. You got my friends killed, and you're going to die for it. I'd do it right now if Dmitri didn't want you for himself."

  Kate fought wildly but the Russian was strangling her to death, his thumbs pressing harder and harder into her windpipe. Kate struggled frantically, trying to use her legs to kick him, but he was too big and strong, and he was leaning against her, pinning her down. She could see his face, red with exertion, still swollen from yellow jacket venom, eyes alive with hatred. Her vision began to dim, blacken around the edges, oh, God, she couldn't breathe, was going to pass out. She went limp, unable to fight anymore, and he must've decided to obey his boss because he suddenly let loose of her throat. She dropped to her knees on the pavement, weak, gasping for breath, trying to crawl away.

  “I'm not finished with you yet,” he growled, leaning down and grabbing her jacket. He raised his hand, and his palm cracked hard across her cheek, brutally slapping her head to one side. She broke his hold and scrambled away from him, screaming for help, but her cries echoed eerily inside the deserted parking garage. He had hold of her again, dragging her back toward him by the back of her jacket. She turned, jabbed at his eyes with her thumbs, but he easily evaded her attack. He was going to beat her unconscious, was enjoying her terror, as she could see from the excitement in his eyes.

  She grabbed his arm when he came at her with another blow, held on with all her strength and sank her teeth into his wrist. He yelled in pain and ripped loose, backhanding her hard enough to knock her on her side. Dazed, she lay unmoving, groggily watching him approach until suddenly he was jerked back, choking and struggling. She blinked and tried to back up as someone dragged him away from her. Sobbing, holding her bruised throat, she watched the men grapple at the front of the car until a shot rang out and the Russian crumpled to the pavement. Then she saw Booker, oh, God, thank God, it was Booker. He came to her, dragged her onto her feet, but she was shaking so hard, trembling so much, he had to support her.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead,” she sobbed hysterically, as he got an arm around her waist and tried to calm her.

  “I would be if it weren't for the vest. The slugs knocked the wind out of me, nearly stopped my heart, cracked a couple of ribs, I think.” He winced, his hand rubbing his chest, but his voice got urgent as he heard a car start up somewhere on a lower level. “C'mon, get Joey and let's get out of here before we get jumped again. Hurry it up, Kate! There's got to be more of them watching the parking lots."

  Kate pulled herself together somehow, knowing she had to. She slid underneath the truck an
d pulled Joey out, then ran back to Mac's Mustang. She jumped in the front seat as Booker jammed it in gear and took off toward the exit. He gunned the car down the ramp, didn't stop at the booth but slammed through the wooden barrier and out onto the street where crowds of people were emptying out of the ballpark, yelling and celebrating the Cardinals’ victory. He took off toward the I-70 ramp, going around the car waiting at the stoplight and into oncoming traffic, causing a Dodge minivan to throw on its brakes and swerve sideways to miss them. Then they joined the heavy traffic speeding west toward the airport, whipping in and out of cars, Joey's screams filling the car, both of them knowing there was nowhere left to run.

  Thirty-Two

  NEITHER OF THEM said much, couldn't say much, until they were well away from the downtown stadium. Kate finally pulled herself together enough to lift Joey out of the cooler and try to calm him. Booker exited onto a down ramp that led to the University of Missouri at St. Louis. The campus was relatively quiet so late in the evening, and he pulled up in front of a dark classroom building and killed the engine.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  Kate nodded. “What about you?"

  “I'm sore where the slugs slammed into me. Thank God Mac insisted we get the vests, or we'd both be dead."

  “What are we going to do now?” she asked him as he stared straight ahead.

  “I don't know."

  They looked at each other a moment but both knew they couldn't allow Mac to die, no matter what else happened.

  “They'll kill him.” Kate thought of Michael and the terrible way he'd died, the way Booker had catapulted backward when they'd gunned him down so mercilessly, and now they had Mac. They wouldn't hesitate to murder him.

  “We can't trust them,” Booker muttered, running both hands through his cropped hair. “Vince wants our heads, and he's not going to stop until he gets us."

  Suddenly it dawned on Kate that there might be another alternative, was another alternative. One no one would expect. She thought about the idea for a moment, bringing Joey up against her shoulder and patting his back. He gave one last whimper, then nestled his head into her neck. He was tired, poor baby, tired of running, tired of being dragged around. He didn't deserve this, had never deserved it.

  “I know what we have to do,” she said, gently touching her fingertips to her cheek where the man had struck her. It ached, already felt swollen.

  Booker looked at her. “You do?"

  “Yes, and it's the right thing, too."

  “Lay it on me, Kate. We don't have time to screw around. They're gonna make Mac tell them where we're headed. Torture him like they did Jumbo and Mavis.” Booker sounded tired, too, Kate realized. He shifted in the seat, groaned a little, but didn't take off the heavy vest that had saved his life. She had put so many people through hardship, jeopardized lives. It shocked her how many people had helped her, mostly total strangers who'd been willing to make the sacrifice. Especially Booker. Booker had done so much. But it was time for it all to stop, she knew that now.

  “We've got to go to Joey's mother. She's the only chance we've got."

  “What do you mean, go to her?"

  “We'll make the deal with her instead of her husband. Offer her a chance to get her baby back, no strings attached. Tell her the whole story, the truth, and beg her to intervene with Vince in our behalf and save Mac's life."

  “Are you completely out of your mind, Kate? There's no way in hell Vince'd ever let us get near her, especially now, after his son's been kidnapped."

  “Think about it, Booker. Vince dotes on her. You could tell when they were together on the newscast. She was obviously distressed, beside herself with worry. I can talk to her, woman to woman, I know I can. I can make her understand how I felt, how I wasn't sure Joey was hers because of the adoption papers until I saw her plea on television and knew she couldn't be faking that kind of pain. I knew then how she felt, because I was feeling it, too, when people were trying to take Joey away from me.” Her voice got all gruff and scratchy from forcing down the regret, the grief. She steeled herself against the flood of heart-wrenching loss. “I'm telling you she's the one who can help us get out of this. I would, if I were her. If I thought I could keep Joey, I'd do anything, talk to anybody, just to keep him with me. You know that, Booker, you know it."

  Booker propped his forehead against the steering wheel. She heard him blow out air, and she knew he didn't like it, not at all, that he saw a hundred things that could, and probably would, go wrong. She saw them, too.

  “I don't like it,” he finally said, as she knew he would. He turned his face toward her. Under the dim illumination of the streetlights, his blue eyes were lost in shadows, his mouth set in a tight, grim line.

  “Do you have a better idea?"

  Silence for one beat, then another. Then, he said, “If it weren't for Mac, I wouldn't go for this in a million years. I'd say we go on the run again."

  It was Kate's turn to sigh. She leaned her head back against the seat and felt Joey shift his position. He was calm now, almost asleep. He was an incredible little baby. “But there is Mac. They're going to kill him."

  “How the hell can we contact the woman? Vince's house'll be as secure as Fort Knox."

  “Mac told us where she lives. I know the street, I went to dinner parties in that area with Michael, at clients’ homes. I can find it, I know I can. We'll just walk up to the door and ask to speak to her. Then we'll tell her we have news about her baby but we'll only talk to her about it."

  “This is crazy, Kate. They'll nail us before you get a word out."

  “Maybe, but it's our only choice.” She leaned over and placed a hand on the lean contour of his cheek, tenderness welling up inside, gratitude for everything he'd done for her, her newfound love for him. “She'll help us if we give Joey back. I know it, Booker, I know it as a woman, as a mother. I feel it in here.” She touched her breastbone, tears filling her eyes.

  Booker didn't look convinced. He shook his head and stared silently out the driver's window. Then he turned back and started the ignition. “Which way is Ladue?"

  Kate was right about what Booker thought of her idea. He thought it was absurd. Only problem was, he didn't have a better idea, any other ideas, period. They were about as deep in trouble as they possibly could get. If they did explain everything to the wife, showed her how well Kate had taken care of Joey, how much she loved the kid, it'd be hard for Vince to explain away shooting them down in cold blood. If anyone held sway over the psychopathic killer who was her husband, it had to be Anna Saracino. Kate was right about that, too. Booker had seen the way he'd embraced his wife when she wept in front of the cameras.

  Ladue was old money; it stuck out all over the quiet residential streets lined with immense, colonnaded houses hidden behind ancient oaks and lush, well-groomed beds of flowering azaleas and hydrangeas. The Saracino estate was not hard to find, had probably been two or three lots once, now a walled-off, hidden enclave with lots of yard, lots of privacy, and lots of armed guards. They recognized the wrought-iron gate from the clip of Anna's plea on the KY3 newscast.

  The house was some distance up the concrete driveway but there were lights on in every window, and there were rows and rows of them. A small brick guardhouse stood outside the locked, motor-driven iron gate. One man was inside it, sitting in a swivel chair at some kind of control panel. Two more men, no doubt armed, stood just inside the black rails, chatting together and smoking cigarettes. They all wore matching olive-drab security uniforms but that didn't disguise the fact that they were hoods. Booker tried to tamp down the certainty that they were committing suicide by walking inside. The feelings roiling around inside him gave a whole new meaning to the phrase Daniel entering the lions’ den.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Booker asked Kate after they'd circled the block twice and in so doing, drawn the attention of Saracino's guards.

  “I know it's going to work.” She didn't sound as certain as her con
fident words intimated.

  Booker pulled the car in and stopped at the gate. All three guards looked at them like rottweilers ready to jump a couple of toy poodles. The guy in the little sentry box came out and looked them over for awhile. He wasn't dressed as a security guard but looked buff enough to go more than a few rounds with Mike Tyson. Booker had a feeling he'd be the one who ended up with Tyson's ear in his mouth.

  “May I help you, sir?"

  Very polite for a murdering henchman, Booker thought. He started to respond but Kate spoke up first. “Yes, you can. We're very sorry to disturb you so late but we need to speak to Mrs. Saracino. It's very important."

  “I'm sorry, miss. Mrs. Saracino isn't receiving callers. She's not well. Are you guys reporters?"

  Kate hesitated, and Booker thought she was considering saying yes as a use to get inside. “No, sir, but we've got possible information about Mrs. Saracino's kidnapped baby."

  That got the thug's attention. “What information might that be? If you'd like to tell me, I'll pass it along to her and her husband."

  “I'm sorry. I can't tell anyone but her."

  “I'm sorry, too. I can't let you in. Mr. Saracino's orders."

  “Look, mister, we'll take off if you want us to.” Kate's voice had grown a sharper edge. Booker was amazed she had regained control so quickly after what she'd gone through in the parking garage. She was some woman, yes, she was. “But if I were you, I wouldn't be so hasty about turning us away. We may know where her baby is. Call up to the house and ask her if she wants to talk to us. Let me talk to her over the phone, if nothing else."