She caught him off guard, and he staggered backward but didn’t go down. The flashlight fell from his hand, skittering across the alley. Sarah stumbled, then took off running in the direction of the street, but he grabbed her coat, jerking her back.
She screamed again and whirled to face him, clawing his eyes with her nails. He swore at her and twisted an arm behind her back. Sarah yelped with pain and felt tears sting her eyes as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled.
“Shut up and move.”
She obeyed, shuffling forward on legs that felt like Jell-O. He pushed her toward the street.
“If you open your mouth again or try to get anyone’s attention, you’re dead.” The barrel of a gun poked at her ribs, confirming the threat. She took a halting step as the back door of the club crashed open, banging against the brick wall.
“Sarah!”
Jay—no. Her captor loosened his grip and turned from her. In the dim light she saw his pistol raised, pointed at Jay.
“No!” She swung her free hand around, batting the gun just as the trigger was pulled. For one horrifying second, time seemed suspended while the bullet traveled toward its target and struck. Sarah screamed as she watched Jay fall back against the wall.
The man jerked her arm behind her once more, but this time she refused to go, falling to her knees. She wasn’t going to leave Jay.
“Get up.” He bent her arm until she was sure it would break. With her free hand she swiped at the ground as she stood, throwing a fistful of snow and gravel in her attacker’s face.
He reached for her hair again, but a hit from the side sent him plowing into her. Sarah fell to the ground, crushed beneath his weight. A second later he rolled off, and in the dim light she saw Jay standing over them.
“Run!” he yelled, his hand stretched out, trying to grab the gun.
Sarah reached for the flashlight lying in the snow beside her. She scrambled to her feet, bringing the light across the man’s face while he and Jay wrestled for the gun.
In the distance she heard Kirk’s voice. “Stop. Police!”
The man wrenched free, pointing the pistol at Jay’s heart. Jay froze, his hands out in front of him.
Sarah threw herself between the gun and Jay. “Don’t,” she begged.
Their attacker grabbed her coat sleeve, jerking her toward him. Footsteps pounded on the pavement, drawing nearer. His grip tightened around her arm as he glanced toward the sound, then released her suddenly and fled.
Sarah turned to Jay. He stood bent over, panting heavily. Drops of bright red blood dripped on the thin blanket of snow covering the ground.
“Someone help us,” she called. Jay tried to stand. Sarah wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight.
“Sarah!” Kirk came around the side of the building and skidded to a halt as their attacker scaled a fence at the end of the alley.
“Go!” Jay shouted. “Don’t let him get away.”
It was all the encouragement Kirk needed to run after him, gun already drawn.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jay and Sarah reached Kirk’s cruiser, parked on the street a block from the club, just as Kirk ran up.
“Did you—?” Sarah began.
He shook his head. “Got away. Had a car waiting.” He glanced at Jay, breathing as heavily as he was and leaning on the back of the car. “You guys okay?”
“Jay’s been shot,” Sarah said.
“I’m fine,” Jay insisted. “Just a superficial flesh wound.”
“You’re bleeding,” Sarah said.
“Get in.” Kirk unlocked the car and jerked the back door open. “You two ride here on the way to the hospital. Keep an eye on him, Sarah. He doesn’t look so good.”
Jay ducked inside, and Sarah followed. Kirk shut the door, climbed in front, and started the engine. “Tell me what happened,” he said, pulling out into traffic.
“Jay saved my life,” Sarah said. “There was a guy waiting for me in the alley.”
“What were you doing out there?” Kirk asked.
“The bartender told me it was backstage, then pushed me outside.”
“I heard Sarah screaming,” Jay said. “The girl has lungs. All those voice lessons really paid off.” His attempted grin more closely resembled a grimace.
“I heard her too.” Kirk glanced at Sarah in the rearview mirror. “The guy was waiting for you specifically?”
“Yes.” Sarah met Kirk’s gaze, then returned her attention to Jay. He shivered suddenly, and even in the dark she could see the blood seeping through his sweater. “Hurry, please.”
Kirk stopped at a red light and twisted around in his seat. “Don’t go into shock on me,” he ordered, staring at Jay.
“I’m not.” But his voice wasn’t convincing.
Sarah reached for Jay’s hand and was alarmed at how cold he felt.
“Cold is good. Helps the blood congeal,” Jay said, as if he’d read her mind.
As they neared the hospital, Kirk’s phone rang, and, after glancing at caller ID, he answered the call on speakerphone.
“What’s up, Christa?” Kirk said. “I’ve got Jay and Sarah here, and we kind of need to stop at the hospital.”
“Who’s hurt? Is it life-threatening?” Christa asked.
“Nah.” Kirk glanced toward the back seat. “Though if I were Jay, I’d milk it for all it’s worth.”
“You all need to come home right now,” Christa insisted, startling them. “Jay’s picture was just on the news. The Cambridge police are looking for him. They think he shot his roommate.”
* * *
Sarah took Jay’s hand as they sat on the couch, wedged close together while Kirk worked on Jay’s shoulder.
“You are one lucky dude. In and out with only a chunk of flesh to show for it.” Kirk poured antiseptic on a gauze pad and pressed it into the wound.
“Geez!” Jay half rose, gritting his teeth.
Sarah’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she bit her lip as she watched, making him feel even worse.
Better me than Sarah, he thought, vowing to keep his mouth shut—even if Kirk decided he needed stitches.
“It’s me or take your chances at the hospital,” Kirk reminded him. “And there’s a good chance that if you show up there, you won’t be leaving—to go home, anyway.”
“I found it,” Christa called from the bedroom.
Kirk got up, then held a hand out to help Jay. Sarah followed as the three made their way down the hall to Kirk and Christa’s room, where the computer was.
“Ready?” Christa asked, when they stood in a half-circle behind her.
“Go ahead,” Kirk said.
Christa started the video, and they watched a rerun of the top story on Channel Three’s nightly news.
“Out on bail just four days, Harvard Law student Jay Kendrich is believed to have continued his crime spree, escalating with the shooting of his roommate, a student who lives in this apartment behind me.” The camera panned to Jay’s apartment, number eleven, on the ground floor, cordoned off by police tape.
Jay gripped the back of Christa’s chair. “Which student? What—”
“About an hour ago, police and ambulance units responded to a 911 call from a woman, believed to be the victim’s girlfriend.”
“Trish—Archer?” Jay and Sarah said at the same time. They turned to each other, faces reflecting equally stunned and horrified expressions.
There has to be some mistake, Jay thought. Archer’s fine.
“The woman told police that Kendrich and the victim were fighting when Kendrich lost his temper and pulled out a gun.”
“Trish would never lie about Jay like that,” Sarah said. “They’ve got the wrong apartment. They’re talking about someone else.”
“Shh.” Kirk put a finger to his lips.
The reporter continued. “Kendrich is believed to have fled on foot, and as we speak, police are searching the surrounding area. And while an earlier search turned up nothing, jus
t a few minutes ago we were told a gun was retrieved from a dumpster behind the apartment complex. The victim remains in critical condition at Mount Auburn Hospital.”
“Good thing we didn’t go there tonight,” Kirk said under his breath.
“We have to.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “We have to see Archer—and Trish.”
“Yes,” Jay agreed.
“No,” Kirk said, looking at them both like they’d lost their minds.
Jay’s mug shot filled the screen. He felt his stomach churn and was grateful it was empty.
The video ended. Silence filled the room.
Stunned and disbelieving, Jay took a step backward and sat on the end of the bed. He leaned forward, head in his hands. “Archer.” They certainly hadn’t been best friends, but he never would have wished this on him.
“We have to talk to Trish,” Sarah said.
Jay nodded.
“Neither of you can go anywhere. Didn’t you hear any of that?” Kirk looked at Jay. You’re wanted for attempted homicide—murder, if he dies. And you—” Kirk turned to Sarah. “Bailed him out.”
“You know as well as I do that he’s innocent,” Sarah said, color rushing to her face.
“Of course,” Christa said.
“Yes,” Kirk agreed. “But there’s a witness who saw him.”
“She’s lying,” Sarah argued. “And I can’t believe Trish would do something so awful.”
“If she was scared enough she might,” Christa said.
“Or if she saw someone who she thought was me,” Jay added.
“Though I’d say the first is more likely.” Kirk began pacing. “And if they take that gun and match it to you—”
“How?” Sarah asked.
“If they’re working with Carl, and it was Carl who broke into Jay’s locker and took his stuff, then they can lift the prints.”
“They don’t even have to be that sophisticated,” Jay said. “I had my hands all over a gun tonight—the one that shot me.”
“And they just barely found a weapon,” Kirk said, his face grave. “There would have been time for someone to plant it.”
“What about the guy who shot you?” Christa asked. “Wouldn’t his prints show up too?”
“He was wearing gloves.” Sarah held her arm gingerly as if remembering the damage that the hands in those gloves had inflicted. “But we’re both witnesses that Jay couldn’t possibly have done it. He was with us.”
“Us and who else?” Kirk asked. He pivoted by the bedroom door and came back toward them. “Jay didn’t play at the club tonight, and the barkeep who pushed Sarah isn’t going to vouch for his whereabouts. Other patrons might have seen him, but we can’t count on them—or their sobriety—to get this straightened out. And our testimony—as his friends—would have a hard time standing up against an eyewitness and prints on a weapon.”
“You’re right,” Jay agreed, sounding as hopeless as he felt.
Kirk continued pacing, and Jay could see the detective wheels spinning behind his eyes.
“But why would Carl—or whoever—attempt murder and pin it on Jay? Truthfully, we have our work cut out for us getting you off the drug charges. Whoever’s responsible had to know there was a good chance you’d be going to jail. So why add murder to the ticket? Why risk it?” Kirk stopped in front of Sarah. “Is there anything you haven’t told us? Do you have any idea why Carl—or your dad—would go to such great lengths to frame Jay and get you back?”
Sarah’s blue eyes were troubled. “I don’t know, but the man in the alley did mention something.”
“What?” Kirk prodded.
“Something about me not doing my job.”
“What job?” Jay asked. Sarah had never mentioned anything to him, and he was surprised her dad would have let her out of the house to work.
She expelled a breath before answering. “Until I left my dad’s house, I was a member of the Summerfield PD undercover narcotics team.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Kirk held a thick piece of gauze to Jay’s shoulder. “The best thing you two can do is lay low for a while. And it’s your lucky day, ’cause I’m offering first-class basement accommodations.”
“Great,” Jay said unenthusiastically as he leaned his head back. Some of the tension drained from his face as Kirk pulled the blood-soaked pad away.
“I was thinking,” Kirk said. “Any chance either of you think you might recognize a mug shot of the guy from the alley?”
“I would,” Jay said. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him before, too.”
“You have?” Sarah asked. “Where?”
“On the train home from Boston.” Thinking about it now, he mentally kicked himself for not doing anything then—but what could he have done? Staring at someone wasn’t a crime. Jay turned to her. “He was looking at you. You were asleep.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sarah asked.
Jay started to shrug, then winced. “He stayed on the train when we got off, and I didn’t think any more of it—just another guy enthralled by your pretty face like I am. I thought Carl was the real threat.”
“He is, but now we know he’s not the only threat.” Kirk bandaged the wound, wrapping several layers of tape around it to hold the packing tight. “Whoever the guy is that went after you tonight, he was working with Carl. Isn’t that right, Sarah?”
“That’s what the man in the alley implied.”
“And if we can figure out who he is, we might have someplace to start. Because I’d bet money that what happened to you tonight and what happened to Archer are connected.” Kirk cut the end of the tape and pressed it carefully against Jay’s shoulder. “I wish we could take you to a doctor. Stitches would be a good idea, and at the very least you’ll need antibiotics. A tetanus shot probably wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“Would too,” Jay said. “I had one in October, and it hurt a lot. No more needles for me.” He lifted the hair from his forehead, revealing the scar from his recent stitches.
“I forgot about those,” Kirk said. He shook his head and attempted a smile. “I’ve never known anyone who finds dating so hazardous.”
Sarah leaned around Jay, placing a finger to his scar. “When did you get those?”
Uh-oh. He looked chagrined. “I forgot you didn’t know about that. It was no big deal.” He flattened his hair again so she couldn’t see his forehead.
Her mouth twisted and she narrowed her eyes. “Was it when Carl punched you or when he tried to run us over?”
“Um—the truck thing,” Jay said, clearing his throat.
“You told me you weren’t hurt,” she said.
“I’m not. They don’t hurt at all right now.”
She continued to frown.
“If it makes you feel better, you can kiss them for me.” For Sarah’s sake he tried to joke about his own pain, all the while trying to ignore the worry and fear they both felt.
“Not right here you won’t.” Kirk pushed his chair back. “Get your shirt on, Jay. This is a G-rated house.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Jay rolled his eyes, but he allowed Sarah to help him get his arm through his sleeve. “I’ve seen the way you look at your wife.”
“Keep my wife out of this,” Kirk warned, grinning. “Behave yourself and you can stay here so we can keep an eye on you. Come on. Follow me. Sarah, will you ask Christa for some blankets? It’s pretty chilly downstairs.”
“Sure.” Sarah left the kitchen, and Jay followed Kirk down the narrow stairs to the basement.
“What is all this stuff?” Jay asked, looking at the boxes, jars, cans, and bottles crammed into the only downstairs bedroom.
“Food storage. Between the under-construction salon and the water leak we had, this was the only place left to put everything.” Kirk picked up an air mattress from a stack of what appeared to be camping supplies. “Wish we hadn’t lost the foot pump.”
“I’ll blow it up,” Jay offered, holding out his good arm.
“Yeah, right. You’re in a lot worse shape than you let on up there.” Kirk brought his lips to the plastic seal and started blowing air into the opening.
Jay sat in a space between rows of boxes. He leaned against a case of tuna and propped his feet up on a flat of canned vegetables. Food—in any form—sounded awful right now, but canned peas . . . the worst. “I’m going to have nightmares down here. The Jolly Green Giant attacking on one side, and Charlie the Tuna on the other.”
Kirk took a break, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “I swear this thing tastes like the dirt in Yosemite where we used it last.”
“No need to eat dirt around here,” Jay observed. He moved his finger in the air, counting twelve containers of Morton salt. “You guys planning on a truckers’ strike or something?”
“Something like that,” Kirk said. “Our church is big into emergency preparedness and having a year’s supply of food. Christa takes it very seriously—especially lately because she’s afraid I’m going to get fired.”
“Me too,” Jay agreed. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Where else can you go?” Kirk asked.
Jay didn’t answer. There was no answer. Only more questions as the evening had worn on and Sarah had told them about working for her dad.
“We’re going to have to tell Sarah tomorrow,” Kirk said, uncannily following Jay’s train of thought. “I don’t know what her dad has been up to all this time, but there is no underground task force or whatever she called it. I should know. I’ve been pestering the chief about starting something like that for months.”
“But what if there is?” Jay argued. “Maybe you don’t know because it is undercover and the regular staff isn’t part of it.”
“And the chief’s untrained daughter and derelict cousin are?” Kirk shook his head. “No way. Something is out of whack here, and it’s not me. Nothing she said makes any sense. She was told to buy from some people but always ignore others? If the chief was serious about cleaning up the park, why not go after those guys, too? And only once in two years did she come to the station to view a lineup? She’s never been to court? It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” Kirk went back to work on the air mattress, blowing out his frustrations.
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