You Can Run

by David Banner

  Virginia’s mouth went dry. Had the FBI really just swooped in and stolen her investigation minutes before getting the piece of information that could end the whole thing?

  “I’m sorry, what?” She stood.

  “Vee.” Chief Hindle appeared in the doorway. “Come on. It’s out of our control now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THURSDAY, 10 PM

  VIRGINIA

  It’s funny how much things can change over the course of just a minute. Virginia’s eyes narrowed in confusion as she watched Patrick Maynor walk past her with a sickening smirk on his face. Was that really it? Was the FBI letting him walk out a free man after no more than a few minutes of questioning? Her eyes met Tim’s as he followed closely behind his client, the same smile on his face.

  Her blood pressure spiked and her teeth began to grind.

  “What the hell was that?” Virginia charged the FBI agent. “You let him go?”

  “He doesn’t know anything, and I doubt he’d talk if he did. But it isn’t anything you need to concern yourself with. We’ve got this one.” The agent brushed past her, heading for chief Hindle’s office.

  “He knows something. That much I’ll promise you,” Virginia snapped. “And if you were worth a shit at your job, then maybe—”

  “Remember you’re speaking to a federal agent. Not some podunk police officer from nowhere, Georgia.”

  “That’s good,” she answered. “Insult the woman who’s done the better part of your job. What an ass.”

  “I’ll remind you—”

  “You’ll remind me nothing.” She stormed away.

  “What the hell? Was that Maynor?” Taylor jetted up bedside her.

  “Go to my office.” She grabbed his arm, closing the door behind her. “They let him go.”

  “Did they get anything?”

  “I don’t think so. He was smiling like he’d won the damn lottery.”

  “This is crap!” Taylor slammed his fist against the table. “We’re the ones who brought him here, and they just let him go without letting you even question him. What the hell?”

  “There’s nothing I can do.” She shrugged in anger. “It’s the freaking FBI. I have no power now. I can’t even legally be involved in the investigation anymore.”

  “Well, I can.” Taylor’s hand wrapped the door handle.

  “Taylor!” Virginia wedged her foot against the door. “Just wait.”

  “Wait for what, Vee? For them to waste more time? To let more people get murdered? This was supposed to be our thing. Your investigation and my story. Now look. We’ve wasted all of this time and have nothing.”

  She shared his frustration, though she tried her best to hide it. Part of being a detective was keeping a cool head in times of stress, and it was something Virginia Nixon was pretty good at, for the most part. Even in situations like this, when she knew the odds were against her, she tried to best to appear calm and collected on the exterior.

  “Losing our heads isn’t going to get us anywhere. We just need to stay low and keep quiet.”

  It wasn’t much of a pep talk, and maybe it was even a lie, but at the moment, it was all she had. The truth was that she didn’t know her next move. This was new territory for the detective. Never in the history of her job had the FBI or even another officer taken over one of her cases. In the moment, she couldn’t help but wonder what had gone so wrong. Where had she taken her misstep?

  “I’m a journalist.” Taylor crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t keep quiet. I spread the truth.”

  Virginia took a slow breath, giving him the kind of look a mother gives a child after they go against the rules. Was he really so brazen as to go against what he’d promised her? Would he really publish all they’d learned without her consent?

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what?” he asked, his lips pursed.

  “Don’t do this. Don’t publish this thing. It’s too early. It’ll just end up hurting us in the end.”

  “This is the end, Vee. It’s over. They’ve made sure of it. You said it yourself. You can’t legally get involved in any of this anymore. We’re screwed.”

  “There’s another way. We just need to figure it out.”

  “No,” he snapped. “I’m done playing by your stupid rules. They’re not getting us anywhere, and I’ve had enough.” Taylor pulled hard at the door, knocking the detective’s foot back.

  She watched in disbelief as he marched through the halls and stepped into the elevator. Was this it? Was this really how her investigation would end?

  What happened to me? she thought. She used to be so good. She used to be so prepared. How did she manage to get so far off her game that she didn’t see this coming, and how had she let herself fall into the trap of a partnership with a wannabe journalist? She was no longer the woman she recognized, no longer the prepared detective, ready to take on the world alone. Now it seemed she was just another wounded woman with nothing to fall back on.

  Chapter Thirty

  FRIDAY, 8 PM

  CONNIE

  Connie’s heart raced as she slowly made her way up the driveway. With only two names left on their board, she and her husband were nearly done. Their mission was near its final chapter, and for Connie, that was a wonderful feeling.

  She thought about herself and about the many changes she had seen herself go through since first setting down this path. There were times when retribution had seemed like the right choice, when seeing the light in someone’s eyes fade away was an exhilarating experience. Those were the early days, though. The first few kills had somehow seemed easier for the woman.

  Maybe it’s like they say. Maybe time heals all wounds. Was she over it? Had she moved past the tragedy that befell her family, or was she simply running out of steam?

  “What the hell are you doing?” Michael whispered. “Come on.”

  She looked at him, her eyes resting on his face. It was the face she fell in love with all of those years ago, the one she’d promised to cherish for richer or poorer. But it was also the face she’d seen run red with rage as he lifted her from the ground, kicking and screaming, begging for air.

  She wondered if perhaps he’d changed too?

  “I’m coming,” she said, brushing past him and heading for the back door.

  A large wraparound porch gave way to a set of glass doors leading directly into the house’s main living room. She had once been a guest in this house. She had been handed glasses of champagne and bowls of caviar as she stood with her friends, counting down the new year.

  But that was then, and to Connie Miller, it seemed like another lifetime, one she wasn’t sure she belonged in anymore. But if that was true, then what were they fighting for? Could she just drop it all now? Could she turn and walk away, leaving her list unfished, leaving two lives left on the table?

  Perhaps I could, she thought to herself. But her husband was a different story.

  “All right.” Michael picked the lock and stepped inside.

  She followed closely behind him, watching every corner for any sign of movement, any sign of life. Then she saw it. It played out almost as though she were watching it in slow motion. From the edge of the hallway, a large, dark shadow brushed past her, sending her hair drifting up at the edges.

  The loud cry of a security system rang out, screaming through the night air like a banshee in flight.

  “What the hell?” Michael yelled. “Who was—”

  Connie watched as the shadow popped out from around the corner, lifted a large vase from a table, and slammed it into Michael’s head. In a flash, he was on the floor, crying out in pain and struggling back to his feet.

  The shadow jetted past her again as it collided with her husband, sending them both crashing to the floor in a pile of shattered porcelain. Connie darted toward them, grabbing at the large figure and doing her best to wrestle it away from Michael.

  In a flash, the entire house illuminated with bright lights. S
he turned to see a woman standing at the base of the stairs. It was his wife, she realized. They hadn’t come for her. She wasn’t part of this thing. Connie met her eyes as she turned and scurried back up the stairs.

  “Connie?” The man called out as he looked up from the floor. “What are you—”

  Michael lifted a small end table and slammed it against the man’s chest. He wailed in pain.

  “Grab him!” Michael yelled.

  Connie leapt forward and wrapped her hands around his legs. She wasn’t sure what happened in the beginning. It was as though her hand had simply gone numb, as though within the span of a second, she’d lost all feeling in it. She struggled to focus on the river of red as it poured from the open wound, the knife still protruding from the back of her hand.

  “I can’t!” she yelled, falling back in pain.

  “I’ll—” Michael’s words were cut short as another large vase slammed hard against his head.

  Connie struggled to crawl toward him, the pain in her hand sending shockwaves throughout her body. They had lost their target. He was gone, having disappeared up the stairs and into the large home.

  Police sirens wailed in the distance as the she grabbed her husband’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “We have to go!”

  “What about—”

  “No!” She pulled him toward the door. “He’s seen our faces. He knows who we are. The police will be here any second. We have to move. Now!”

  Michael stumbled to his feet and headed toward the large glass doors.

  They had been seen. Their target had recognized them. They’d been called by name. Was this it? Was their mission over? Had they lost when they were so close to the end? Connie jumped into the car, her hand still pouring blood.

  “We messed up,” she said, looking over at the man she wasn’t sure she still knew. “We’re done.”

  “The hell we are,” he said, throwing the car into gear and speeding away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  FRIDAY, 8 PM

  TAYLOR

  With a series of new murders under their belt, Connie & Clyde continue to reign murder and mayhem down in Savannah and its surrounding areas. How long until the Savannah police find this couple and bring them to a much-needed end? Taylor typed furiously.

  His heart raced from the anger running through him. He couldn’t believe how much time he’d wasted waiting for the police department to actually do something, only to have the investigation ripped from his hands by the FBI.

  He looked down. His phone was ringing again. It was the third time Virginia Nixon had called in the last twenty minutes, but he was in no mood to answer her. Whatever excuse she had wasn’t going to be good enough to stop him.

  Why issue a warrant for Patrick Maynor, only to let him walk? Was it just coincidence that two of his employees have been murdered, or is there something more at play here? Is this revenge? Is this a plot to get even? Who did Patrick Maynor wrong?

  It was a risky thing to type. He could be sued for slander if he took his story too far. He needed to be careful. He needed to pose questions and not answer them.

  Still, this would be enough to make people talk, to get his name on their tongue. Just a little more information about the murderers and their ongoing tirade and he might end up on national news, being interviewed by some of the biggest names in journalism.

  What games are the Savannah police playing, and have they lost full control over their own city? Now that the FBI has been called in, will these criminals finally be brought to justice, or will this be another of River Street’s many unsolved crimes?

  He swallowed hard, his throat dry from the stress of the situation. The image of Virginia’s face ebbed and flowed in and out of his mind. He heard her voice as she promised him they would work together, that she would give him any information she had. But that was before they’d lost it all.

  Taylor leaned back, slamming his fist hard against the soft cushion of his couch. He was a Southern boy. A good man who’d always kept his word. At least, when it was possible. Was it wrong to publish the article? Was their deal still good? Did it even matter anymore?

  I’ve been closer to this investigation than any other in my life. I’ve had firsthand experience in dealing with people like Patrick Maynor, and I know how tightly words can be twisted. Citizens of Savannah, make no mistake. There is something bigger at play here. How much longer can we allow things like money and fear to control our society? I ask you now, how long will you stay silent?

  The Kentucky boy’s finger hovered over the mouse, ready to finally pull the trigger, ready to finally publish his article. She would hate him. Virginia would curse his name and forever lose faith in him. Clicking that button would be the end of his relationship with her, and he would lose the hope of any future involving the woman.

  He slammed his fist against the couch again and stood. Taylor steadied himself and walked toward the kitchen, poring himself a double-shot of straight Kentucky whiskey. He stared at the bottle, his eyes getting lost in the intricate wax pattern at its top. The taste, the smell, and the feeling. It reminded him of home in a way nothing else did. He heard his father’s voice, the one telling him to be true to himself. The one telling him a man needs to always keep his word and his honor.

  “What a crock of shit . . .” he mumbled to himself before setting the glass on the counter and heading back to his computer. “I guess it’s now or never.” He clicked the button, publishing the article for the world to see and perhaps forever damaging his relationship with Virginia.

  A surge of something unfamiliar shot through his body. It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t happiness. It was something else altogether, something he wouldn’t understand for some time.

  Had he made a mistake?

  It’s a fair question, he thought. It just wasn’t one he found himself quite ready to answer.

  Taylor’s phone buzzed again. He looked down expecting to see Virginia’s name flash across the screen. It wasn’t her, though. Relief mixed with disappointment as he read the name under his breath.

  Carla Rivers was a waitress from the restaurant. One whose name he wasn’t exactly surprised to see flash across his phone. For the last few months, she’d managed to find a sense of comfort in the man’s arms. At least, that’s what she’d told him as they’d climbed into bed together every night for nearly a month before she’d stopped calling.

  He still saw her at work nearly every day, yet there seemed to be this distance between them, this thing he didn’t understand. He’d simply woken up one morning to find her gone.

  He brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” she said simply. “Can I come over?”

  He listened to her slow breath as she waited for his response. Images of Virginia once again flashed into his mind. While he would never truly admit it to himself, he could feel something bubbling up in the back of his mind when he thought of her. It was small in the beginning, a hint more than anything else, but the more time he’d spent around her, the more that small glimmer began to grow.

  “Sure,” he answered. “I was just about to get in the shower. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  FRIDAY, 10 PM

  VIRGINIA

  Virginia Nixon took aim and fired one last shot before leaving the shooting range. Some might say the woman was spending too much time in such a place. Others might say she’d let herself get distracted by a pretty face and a sweet voice. She didn’t care. Virginia knew the truth. She’d failed.

  She’d managed to lose track of time, to forget herself in a fog of anger and frustration. The smell of hot asphalt and fast food wafted through the air as she headed to her car.

  “Virginia,” Chief Hindle called out.

  She turned to see him leaning against the side of his car, a look of disappointment on his face. She had seen that look before, though never directed at her. It was something usually saved for rookie mistakes and bad choices.

/>   “How long have you been out here?” she asked.

  “Too long,” he said, his face wrinkling in disapproval. “You’re supposed to be working.”

  “I was working,” she said. “Practicing my art.”

  It was an asshole response, of course, and she wasn’t really sure why she’d said it. After all, Jacob Hindle hadn’t given her much in the way of trouble since she’d started on the force, even going so far as to cover for her in her early mistakes. Still, there was something about he way he was looking at her, something about the way his eyes focused, that let her know this was about to take a turn she wouldn’t like.

  “Tell me what this is,” he said, stepping toward her and slamming a paper against her chest. “Tell me you’re not the person he’s talking about, Vee. Tell me you’re too smart to partner up with a journalist behind my back. Tell me that without lying.”

  She scanned the paper. A fiery fury welled up inside her. Taylor Clarke had done the one thing he’d promised he wouldn’t. He’d published the article.

  “Chief . . .” she started, unsure of what to say next. “It wasn’t . . . he wasn’t supposed to—”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Nixon? A journalist? Really? I’d have never pegged you to be the kind of girl who lets a guy trick you like that.”

  “I wasn’t tricked!” she snapped. “I chose to—”

  “Please. Don’t give me that. I’ve seen the guy. I can guess how this went down.”

  It was a response she hadn’t expected. He was cute, yes, but that had nothing to do with why she’d worked with him. At least, that’s what she liked to believe. She felt herself becoming more and more vexed by the minute, though she wasn’t sure if her anger was directed at her chief or herself.