Kickout Clause (Savannah Martin Mystery)

by Bennett, Jenna

  “It was the plan all along.” He looked very pleased with himself by now.

  “That’s interesting.” I slowed down for the stop sign at Porter and Greenwood. “Can you tell me about it?”

  He squinted at me.

  “I’m curious,” I said, as I slowed down again to bump across two sets of railroad tracks. Behind me, the white car came to a stop at the sign. Behind it, I could still see the bike approaching, slowly. “And it’s not like I’ll be able to tell anyone.”

  Walker smirked, probably because he realized that I realized that no matter what he’d told Tim, my chances of getting out of this alive were slim to none.

  “I always knew we couldn’t trust Tim,” he told me, which didn’t bode particularly well for Tim’s survival either. “But there wasn’t anyone else I could ask. You’d have gone straight to the police.”

  “Can you blame me? You tore up my office.” And the only picture I had of myself and Rafe.

  “Sorry about that,” Walker said, without sounding the least bit sorry. “I lost my temper.”

  “Sure.” And I suppose he’d lost his temper when he broke the windows in Mrs. J’s house and slashed my car tires, too. Not to mention when he tried to get into my apartment yesterday afternoon.

  He continued before I could bring up any of that. “It’s your fault I went to prison.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was your fault. I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “I had no choice,” Walker said as I made another sweeping turn, this time to the right. “She was ruining my business.”

  Sure.

  But we’d had this conversation before, and there was no point in having it again. “You were telling me about Garth and the Greenway.”

  A few seconds passed, while Walker breathed heavily in and out through his nostrils and while I made a left turn onto Riverside Drive.

  “We thought there was a chance things might go wrong in the park,” he said eventually, “so we made sure we had a Plan B.”

  The gun was still in his lap, but I got the feeling he’d mostly forgotten about it. The pepper spray was still in my pocket, with the top off. I didn’t fancy using it while we were in this confined space together, though. If I sprayed him, I’d probably get a nose full of pepper spray myself, and then I’d lose control of the car and we’d crash.

  No, much better to wait until we got to where we were going, and were outside in the fresh air.

  “Garth got there early,” Walker said, “and took his bike out of the car. And then he kept an eye on things. He was there before the cops, and saw them spread out. That’s when he knew we needed to go to Plan B.”

  “I’m Plan B?”

  He shrugged.

  I slowed down for the green light and took a turn onto McGavock Pike. “So Garth left the park and started pedaling. And now we’re going to pick him up?”

  Walker nodded. I kept an eye in the mirror. Behind us, the bike took the turn onto McGavock, as well. I didn’t want Walker to notice, though, so I didn’t keep my attention on it. By now I was almost sure it was Rafe behind me, though, and the idea made me feel better. Even if Walker shot me, at least I’d get to say goodbye to Rafe before I died.

  At the bottom of the next hill, I took a right onto Cooper Lane, and from there it was just a matter of following the road until it ended, beside the entrance to the Greenway.

  The motorcycle disappeared just as we got there, down one of the side streets, and I experienced a moment of panic. Maybe it wasn’t Rafe after all. Maybe it was just some random stranger who happened to be going home. It was unlikely that it should be him, after all. He was busy working, his mind on finding Manny’s killer. He wouldn’t cut out early. And he probably couldn’t have made it back in time to pick up my trail anyway, even if Grimaldi had called him. And Grimaldi may not even know what was going on with me. Tim’s microphone might not be switched on. He might have turned it off for some privacy until he got to the park. She might not have overheard our conversation. The police could be standing watch over the empty bag right now, waiting for Walker to show up to collect it.

  “Park over here,” Walker directed, and I pulled myself together to guide the Volvo to a stop on the side of the road a few yards down from the entrance to the Greenway.

  I turned off the engine. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait.” He made himself comfortable in the seat. And he seemed to notice that he was holding the gun, because he firmed his grip on it.

  “Can I wait outside?” I asked.

  He squinted at me. “Why?”

  “I’d just like some fresh air.” It was true. The air inside the car had an uncomfortable scent of fear. I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was me or Walker, and I didn’t want to take a discreet sniff of either of us.

  He glanced around. The place was deserted. Not a soul in sight. Just trees, the overgrown ribbon of blacktop that was the beginning of the Greenway trail, and the murky Cumberland River down at the end of the street. And then he looked at me, in my high heeled pumps and my flouncy skirt. And I guess he must have decided that the chances of me trying to run off into the brush—run off anywhere at all, really—were slim.

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “Thank you.” It just slipped out, I swear. He had abducted me, pretty much, and planned to kill me. I didn’t really owe him thanks. But that’s the drawback of having been brought up well.

  I opened the door and got out. And felt better once I’d closed it between us.

  Closing my hand over the pepper spray in my pocket, I started to edge around the car, toward the trees and brush, and the ditch that separated me from them.

  Walker was right. In a flouncy skirt and three inch heels, I wouldn’t normally consider pushing through the wilderness that surrounds the wetlands. I’d ruin my skirt and my shoes, not to mention that it would be uncomfortable. I’d get scratched, and my feet would bleed, and branches would hit me in the face. But getting shot would be worse. I’ve been shot once, and it hurt.

  Being shot and having it not hurt, because I was dead, held even less appeal.

  So I crept carefully around the car, trying not to look like I was planning anything, but simply like I was stretching my legs. And when a bicycle appeared at the entrance to the Greenway, with a man on it, I launched myself across the ditch and into the trees.

  The man on the bike yelled. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him—not good enough to recognize him—but I figured it had to be Garth Hanson, and I figured his appearance would distract Walker for a crucial second or two. As I pushed my way into the trees, feeling branches drag at my clothing and hair and scratching my legs, I waited for the sound of the shot from Walker’s gun.

  But he was inside the car, and it must have taken a few moments for the window to roll down. Either that, or he’d decided to open the door before he took aim. Whichever the reason, the shot came later than I expected, and it went wide.

  It was still pretty scary, though. I could hear the sound of the bullet whistle past, tearing through leaves and branches, before it embedded itself in a tree trunk with a meaty thunk. I froze for a second, crouching. And that’s when a body came crashing through the brush after me. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me up and around.

  I screamed, even as I went with the movement, bringing the pepper spray out of my pocket as I rose. I was already spraying by the time I recognized Garth Hanson’s face, teeth bared and snarling.

  The spray caught him dead in the face, and it was his turn to scream. He let go of me to claw at his eyes. I darted off again, just as another bullet tore through the trees a few feet away. If Walker wasn’t careful, he’d shoot Garth by mistake.

  The vegetation surrounding the Greenway path was dense, and the ground soggy from recent rains and the little bit of snow we’d had this winter. I had to push my way through brambles and vines that scratched my hands and face, my feet sinking into ice cold puddles that dotted my legs with dirty water. In less than a minute, my toes were
numb.

  Another shot went wide, but close enough to scare me. I hesitated for a second, heart beating fast. I was making too much noise. Walker could hear where I was by the sounds I made making my way through the brush. But if I slowed down in an effort to make less noise, I was afraid Garth Hanson would catch up to me.

  There was a sound to my right. A soft plop of water, as if someone was approaching stealthily, trying not to be heard, but who had accidentally stepped in a puddle.

  I swung in the other direction, my heart thudding so hard my chest hurt, and took off running. Only to stop a second later, when I slammed into a hard, male body.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My body recognized him before my mind did. The feel of him, the smell, the way his hands fit on my arms. And there was no mistaking that husky drawl. “Shhhh. I got you.”

  I sagged against him, the hand with the pepper spray falling to my side. “You have no idea how close you came to being pepper sprayed,” I informed his shoulder, reassuringly warm and solid beneath my forehead.

  “I figure about two seconds.”

  In spite of the dire situation, there was amusement in his voice. He slipped his hand down my arm and took the lipstick cylinder out of my now-limp fingers. He slipped it into his pocket, before taking my hand and tugging. I found the wherewithal to lift my head from his shoulder and follow. I even found myself issuing a warning.

  “We have to be quiet so they don’t hear us.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rafe said over his shoulder, “Tammy’s got’em.”

  “Really?”

  “The cops were right behind me. I figure by now they’ve got the situation under control.”

  Perhaps. There were no more shots, anyway, and no one was crashing through the brush after us.

  As soon as we reached the bicycle path, he swung me up in his arms. “What happened to your shoes?”

  “I kicked them off,” I said. “To make it easier to run.”

  He nodded. “Skirt’s ruined.”

  It was. It had a totally unintended slit all the way up the side of my thigh practically to the hip. Rafe didn’t seem to mind, though. His lips curved. “That’s a damn shame. But I’m enjoying the view.”

  I didn’t bother to chastise him. I didn’t even bother to blush. My feet were too cold to work the blood up to my face. Instead I just looped my arms around his neck and hung on.

  My mad dash through the brush hadn’t taken me all that far, so it was just a few minutes before we emerged from the path out into the road again. The scene that greeted us was very different from the one I’d left behind.

  In the few minutes I’d been gone, a half dozen police cars had poured into the cul-de-sac, followed by Tamara Grimaldi in her unmarked Buick. They were surrounding my poor Volvo in a starburst pattern. Garth Hanson was facedown on the pavement, while a police officer—young George Truman, I realized—was cuffing his hands behind his back. Walker, meanwhile, was already in the back of one of the cruisers. I could see the outline of his head through the glass, but I couldn’t see his expression. It wasn’t necessary. I had a feeling that this time, he’d be less conciliatory if I went to visit him in prison.

  Not that I had any plans—or any reason—to. If I never saw Walker again, it wouldn’t be too soon.

  Tim’s car was also there, with Tim behind the wheel, looking limp and wrung out. When he saw us coming out of the trees, he perked up, though. The relief on his face was heart-warming. I even forgave him for the way his gaze lingered on Rafe a lot longer than it did on me.

  “She OK?” Grimaldi asked.

  Rafe nodded. “Just scratched up. She left her shoes behind when she ran.”

  “We got them.” Grimaldi nodded to where my pumps were lined up by the side of the road, looking none the worse for wear. I wiggled.

  “Just hang on,” Rafe said. “I’ll get you there.”

  “I’m too heavy,” I said.

  Rafe looked at me and arched a brow. Didn’t say anything until I stopped squirming. “I said I’d get you there. Just hang on.”

  Fine. I hung on, even though I felt stupid being held like a child while other people were standing on their own two feet. It wasn’t like it would hurt me—or hurt any more than I’d already been hurt—to cross the few yards of blacktop to slide my feet into the shoes.

  But he wanted to hold me, so I let him. I listened while he and Grimaldi exchanged details about the op. They’d caught both Walker and Garth Hanson, which I’d already realized. Walker had shot at the police cars (as well as at me) so when he went back to prison, it would be with a few more attempted murder charges tacked onto the murders he was already in prison for. He didn’t stand a chance of getting out again for the rest of his natural life. Unless, of course, he managed to arrange for another escape, but after this, I imagined the authorities would make it rather more difficult for him to do so.

  “You two can go,” Grimaldi told us.

  “Don’t you want a statement?”

  She shrugged. “You can tell me what happened if you want to, but I have a pretty good idea. I imagine he was in your apartment when you came home?”

  I nodded.

  “He had a gun, and he made you call Mr. Briggs.”

  I nodded.

  “I overheard his part of the conversation. You did a good job, getting him to repeat as much as possible.”

  “Thank you. I did my best.”

  “We were on him as soon as he entered the park. And followed him all the way here. Meanwhile, as soon as I heard what was going on, I called your boyfriend. He was close enough to pick up yours and Mr. Lamont’s trail from the apartment.”

  I nodded. “I saw him.” I caught Rafe’s eye and added, “You. I saw you behind us when we were on our way up Gallatin Road. Or at least I hoped it was you.”

  The arms holding me tightened. “I was worried about you for a few minutes there, darlin’.”

  I’d been worried myself. I remembered thinking that if it was Rafe behind me, at least I’d get to see him again before I died. But I decided it was probably best not to say anything about that. “He wasn’t going to shoot me while I was driving the car. We’d crash if he did. And once we got here, I got away from him.”

  He nodded, but there was still shadows in his eyes.

  “Mr. Collier parked a block away and went through the woods,” Grimaldi continued, “while the rest of us were following Mr. Briggs. When we heard the shots, we moved in.”

  “And got them both.”

  She nodded. “It’s all over. They’re both headed back to jail.”

  “I don’t envy Mr. Hanson. That can’t be much fun for him.”

  “He’s already trying to work a deal,” Grimaldi said, with a heavy layer of disgust in her voice. “He’ll tell us everything we want to know and plead guilty to everything as long as we get him berth somewhere other than Riverbend.”

  “Will he get it?”

  She nodded. “Sending him there is like signing his death warrant. To keep him alive, we’ll have to incarcerate him somewhere else. But he’ll still be behind bars for a very long time. You don’t have to worry about him.”

  I wasn’t worried about him. I wasn’t even worried about Walker. Hopefully the TDOC would be able to hang on to him next time, and I wouldn’t ever have to see him again.

  “Can we go get my shoes now?”

  Grimaldi nodded. Rafe took me over to where my shoes were parked. Truman was putting Garth Hanson into the back of a second cruiser, and Hanson looked up as we passed by. His eyes were red and puffy, but cold as ice. Truman put a hand on his head and shoved him inside.

  I fought back a shiver. There was no doubt in my mind that if I hadn’t sprayed him with pepper spray when he caught up to me in the woods, I’d be dead.

  And then the door closed, and I couldn’t see his face anymore.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” I said, hanging on to Rafe’s arm while I carefully inserted my toes back into the shoes. They felt har
d and uncomfortable on my battered feet.

  He nodded. “Me, too.”

  “Can we go home? My feet hurt.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see if one of Tammy’s minions can drive my bike back.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’m capable of driving myself home. Go get your bike and I’ll meet you there.”

  He squinted at me. “You sure?”

  “Of course. Don’t turn into Todd.” Although if he wanted to worship me when we got home, that’d be just fine.

  He must have seen the thought in my eyes, because he grinned. “I’ll see you there, darlin’.”

  I told him he would, and then I made my slow and painful way toward the Volvo.

  When I got even with Tim’s car, I slowed down. Grimaldi was standing there, telling him to put the money back into the bank, where he’d gotten it. “You can go home, Mr. Briggs. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “Rafe’s leaving,” I told her. “So am I, if you don’t need me for anything.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks for your help, Ms. Martin.”

  “Thank you for yours. You got here just in time.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

  “Me, too.” I turned to Tim. “You all right?”

  He nodded. And shuddered. “Scary.”

  It had been. But it was over now. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and hobbled the rest of the way to my car.

  Rafe was waiting for me at the curb outside the condo, and despite my protests, insisted on carrying me across the courtyard and up the stairs. We stopped in front of the door. “Key?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He didn’t put me down, so I had to insert the key and turn the knob from a hanging position. He stepped through. “Lock it.”

  “You can put me down now.”

  “In a minute. Lock the door.”