You Can't Escape (9781420134650)

by Bush, Nancy

  Jordanna had changed into jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, her hair up in a ponytail. She was torn about dressing up as Carmen for her last turn at the hospital. She didn’t want to anymore. Playing the part for that detective had given her a bad feeling all over. Yet she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by dressing down on her final trip to pick up Danziger, either. She wanted anyone who saw “Carmen” to remember that she was dressed the same every time.

  But, for now, she was Jordanna Winters.

  Hurrying up the porch steps, she slipped the key in the lock and opened the door. A faint bell-like tune greeted her, nearly stopping her heart, the kind of “welcome” music often heard when entering craft shops or candy stores. Jordanna had an instant mental vision of what Carmen Danziger was like and it didn’t quite fit the image she’d created for the tight-skirted, CFM-shoe-wearing woman she’d been emulating.

  Feeling like a thief, she shut the door behind her, shoved the keys into her front pocket, and tiptoed across the foyer to the stairs, hurrying up the oak stairway with its red, brown, and gold runner in an ornate fleur-de-lis pattern. She discovered the master bedroom at the end of the hall and headed straight to the walk-in closet, where she could see a California Closet-type system. The closet door was slightly ajar and there was a full-length mirror inserted into the front panel. Pushing it open further, she then quickly opened and closed several drawers before finding some sweats and a pair of cargo pants that looked maybe loose enough to fit over his wrapped thigh. Quickly she scanned the overall closet, exhaling in relief when she saw a large duffel bag. She tossed the pants inside, then threw in a short stack of T-shirts. The closet door had begun to swing shut again, and she caught a glimpse of a men’s black fleece jacket hanging from the hook on the back side. She grabbed it and added it to the pile. Then she opened and shut several drawers in succession, passing by a junk drawer and one with feminine jewelry before finding one that held boxers and socks, which she grabbed up indiscriminately and stuffed into the bag, too. Lastly, she grabbed a pair of men’s Nikes, and carefully arranged them so the soles faced up, away from the clothes.

  She was in the process of zipping the bag shut when she heard the downstairs door open and the welcoming trill of the bells.

  You didn’t lock the door behind you.

  Of course not, she thought wildly. She was turning and burning. She was only supposed to be here a few minutes.

  Her mouth went dry. Her pulse pounded in her ears like a surf. Carefully, she pulled the duffel bag close to her body and then did her best to hide behind the closet door. She thought she heard measured footsteps on the stairs. Sweat dampened her underarms. God. What the hell was she doing? What if that was his wife? Holy shit. Squeezing her eyes closed, she stood still and tense, listening hard.

  The footsteps entered the bedroom. She scarcely breathed. If they came into the closet and found her behind the door, what could she say?

  Long moments passed. It occurred to Jordanna that this person, whoever he or she was, was acting oddly. Waiting or listening or something.

  The tension made her want to jump out and reveal herself, cry out, “He told me to get his clothes!” but she stayed still. She knew better.... She knew better....

  Abruptly, the person turned and walked out—stalked out, actually, making no effort to disguise the sound. Jordanna sagged against the wall, spent. She heard the steps travel back downstairs, then bells sing at the front door again.

  Who was it?

  It took all her courage to leave her spot in the closet and enter the bedroom. It was late afternoon and clouds had gathered outside, darkening the room, but it was May, and it stayed light damn near forever these days. She had to get out of here, but she wanted to know who’d come inside the Danziger house. They must have had a key themselves. Carmen? Someone else?

  What if this person is waiting for you? What if he saw you go in?

  Well, to hell with it. She needed to know who this person was.

  Hugging the duffel, she carefully descended the stairs, keeping her body just inside the windows that flanked the door. At the entrance, she risked a peek through the blinds and saw a dark sedan—maybe an Audi?—pulling out of a spot across the street. She was too far away for a license plate, though she thought she saw an L and a 5. There was no way of knowing if that car had anything to do with whoever had been inside Danziger’s house.

  But there was no way she was heading out the front now. She would be too exposed, but the surrounding wrought-iron fence ran the length of the property. There was no way out unless it was through the front, the way she’d arrived, or through the garage itself.

  Padding softly toward the rear of the house, she passed through the kitchen, barely noticing the gleaming stainless-steel appliances, the hand-painted terra-cotta tiles. It looked Italian country, beautifully done, and it felt more like what she imagined Danziger’s wife’s style to be than the tinkling door chime.

  Outside the back door was a walkway screened by hedges, thank God, and it led directly to the garage main door. She hurried quickly toward it, the duffel banging against her leg, and tested the door handle, relieved to feel it turn beneath her palm.

  Inside the double-car garage was one vehicle: a Mercedes sedan.

  Carmen’s car? Then not the Audi? Danziger’s Highlander was probably still at the bomb site unless the authorities had picked it up.

  She was going to have to open one of the two garage doors to let herself out. Looking in the Mercedes she spied the electronic remote. Opening the driver’s door, she snatched it up then pressed the button. The garage door hummed and rattled upward, and Jordanna hurried outside, re-pressing the remote button, which stopped the door in mid-ascent, then pushing it a final time so the door could churn its way downward once again.

  The garage door emptied onto a side road that ran north and south. Clutching the duffel and remote, Jordanna turned south and walked the long way around a wide block to where she’d parked her car. Hitting the keyless lock, she climbed inside, dropped the garage remote on the passenger seat and then placed her hands on the wheel, inhaling several deep breaths. She’d left her purse under the seat, and now she dragged it out and dug inside until she found her car keys, which immediately slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. Realizing her palms were sweating, she wiped them on her jeans and set her jaw. If she was seriously planning to be an investigative reporter, she was going to have to grow a pair of balls.

  Dance was in the golf shirt he’d been wearing when he’d gone to Saldano Industries when Jordanna Winters reappeared in his hospital room. She was dressed once again like Carmen except this dress was gray instead of green and not quite as tight.

  “You got in all right,” he observed.

  She dropped his brown duffel on the bed. “Yeah, but I was nearly caught. Someone came to your house while I was in your bedroom closet.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it could be your wife, but her car was in the garage.”

  “She went by town car and left the Mercedes. But she wouldn’t just go in and go out. I don’t think she’s back yet.”

  “I suppose it could’ve been someone else. I didn’t lock the front door after me. Maybe someone followed me in?” She didn’t sound like she liked that idea much, either.

  “Maybe someone who thought you were Carmen.”

  “I was in jeans. Does she ever wear ’em?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then, I don’t think they thought I was Carmen.”

  Dance felt chilled. Had someone been looking for him?

  “I followed them downstairs, but I never saw them,” she went on. “A dark Audi pulled out from across the street but it could have been anyone. Or, maybe it was just a car that looked like an Audi. I don’t know.”

  He unzipped the duffel, yanked out a pair of sweatpants, then moved awkwardly to a chair to put them on. Weak as a kitten. Shit. “Wonder if the Highlander’s still where I left it.�
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  “You want to look before we head out?”

  He shook his head, sending a wave of dizziness through him that created fresh nausea. He put his head between his knees and took in deep breaths.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jordanna asked, taking a step nearer to him.

  He held up his hand. “Yeah, yeah . . . just give me a minute.”

  “Okay,” she said doubtfully.

  She was tense and he felt his own muscles coiled for flight. They’d dinked around too long already. He heard it in her voice, and he felt it himself. Hanging around was dangerous. With an effort, he finished pulling on the sweats; then, without being asked, Jordanna helped him with socks and the Nikes he’d been wearing when the bomb went off. The left one had a gash across the toe but was otherwise still in working order.

  They looked at each other. Her hazel eyes stared into his blue ones as if seeking answers. “You ready?”

  “Yup.”

  She reached an arm around him, and Dance levered himself upward, leaning heavily on her. Her shoulders were small, but she felt tough and wiry beneath the weight of his arm.

  “I had to put the plates back on, then take them off again. Hopefully no one’s paying attention to how many times I’m driving behind that empty strip mall.”

  He grunted a response. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He hadn’t counted on being so miserably weak.

  “There’s a wheelchair in the hall,” she said as they worked their way out the door. He dropped into it gratefully and then Jordanna hurried back in the room. He heard her moving around and realized she was gathering all his meager belongings and putting them into the duffel. She returned a few moments later, dropped the bag in his lap, then began pushing him down the hall.

  Two nurses were standing and talking to each other at the end of the corridor, but neither of them gave them more than a cursory glance. “I think I can do the stairs,” he said as they approached the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall. He didn’t want to be in a closed elevator car.

  “We’re taking the elevator.”

  “I don’t want to risk being in the elevator with anyone else.”

  “You can’t make the stairs.”

  “I can. I will.”

  “Horseshit.”

  For a moment, he was pissed; then he almost laughed. “Fine. Hell. The elevator.”

  She slammed her palm on the button, then waited behind the wheelchair, inhaling and exhaling heavily, clearly fighting back her own anxiety. When the elevator doors opened, a man and woman in scrubs broke on either side of them and walked in opposite directions. Jordanna pushed him inside, then turned the chair around. Just before the doors closed, a young aide squeezed into the car. She gave them a smile.

  “You’re being discharged already?” she asked him, and he wondered if he’d been under her care. He was a little fuzzy about the staff who’d attended him.

  “Doctor okayed it,” he told her.

  She nodded, her eyes sliding toward Jordanna, who suddenly leaned down and kissed him on the side of his cheek, purring, “I’ll just be so glad to have you home, darling.”

  Boo looked through the dirty window to the late-afternoon shadows and longed to be with them. He always wanted to hide in the shadows. It was where he belonged.

  He said, pleading, “I want to go to the playground.”

  “There is no playground,” Buddy told him. “Not anymore.”

  “You promised,” Boo cried.

  “There is no playground.”

  But Boo knew Buddy was lying. They were always lying to him. All of them. They said they wanted to protect him, but they just didn’t want him to be with his friends. They didn’t trust him. He could feel the anger building and he wanted to wish it away but it wouldn’t be wished away. He could never wish it away. He’d tried so many times before. Bad things happened when he got angry, but sometimes he just couldn’t stop the feeling.

  “There’s a playground,” he stated belligerently. Belligerently. . . B . . . e . . . 1

  “I told you, there’s no playground. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Don’t be mad.” But Boo could feel his own face tighten into its mad look.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re lying. You told me not to lie. You told me God’s watching.”

  “God is watching,” Buddy said, turning to stare fully at Boo in the darkening kitchen. “Every minute of every day, so you need to be quiet.”

  Boo glanced around nervously. Was it really dark outside now? Or, was he making it dark. He could do that. “I just want to play with my friends.”

  “They’re not your friends, Boo. How many times do I have to tell you? They’re not like us. They pretend they’re nice, but they’re tainted.”

  “They’re what?”

  “They’re tainted. Inside . . .” Buddy walked up close to Boo and crouched right in front of him. “Deep inside them is a dark place where they hide from the rest of us.”

  Like me? Boo wanted to shriek, but he kept it inside by chomping down on the insides of his cheek. “No . . .” he finally said. It was scary to argue with Buddy, but he had to. “They climb on the monkey bars and the pirate ship down at—”

  “Listen to me, you idiot. They’re not your friends and you stay away from them.”

  “Don’t call me names!”

  “Then do as I say!” Buddy straightened abruptly and turned away. Boo wanted to hit him. He almost jumped up and punched him in the back, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. But he knew what to do.

  “I don’t give a gah-gah-goddamn!” he blurted out triumphantly.

  Buddy was on him in a flash, yanking him out of his chair and slapping him hard across the face one, two, three times. Boo’s ears rang and he was sobbing by the time Buddy was finished.

  “You keep your filthy tongue in your head,” Buddy ground out, “or so help me I’ll cut it out!”

  “Sor-sorree,” Boo wailed, his throbbing face in his hands. He just wanted to go to the playground, that was all. “I just”—hiccup—“wanna go”—hiccup—“to the playground!”

  “THERE IS NO PLAYGROUND!” Buddy thundered and stomped out of the room. But Boo knew he was lying again. Buddy just didn’t want him to have any friends. He wanted to lock Boo away forever and ever. He could feel his anger again, knew his mad face was getting madder. After a seething moment or two, Boo pulled down his pants and let his fingers find the slightly raised mark on his right buttock. He could visualize it even though he’d only seen it in the mirror. A “C,” that’s what the doctor had said, then, “Looks like a C. How’d you get it?”

  “I don’t ’member.”

  The doc had looked down at him and said, “It looks like a branding.”

  “It’s a scar,” Boo had answered, feeling proud that he knew.

  The doc had eyed him in a way that had made Boo real uncomfortable, and he’d wanted to say something else, something that he maybe remembered . . . maybe . . . but the way the doc looked at him had made his stomach feel squirmy so he hadn’t.

  He wondered now if he should tell the doc that Buddy was lying.

  Boo had trouble thinking things through. His mama had told him that so many times he accepted it as truth. If Mama were still around, she’d be saying it again, he was pretty sure, so when he wandered closer to the window and looked out at the stretch of farmland that swept toward the mountains, he thought of his mama, could almost see her in the shadows out by the apple tree that her grandpa had planted. Could almost hear her again . . .

  “You be careful, Boo. Be real careful. Sometimes people are going to be mean to you. I know you have trouble thinking things through, so I’m gonna tell you something right now and you need to remember it. Think you can do that?”

  “Yes, Mama,” he’d answered, even though his heart hurt ’cause he was afraid he couldn’t.

  “If they come for you and I’m not here, you need to protect yourself. There’
s a floorboard in the shed. It’s loose. Back by the wall with Old Nickel’s leashes. You find it, and there’s something inside for you. But don’t look unless you have to, you understand?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “I mean it. Don’t look. Better if you don’t know until you have to, okay? Promise.”

  “P-p-promise,” he’d stuttered. “But you won’t leave me!”

  “No, honey.” And she’d hugged him close and he’d clung to her, but she’d lied, too, because she was gone before Santa came that year, and Santa didn’t bring Boo any presents so he knew it was his fault.

  He hadn’t looked for Mama’s treasure. She’d told him not to, and he’d sort of forgotten about what she’d really said anyway. It was a big jumble, which Buddy had explained was just the way his “screwed-up brain” worked. But the last few nights he’d woken up and seen Mama by the hawthorn tree and her words were back inside his head.

  Buddy was being mean to him, that was for sure. Maybe he was going to come for him and be meaner. Maybe now was the time to find Mama’s treasure in the shed beneath Old Nickel’s leashes.

  Boo’s eyes and nose got all hot and burny as he thought about the old, gray mutt with the thumping tail who’d been his friend. Now he was gone and so was Mama and Buddy wouldn’t let him go to the playground.

  Yep. Maybe now was the time....

  Chapter Five

  The old, once-white farmhouse looked foreboding in the evening light, its windows balefully watching the car as Jordanna pulled around the back behind the long, long woodshed that connected the house to the listing carport at the far end. “It’s a walk from here,” she said, “but I don’t want anyone seeing us. You can lean on me.”

  Danziger threw a glance toward the woodshed, which was all you could see from this point as it sheltered the house. “No one’s going to see us,” he pointed out.

  Jordanna nodded, slightly embarrassed. He was right, of course. The house was a quarter mile down a curving lane, and there were fields and rolling hills on either side. The property backed up to the foothills of the Cascades and the nearest neighbor was over a mile away. This was her family home, located on the outskirts of Rock Springs, about three hours southeast of Laurelton. She’d chosen it because it was a helluva hideout for Jay Danziger, though she didn’t like the place at all. She’d never felt completely safe here, for reasons burned into her own psyche.