by David Archer
Nikki smiled and nodded. “Two more weeks,” she said. “I am so ready to get this over with. This kid is kicking me to death, inside.”
“I know the feeling. I’m due about the same time, maybe we’ll see each other in the hospital.”
Sam cleared his throat. “By the way,” he said, “this brings something up. Snake says you haven’t been seeing a doctor?”
Nikki suddenly looked worried. “I went to the free clinic a couple times,” she said, “but they don’t really do much about pregnancy. The health department says they have a program, but there’s a waiting list to get on it, and I’ll already have the baby by the time my name would come up. Snake brings this lady around sometimes, she used to be a nurse. She thinks everything is okay.”
Indie looked at Sam, and he nodded. She turned back to Nikki. “Honey, you have to see a doctor before the baby is born. I’m going to call my doctor in the morning and get you an appointment, then I’ll come and pick you up when it’s time. Okay?”
Nikki gave a despairing shrug. “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t have any money for a doctor…”
“We’ll take care of it,” Sam said. “Snake just helped me save my wife, Nikki. Believe me, this is the least we can do.”
Nikki’s eyes bounced from Sam to Indie and back a couple of times, then she smiled cautiously. “I would kinda like to make sure everything is okay,” she said. “Before the baby is born, you know?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Indie said. “I’ll call my doctor in the morning and see if we can get you in sometime tomorrow. I’ll come by and get you, and we’ll go together.”
She gave Nikki another hug, and then Nikki looked at Sam. “Did you get m—that guy, did you get him?”
Sam nodded. “Snake actually took him down, but the rest of the gang got a few licks in. The police have arrested him, and he’s on his way to jail now.”
There was a sudden expression of relief in Nikki’s eyes, and Sam couldn’t help thinking that he’d seen that same relief in Melinda’s eyes the day before, when they had believed Samara was dead. He suddenly realized he wanted to see it again.
They said goodbye and headed back out to the car. As they got in, Sam explained to Indie that he wanted to run by the hospital and let Melinda know that her father had been arrested. “She’s been through so much, it might help her relax a bit. The doctors were worried about stress sending her into labor early.”
Indie nodded. “Absolutely, let’s go.”
19
It took a little bit of time to get to the hospital, and Sam’s phone rang just as he was pulling in to the parking lot. He pulled it out and saw that it was Will Burton calling, and answered quickly.
“Sam, I’m sorry,” Burton said, “I just got your message. I checked everything out, and Rivers took Samara straight to the jail. They are in the interrogation room now, and I’m headed down there.”
“That’s a relief, then,” Sam said. “I half expected you to say that Samara escaped.”
“Not much chance of that,” Burton said. “I’m getting calls from two different federal prosecutors already, saying they are also bringing charges against him. One of them was talking about charges of treason and terrorism.”
“I’m not surprised,” Sam said. “Do me a favor and keep me in the loop. Rivers won’t tell me anything, and Samara is still my number one suspect in the Kingsley murder, the FBI agent Karen is accused of killing. Samara had motive and opportunity, and he would have taken a perverse enjoyment out of hanging it on Karen. He’s had a grudge against her since she questioned him over murdering his wife ten years ago.”
“I will. The wife okay?”
“Yeah, and thanks for asking. It’s a really interesting story, and I’ll tell you when I get a chance.”
“Looking forward to hearing it. I’ll call you when I know something more.”
The call ended and Sam dropped the phone back into his pocket. He had parked the car while he was talking, so he got out and helped Indie onto her feet, then the two of them walked into the hospital through the emergency entrance.
The emergency receptionist was cranky, but the sight of Sam’s ID was enough to get her attention. She called upstairs to a nurses’ station, then told Sam and Indie to go up to the fourth floor. They took the elevator up, and Deputy Jenkins was standing there waiting for them.
“I heard you got him,” Jenkins said. “Everything okay?”
“Better than okay. The son of a bitch abducted my wife, Indie. He wanted to trade her for Mrs. Davis, but some friends helped me pull a fast one and get her back safely.”
Jenkins looked at Indie and smiled. “Glad you’re safe, ma’am,” he said. He turned back to Sam. “We’ve got Mr. and Mrs. Davis in one room, and I get to handpick their security. Come on down.”
They followed him down the hall and to the hospital room, where two deputies were sitting just outside the door on folding chairs. Jenkins introduced Sam and let them know that Sam was authorized to visit the patients, and then they went inside.
Tom and Melinda were sitting in chairs, rather than in their beds. Tom looked at Sam warily, but Melinda burst into a smile.
“Mr. Prichard,” she said. She turned to her husband. “Tom, this is Mr. Prichard. He’s the private investigator I was telling you about, he’s the one who found you and called for help.”
Tom rose to his feet and extended a hand. “Mr. Prichard,” he said with a smile. “Besides the fact that the paramedics say I owe you my life, I owe you far more for saving my wife. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Sam shook his hand warmly. “Just call me Sam,” he said. “I was just stopping by to let you both know that Samara has been arrested. It happened about an hour ago, and he’s been taken to the jail.”
Melinda suddenly started crying. “He won’t stay there,” she said. “He never does. I know you’re doing your job, but you just don’t understand what a monster he is. He’s the one like you see in movies, you think he’s dead but then he jumps out and gets you at the last second.”
Tom went to her and gathered her into his arms, letting her weep on his shoulder.
“I’m planning to do everything possible to make sure that never happens,” Sam said. “Melinda, he’s been charged with murdering your mother and sister, and the federal government is charging him with many more things. I don’t think he’s ever going to have the chance to see freedom or daylight again.”
Sometimes, life situations can appear as if on cue. Deputy Jenkins’ radio suddenly began squawking, and he spun around and put it to his ear.
“This is Jenkins,” he said. “Say again?”
Sam had turned to look at him as the dispatcher came over the radio more clearly. “All units, all units, be advised of a felony escape. Suspect is Daniel Samara, he is driving an unmarked police vehicle and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. Samara attacked and killed Denver City Detective Carl Rivers, then overpowered another deputy and took his weapon. He forced his way out of the building with a hostage and drove away in Detective Rivers’ car. Current whereabouts unknown, be on look out. Vehicle is described as a new Dodge Charger, solid black with concealed emergency lights in the grille. Again, suspect is Daniel Samara, wanted for the murders of Detective Carl Rivers and others, and should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”
Melinda Davis began to scream.
Jenkins yanked the door open and found both of the deputies on their feet. They had also heard the dispatch and were standing alert with hands on their guns. “Keep your eyes open,” Jenkins said. “That son of a bitch shows up here, you shoot to kill! He’s not getting near these people, you understand me?”
Both deputies acknowledged their orders, and Jenkins turned to Sam. “You might want to get your wife out of here,” he said. “We know he wants Mrs. Davis, so it might not be the safest place for her at the moment.”
Sam nodded. “Can you check on my other witness, Pilsner? He’s under police
guard here, as well.”
“City is watching him,” Jenkins said. “I talked to them a while ago, and he was still in ICU. I’ll make sure they know what’s going on.”
Indie turned to Melinda to try to say something, but she was weeping hysterically while her husband held her. Sam took Indie’s hand and led her out the door, whispering that they would check in with them later. They went to the elevator and down, then started through the emergency department toward the exit.
“Sam,” Indie said, “would he go after Kenzie?”
“It’s possible,” Sam said. “I don’t know if he even knows where our mothers live, but let’s take precautions.” He took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts for a moment, then hit one that he rarely used. The line rang twice, and then a man’s voice answered.
“Sam? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Ron, it’s me. I need a favor.”
Ron Thomas had once worked for Harry Winslow and the Department of Homeland Security. He and Jeff Donaldson had been Harry’s intelligence department, running a system of computers that could help them track terrorists and terrorist activity around the Denver area, but they were also highly skilled at other aspects of international security. When Harry was promoted up to DC, they had been offered the chance to go with him, but refused. Instead, they had decided to enter the private sector with their own security firm. They specialized in computer network security and corporate/industrial counterespionage, and they had been successful enough to have a number of lucrative contracts. That had enabled them to branch out into physical security, and they had hired a number of ex-military personnel who were quite good at what they did.
“Name it,” Ron said. “How can I help you, Sam?”
“I’m working a case involving one of the most dangerous killers I’ve ever come across,” Sam said. “We actually caught him an hour or so ago, but I just found out that he killed at least one cop out at the jail and has escaped. A few hours ago, he abducted my wife, Indie, and I’m afraid he may target my family. Can you arrange protection?”
“It’ll be my pleasure,” Ron replied. “Give me the particulars.”
“I need to put my wife, both of our mothers and my daughter somewhere safe. I’ve got Indie with me, and we are heading for our moms’ place now.” He gave Ron the address, and the security man promised to have a detail meet them there.
“We’ve got a safe house,” he said. “I’m sending a five-man detail, with an armored van. They’ll be at your mother’s place in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Ron.” They ended the call and Sam opened the passenger door of the Corvette and helped Indie inside. Her bulging belly made it difficult for her to climb in and out of the low car, so she held onto his arm until she was firmly in the seat.
Indie called her mother to let her know what was going on. “The guy who abducted me has escaped,” she said. “Sam has arranged for us to go into protective custody. We should be there in just a few minutes, and the security guys are already on the way.”
“Oh, God, Indiana,” Kim said. “How does he always get into these messes?”
“Well, gee, Mom,” Indie shot back, “when you hunt bad guys for a living, sometimes they get mad about it. We’ll be there in a few minutes, and we can talk about it more then.”
The ride from the hospital to Sam’s mother’s house in Lakewood would normally take almost twenty minutes, but Sam wanted to get there as quickly as possible. He pushed the car up to fifty-five as he rolled down West Alameda, even though the speed limit was only forty. It was coming up on ten p.m., and he didn’t really expect any problems. Most of the traffic ran close to that speed anyway, that late at night.
He turned left onto South Pierce Street and pressed down on the accelerator again, shifting up to fourth gear at about fifty miles per hour. He was still about eight minutes from the house, but suddenly the flashing red and blue of a police car appeared behind him, and he glanced into his mirror.
“Oh, crap,” he said. “Slide down in the seat as far as you can. I think that’s Rivers’ car.”
The black, unmarked Charger was less than three feet from the back of the Corvette, and Sam knew that no police officer would tailgate him that close while trying to pull him over. He grabbed the shifter and dropped it to third gear, shoved his foot to the floor and dumped the clutch. The Corvette shot forward, almost instantly hitting sixty-five, and the Charger came on just as hard.
Pierce was a residential street, and the speed limit was only thirty. With only two lanes and a bicycle lane, it wasn’t designed for high-speed pursuit. Sam needed to get on to a better road, he knew, but that wasn’t going to be easy. West Ohio was coming up, and he knew it would take him all the way back over to Sheridan, so he accelerated up to seventy to try to gain a little space between him and Samara.
“Call 911,” Sam said, raising his voice over the noise of the engine.
Indie was already dialing. “911, what is your emergency?”
“We’re being chased by a madman in a stolen police car,” Indie said. She told the operator where they were, and was promised that police officers would be on the way, but then Sam had to downshift and brake hard to make a fishtailing, sliding turn to the left. The phone flew out of her hand and onto the floorboard, where she couldn’t reach it again.
The Corvette came out of the turn still making almost fifty, but the Charger couldn’t handle it as well. Sam saw it falling back in the rearview mirror, and with the road ahead clear of any visible traffic, he punched the big 427 and gave it its head. The car shot up to eighty-five in a matter of seconds, and the Charger was struggling to catch up.
Forty-five seconds later, Sam saw the stoplight at Sheridan. It was red in his direction, but he didn’t dare come to a stop. The Charger, while a quarter-mile behind, was still coming. Sam whispered a prayer and downshifted all the way to second gear, let out the clutch and stood on the brake. The car slowed to just under forty-five as he got to the intersection, and his prayer was answered when the light suddenly turned green.
Sam cut the wheel to the right and floored the accelerator, making the rear tires spin and breaking their traction. The back of the car slid around so that its front end was facing south once again, and it slid sideways into the intersection before they bit in again. The car shot forward on Sheridan, where there was a lot more room to maneuver.
Of course, there was also more traffic. The Corvette whipped through it like it was being driven by a NASCAR pro, and Sam was a block ahead before the Charger managed to turn the corner.
On the bigger street, however, the hemi engine in the Charger could do its own thing. Sam was hitting a hundred miles an hour when the black unmarked began gaining on him again, but there was traffic ahead. The light at Mississippi was red, and there were several vehicles already stopped there.
With no sidestreets to turn onto, Sam did the only thing he could. He whipped the wheel to the left and moved into oncoming traffic, flew around the stopped cars and shot through the intersection at a hundred and five miles per hour. He had managed to guide the Corvette between two cars in the cross traffic, and the sound of squealing brakes and honking horns was a testament to the fear and anger their drivers had felt.
The Charger had its siren blaring, now, and followed Sam around the stopped traffic and through the red light. Sam was trying to keep an eye on the rearview mirror at the same time he was watching the road ahead, looking for any opportunity to break away from the pursuit, but there were a couple of semi-trucks turning ahead of him. The northbound traffic was heavy, as if a number of cars had just been released from a stoplight, and there was just nowhere to go. Sam had to slow down, so he downshifted to third and let the engine bring the car down below eighty before he stepped on the brakes again.
Samara, in the Charger, stayed off his own brakes and was suddenly on Sam’s rear bumper again. He tried to cut around on the left, but Sam whipped the Corvette over and blocked him, and had to cut to the right to block hi
m again. He was still slowing down, because the trucks ahead were heavily laden and trying to get up to speed, but they hadn’t even gotten up to the speed limit yet. Sam was down to fifty and still gaining on them, but then he spotted a side street. He braked harder and dropped the transmission to second gear, then punched it as he whipped the wheel to the right.
The Corvette went into another controlled skid, suddenly facing to the west as Sam desperately tried to make the turn onto Arkansas Avenue, but the Charger was just too close. It clipped the right rear corner of the Corvette and sent it into a spin. Sam threw his right arm out protectively, trying to keep Indie safe in her seat, as the Corvette spun completely out of control. It bounced over the curb and shot into the parking lot of a liquor store, still spinning until its front end struck a parked Suburban. The windshield became a spider web of cracks as the entire front end of the Corvette was ripped away. Both of the windows and the doors disintegrated from the impact, showering them both with tiny pieces of glass.
Battered and bruised, Sam suddenly realized that what was left of the car had finally come to a stop against the brick wall of the building. His door was against the wall, and he frantically looked around to see what was happening. Indie was gasping for breath, her hands clamping her belly, and the black Charger was stopped in the middle of the street. Sam could see Samara staring at him, a pistol in his hand, but then a number of sirens rent the air.
A pair of squad cars came sliding around the corner, coming out the other side of Arkansas onto Sheridan. Samara scowled and shoved his foot down on the gas, and the Charger took off to the south with both of the squad cars in hot pursuit.
Several people came running out of the liquor store and approached the wrecked Corvette. Sam reached up and popped the latches on the t-tops, tossing them aside. He unbuckled his own seatbelt first, then released Indie’s.
“Baby? Indie, are you hurt?”
She shook her head, gasping for breath as though she couldn’t speak, but then she wrapped her hands around her belly and her face contorted. It took Sam a second to realize what he was seeing, as she began huffing and puffing, blowing air out and sucking it in.