You Can Run

by David Banner

  “Then you don’t know her.” Chief Hindle entered the room. “Agent Grey. You don’t know my detective, but I do, and the best advice I can give you is not to go against her like that. If she says she has something valuable, then she does. Take it or leave it.”

  “So that’s how it works around here?” He stood and headed for the door. “You can’t call the shots in your own precinct?”

  “Oh . . .” Chief Hindle smiled as looked at his detective. “I can. But you can’t. If you want my detective’s help, you’ll treat her like a proper partner on this. Otherwise, you’ll continue on your own.”

  “You’re really going to do this? Withhold information from the federal government? Are you sure this is the hill you want to die on?”

  “Unless you swallow that pride of yours, my death won’t be the only one on your hands. Connie and Clyde have one final target, agent Grey. And it’s a damn good one.”

  A stiff silence filled the room as Virginia waited for the response she knew would come. It may have hurt his pride, it may have been a tough pill to swallow, but she knew he would cave. He had no choice. Connie and Clyde had already attracted national attention. Martin Grey needed a solution, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn away.

  “Fine,” he said. “You’re back on the case. Under one condition.”

  “And what is that?” She already knew what he was going to say.

  “No journalists. No giving investigation information to your source in exchange for tips. You work this thing like a professional. Taylor Clarke stays out of it.”

  “All right,” she answered. “Here’s what you need to know.”

  Virginia went over nearly every detail of the case, except, of course, for a few minor things she decided were better kept close to the vest. She told the agent of Michael and Connie Miller, of the plot to take everything they had in order for Patrick Maynor to save himself, and of the trail of blood that led right to his front door.

  “And you have this in good faith?” Agent Grey asked. “Not from the lips of an untrustworthy journalist?”

  “I assure you, the facts are the facts,” she answered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few leads to follow up on. Let me know if you find anything.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  SUNDAY, 4 PM

  CONNIE

  This was it. Not only was Patrick Maynor the last name on the killer couple’s list, but he was also the most important one. So much thought and time had gone into their plan that it felt almost strange to Connie to see it near its end.

  Catching sight of herself in the mirror, the woman couldn’t help but wonder who she would be once this was all over. She knew better than to expect her old life back. Too much time had gone by, too many lives lost, and too much history changed. The past was gone and her future was now a mystery.

  “Come on,” Michael said, taking her by the hand and marching toward the business he’d helped create.

  Images flashed through his wife’s mind. Memories of the days when they were still happy, still in love, and foolish enough to believe they were safe. She remembered his birthday, the first one he had after moving into the office. She’d spent the whole day making him a strawberry rhubarb pie. She’d so carefully crafted the flaky, buttery crust, laying it over the fresh strawberries and rhubarb.

  It was a strange memory now, thinking back on how much happiness she’d once found in the joy of another person, and now, she could only find discomfort and a sense of regret. Michael grabbed her hand, his thick skin feeling so different from how she remembered it.

  “Okay.” She looked up at the large glass-wrapped structure.

  She always hated these kinds of buildings, the ones that looked so modern, so clean, and so lacking in personality. She missed the intricate carvings of the planation house she’d once called home. Her mind drifted back to the beautiful crown molding and elaborate fireplace that adorned her living room. The memories of holiday parties and cheerful chatter rang in her ears.

  Two Christmases had gone by since she’d last seen her house, since the day it was ripped out from under her feet and sold to the highest bidder in order to pay off someone else’s debts. Anger began to swell within her again. She’d spent so long lost in her own head, not thinking of Patrick Maynor, that she’d forgotten just how much wrong he had done and how far he had gone to save himself by destroying her.

  “All right.” She squeezed Michael’s hand. “I’m ready.”

  Seconds later, the killer couple burst through the doors of Miller, Maynor, and Mont. Through a fury of gunfire and fear, they blazed a path of destruction through the large lobby. This was their end. Gone was the time for hiding behind masks and keeping their identities secret. Things like that no longer mattered.

  “Everyone down!” Michael yelled, firing a few more shots into the air before heading for the stairs. “Stay here. Make sure no one moves,” he told his wife.

  Connie stood quiet and still in the middle of the large room, her eyes scanning the handful of people, each one lying on their stomach with their face buried in their hands. She noticed a mother in the corner, her hands wrapped around her small daughter’s ears.

  Connie stepped closer. How she longed for children, for the sense of love and companionship only motherhood could provide. She knelt and ran her hands through the small girl’s blonde hair. The child winced and pulled away as her mother whispered words of encouragement into her ears.

  “Its’ okay . . .” the woman said, her mouth pressed against the young girl’s forehead. “Momma’s got you. It’s okay.”

  It was in that moment she realized how truly alone she felt. There had been a time when she thought anger would be enough to carry her through, that her husband’s mission for revenge would be all she needed to not feel alone. She knew now just how wrong she had been.

  “Go.” Connie locked eyes with the frightened mother and nodded toward the door. “Go. Leave. Now.”

  She turned back toward the crowd of terrified people as the woman and her young child escaped out the front door. Seconds later, a loud thud broke though the silence. Connie looked up to see her husband pulling Patrick Maynor down the stairs by the scruff of his neck.

  He looked older than she remembered, more haggard and tired than she had ever seen him. Perhaps it was the worry, she thought. Maybe the wrongs he’d committed had finally gotten under his skin. She thought of her mother, of the words she’d always told her.

  “Sin gets under your skin. It has a way of getting inside you. You rot away from the inside, and there ain’t nothing in God’s green earth that can put a stop to it.”

  Was this what she had to look forward to? Was Patrick Maynor the symbol of what was to come for the once-beautiful Southern girl? Her eyes scanned her arms for the first time in weeks. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she had been rotting away from the inside since first puling that trigger.

  She dropped her gun to the floor and locked eyes with her husband before heading outside.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Michael asked, slamming Patrick’s body against the car and stuffing him inside. “Why did you drop your gun? Why did you leave?”

  “Who are we?” Connie asked. “I don’t know who we’ve become.” She felt tears begin to well in her eyes. “And at this point, I’m not sure who I was before. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’ll never have my life back. I’ll never have my house. We’ll never have children. It’s over . . . it’s just . . . over.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Connie? This is it. We’ve won. We have him, and he’ll pay. Now get in the car.” Michael opened the passenger door.

  She could still smell him, that signature scent of spices and musk, only somehow, it no longer felt familiar. Was her husband really a stranger?

  “Connie!” he yelled. “Get in the damn car!”

  Chapter Forty

  SUNDAY, 6 PM

  VIRGINIA

  “What time are you off?” Virginia ask
ed, plopping herself down next to Taylor.

  “Hey, now.” He smiled. “Don’t go thinking this is one of our dates. Remember, I still have you for two nights, one of those ending with a little something extra.”

  “Don’t make me regret talking to you again.” the detective smiled.

  It’s an odd thing really, forgiving someone. It often seems like the biggest obstacle in the world, like an ocean you simply can’t cross. That is, until one day, when it just happens. That’s the way Virginia Nixon had always found it, anyway. Besides, she always felt as though holding grudges took far too much time and energy. Forgiveness was just easier.

  “An hour.” He smiled, his dimple catching the light just quickly enough for the detective to take notice. “But I probably won’t stick around that long. Sunday evenings are always slow.”

  Virginia turned her gaze toward the nearly empty restaurant. She’d always found it strange just how different things look once no one is around. She had only been in Ale & Bone once or twice, each time finding the place filled to the brim with the kind of people who believe a forty-dollar lunch makes them special in some way.

  Now, though, with nearly no one in the entire building, the place looked far less impressive. The barley-illuminated chandeliers that hung so gracefully over every inch of the floor seemed less important without the flurry of conversation to hold them up. Not to mention the marble tiled floors that somehow seemed a little sadder without overpriced shoes obstructing their view.

  “This place is kind of sad when it’s empty like this,” Virginia mused.

  “Really?” Taylor asked. “You think so? I kind of like it.”

  “I got a call from Agent Grey earlier. They’d found a bunch of information on Connie and Michael Miller, including the reason everyone thought they were dead.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Turns out Patrick Maynor had life insurance policies on them too. After a year of not seeing them, he tried to cash them in. He never got the cash because there were no bodies, but he gave it a shot.”

  “Wow . . . what an ass.”

  “You’re telling me.” Virginia chuckled. “They’ve got a bunch of other stuff on them too. Agent Grey was going to head over and speak with Maynor later. I’ll probably go with him.”

  “Care for a little extra company?” he asked.

  “Oh . . . right. Wouldn’t that be great? To just show up with the one guy they’ve forbidden me to contact about he case.”

  “Just thought I’d offer.” His hand fell by his side, accidentally grazing Virginia’s.

  “So . . . ?”

  “So, what?” Vee asked.

  “So, are you going to keep away from me, or do I still have an investigative partner?”

  The obvious answer was to tell him no. Virginia Nixon was a professional first and foremost, always putting her job ahead of anything else. The idea of getting caught up in something that went against the best interests of her job was something she would never consider. That is, until recently.

  Perhaps she’d changed. Perhaps she was lonely or tired. The truth was, she didn’t know. But there was something about the man that made her want to understand what it was she felt. Was there a difference between independence and loneliness, and if so, was Taylor Clarke that difference?

  “I want to catch these two, and I’m not going to turn away any chance at that.” She looked at him. “But if you ever go behind my back like that again, I promise you—”

  “It won’t be an issue.”

  It wasn’t much, just the word of a good country boy, but for the moment, it was enough to satisfy her. She thought about the promise she’d made him. There were two dates yet to come. For a moment, she wondered if that’s where it would end. Her lips parted as she readied herself to ask him one more question, the thing that had been weighing on her mind for the last few days.

  “Whoa . . .” she said as the shock of her phone’s vibration ran through her.

  Her eyes widened as she looked down at the screen and read the message.

  “What?” Taylor asked, taking note of her reaction.

  “Patrick Maynor has been kidnapped.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  SUNDAY, 8 PM

  CONNIE

  To the world, they were Connie and Clyde, but for her, they were still Connie and Michael Miller, the young couple who fell in love on a lake and planned to grow old in the Georgia countryside. At least, they had been up until the last few days.

  The once-sweet and religious Southerner looked into the rearview mirror of her beat-up car. There he was, the man who had taken everything from them, the one responsible for the loss of Connie’s childhood home. She couldn’t help but remember her mother once again. She remembered how much the woman had loved and cherished the old plantation home, making sure it was always the best it could be, making sure it was the perfect place for her sweet daughter to grow old.

  Now, that would never happen. She had no money and no name. Connie Miller had returned from the dead only to fill the Savannah streets with terror and blood. The woman she’d once been was long gone, leaving behind only a shell of her former self.

  “Please . . .” Patrick Maynor muttered from the backseat.

  His face was flushed red and his eyes puffed and swollen from crying so hard. She wanted to feel something for him, some sense of compassion or empathy, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t muster those feelings.

  Connie slammed the palm of her hand hard against the mirror, knocking it from the windshield and sending it falling to the floor. Her husband looked over but remained silent. From the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her, wondering what it was she felt. But the truth was, she wasn’t sure herself.

  All the woman knew for sure was that this wasn’t turning out the way she’d hoped. At least, not on the inside. Revenge felt good in the beginning, but every time she fired that gun, she lost a piece of herself.

  A police car shot past the couple as it headed to the scene of the crime. Bright blue and red lights shone across her face, illuminating her husband in a harsh glow. She turned away.

  A few silent minutes passed when she found herself parked outside her former childhood home. Michael slammed the car into park and climbed out. He quickly opened the back door and grabbed his terrified former business partner.

  “Let’s go.” He looked at Connie.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out. Thick Georgia humidity assaulted her, covering her body in a near-instant sheen of sweat as she followed behind her husband. Once inside, she found her house just as she remembered it, save for a few empty beer bottles and scattered drug paraphernalia. She was appalled at the idea of what had gone on in the home she loved so much.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “He lied. Our house wasn’t bought by some rich couple from the coast. It was this asshole all along.” Michael turned to her. “He knew how much this place meant to us, yet he still took it. Right, buddy?” he lightly pressed the palm of his hand against Patrick’s cheek and smiled. “I guess he got off on it.”

  Looking around, she wondered how it had come to this.

  They had lost everything, that much was true. But it didn’t have to lead to this. They still had one another. They still had their dreams. She could have gone to Italy. She could have moved to a little bungalow on the coast of Carolina. How had she let it get this far? How had she lost herself completely?

  “Michael . . .” she muttered, her eyes locking onto those of a frightened Patrick Maynor. “Let him go. Let’s just go. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “Let him go?” Michael scoffed. “What the hell are you talking about? This is it. This is what we’ve worked so hard for. He is the reason so much blood has been spilled. We have to right this wrong!”

  “No . . . we don’t,” she said simply.

  “Please,” Patrick cried. “I’ll do anything. You can have the plantation. I’ll make you r
ich, richer than you were before. Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “Oh.” Michael turned to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, old friend. I want to kill you. You took my life, and now I’m going to take yours.”

  There was a sick joy in her husband’s tone, something that seemed almost repulsive to the woman. She was once religious, kind and hopeful. But what was she now? Connie wiped a single tear from her cheek as she thought about her life and what it had devolved into.

  She remembered the young couple in the hotel. She remembered how much joy she’d felt pulling the trigger and watching them die. Who was that woman? Certainly not her . . . Connie spun on her heels and lunged forward, her body convulsing and writhing as it tried to regurgitate anything from her near-empty stomach.

  Steaming Georgia air overwhelmed her fragile state, wrapping her body in a blanket of heat that spilled out through the rest of the empty structure. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and dropped to her knees.

  “If you pull that trigger, he won’t be the only one you kill.” She wiped her mouth. “If you kill him, you kill us too.”

  Michael paused, his eyes locked on Patrick as his wife begged and pleaded for compassion. He was weak and scared, the kind of scared that could only come from deep within a person. This was the end of his life. The choices he made had come back from the dead to haunt him. Connie pulled her thick, unwashed hair back from her face and looked up.

  This will be me, she thought. One day, her choices would come back to find her too. She stood to her feet and placed her hand softly on Michael’s shoulder. It was the first time she had touched him in days, the first time she’d managed to fight through the cloud of emotion welling up inside her.

  She traced the curves of his face and felt the scruff of his beard. He was once so strong, so sweet and kind. He’d once loved her so much.