“So much for our date.” Pam gave him a wry smile.
Jack squeezed the back of her neck. “We’ll take a rain check.”
They seemed in good spirits—in a giddy aftershock mode, Jack imagined. The manager had given the girls Hershey bars, and Margaret and Pam sipped bottled waters and talked over each other as they explained what had happened.
Jack was floored when he heard it was Granger who had courageously diffused the situation.
“If it hadn’t been for Granger, that maniac would’ve gotten away, and taken me with him,” Margaret said. “I just can’t believe it. I owe him my life—yet, I wanted them to take his.” She dropped her head. “I don’t know what’s what anymore. Life doesn’t make sense.”
Pam nodded and looked at Jack. “He took the guy down. It was amazing. Who knows what he would have done?”
“Where is Granger now?” Jack said.
“In there.” Pam nodded to the room next to theirs. “Police are talking to him.”
Jack cursed himself for not talking with Granger sooner; now it was going to look like he was forgiving him based on his heroics.
“How’s the guy who got shot?” Jack said.
“Going to be fine,” Pam said. “They got him out of here fast.”
“They’re still after the driver,” Margaret said. “I gave them a full description of him, and the van.” She pointed at Pam. “I told you that guy looked suspicious.”
Pam nodded. “Everyone looks suspicious to you.”
They all chuckled.
“I guess I’m just a senile old woman.”
“You are not a senile old woman,” Rebecca spoke up.
“Well, thank you, pumpkin.”
Jack stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Pam nodded. “We’ve told the police everything, so we can go.”
“Okay, give me a minute.”
Jack took in a deep breath and peeked into the room around the corner. There sat Granger, in a chair in the corner of an empty white room, as big and real as ever. Jack pulled back and stood around the corner a second longer, composing his thoughts.
Now or never.
His heart beat hard and strong as he knocked and stepped into the doorway. “Granger,” he said with a nod.
“Jack.” Granger sat very still, clutching a big winter coat in his lap. He looked older but was still a towering guy with short, messy red hair and ruddy cheeks.
“Do you have a second?”
Granger’s red eyebrows went up and down. “He said he’d be right back. That was ten minutes ago.”
Jack pulled up the other free chair and sat, facing Granger.
“You apologized, and I’m sorry I didn’t accept it.” Jack looked him square in his tiny eyes.
“It’s not a problem,” Granger said. “I don’t blame you.”
“My unforgiveness has been wrong; it’s been poisoning me.”
Granger gave a simple nod.
The moment was silent and awkward. Jack hated the man; that hadn’t changed. But he had to let it go, for many reasons.
“I accept your apology.”
Granger nodded again. “Cool.”
“Thanks for what you did here tonight.”
Granger shrugged. “God had me here, that’s all …”
Jack contemplated Granger’s words for what seemed like a minute. He debated what else he should say. Then he stood and stuck out a hand. “Good luck.”
Granger’s body straightened. He stared at the hand, gripped it, and looked up at Jack. “Thank you. You, too.”
Jack left the room, Granger Meade, and a thousand regrets behind him.
Chapter 35
Derrick’s back burned intensely from the heat of the car bomb as he got Amy to her feet and eased her into the front seat of the SUV. She gasped from the pain. He was totally unprepared for this kind of insanity and apologized for having no blanket or anything to put on Amy’s bleeding back.
“Don’t worry.” Her head bobbed. “Just get us out of here.”
He buckled her in, slammed the door, and sprinted around to his side.
Throwing it into reverse, he whizzed the Toyota backward up the ramp some forty feet, swung around, and headed for the exit.
Amy slumped low in the seat.
“You okay?” he said, out of breath.
She nodded. Her eyes were enormous, her face ashen.
“I’ll get you some water once we get clear of here, okay?”
She simply waved her hand. “Go, go.”
In his rearview Derrick saw a dark red sedan with black windows lurch out of its parking space just seconds after they passed it.
“Shoot. We got someone on our tail. I knew it.”
Amy whimpered.
Derrick’s whole body shook. His hands were numb.
He couldn’t see inside the car behind him, but it was menacingly close to his rear bumper.
“Here.” He handed his phone to Amy. “Call 911.”
She didn’t hesitate.
They got to the exit of the parking garage and stopped at the cashier.
Derrick dug out a ten and handed it to the older Asian woman in the booth. “Please, call the police,” he said. “The car behind us … they’re trying to kill us. Please, get their tag number, call the police.”
Derrick wondered if she’d understood what he said. She was still holding the bill, staring at him, looking at the car behind them. Its engine roared.
“Keep the change. Please, just let us out.”
The gate went up.
“Call the police!” Derrick hit the gas and bounced out onto the city street.
Before the gate closed, the dark sedan shot through, bouncing onto the street right behind him.
“Here.” Amy stuffed the phone back in Derrick’s hand. “Go … talk!”
“Hello?”
“Is this an emergency, sir?”
Derrick checked a street sign. The red sedan was approaching fast on his left.
“Yes, yes. We are in a Toyota FJ Cruiser, maroon, heading up East Long Street toward I-71 North.”
The car was directly beside them now. Its windows were black, but Derrick was certain the person inside could see him on the phone.
“They just blew up my friend’s car in the parking deck … on East High Street and North Long. Now they’re following us.”
Crunch.
Derrick gasped and fought to keep the SUV on the road as the red car smashed into them. It was riding right there, meshed with his car!
This cannot be happening.
He floored it, jerking his wheel to the right. The other car broke away, veering back into its lane. But it must’ve had a monstrous engine, because it kept up with him without hesitation.
Amy had retrieved the phone and handed it back to him.
“I’m getting on I-71 North, then 161 east,” he told the operator. “Please, send officers. Hurry!”
“Is anyone with you, sir?” The tension in the operator’s voice had ratcheted.
“One person, a woman.”
“Who is driving the other car, and what is the make and model?”
“I can’t see in. It’s a dark red sedan, the windows are black. BMW … it’s a BMW.”
“What is your tag number, please, sir?”
“Shoot, I don’t even know. Look, I’m a reporter with the Trenton City Dispatch. The Trenton City PD knows all about this—Officer Dennis DeVry.”
Derrick’s car got rammed so hard, Amy’s feather-light frame slammed into the door. She groaned as Derrick swerved, banging onto the sidewalk and ramming a trash can and bench before he could maneuver the SUV back onto the street.
Amy’s eyes were scrunched closed, and she was biting her bottom lip.
The other car was weaving, as if playing cat and mouse.
That’s it.
Derrick checked his rearview, saw no one, and told Amy to hang on. He jammed on his brakes and screeched sideways to a halt, facing the other lane. Amy grunted. The red car flew past by about thirty feet before skidding to a stop, then squealed backward, tires smoking.
“Hold on, we’re gonna ram him.”
Amy cried, “You’ll kill us!”
“Just hold on!”
As Derrick had hoped, the BMW barreled straight backward, and, when it got equal with the front of Derrick’s SUV, Derrick locked his hands to the steering wheel, braced his arms straight out, and floored it. He didn’t take his eyes off the BMW’s right front quarter panel until he smashed it to smithereens.
“Take that, bad boy.”
The BMW spun in the opposite direction.
Amy moaned.
Derrick whipped his car right, scraped a lamppost, and got it back on track. When he checked his rearview, the BMW was turning around slowly, steam rising from beneath its hood.
“We’re going home,” he said. “No matter what it takes.”
* * *
“Pam, hold up,” Jack called at the exit of Farley’s.
Pamela had bundled Rebecca and Faye up and was about to head for her car, Margaret in tow.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said. “You are coming home … ?”
Jack approached her. “Hon, listen, this Demler-Vargus thing is getting really dangerous. I had an interview over there today. They know how much I know. There’s a lot going on right now that I haven’t even had a chance to tell you.”
“Well, we can talk about it at home. The girls are wiped out, and so is Mom. We’re ready to call it a night.”
“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was thinking maybe we should get a hotel room—just for tonight.”
Pamela tilted her head and glared at him. “What do you know that you haven’t told me?”
“For one, Spivey Brinkman is dead. They found him hanged today.”
Pamela’s head whirled. Her earlier anticipation about the date with Jack seemed a million miles away.
“Amy Sheets is being followed. Derrick’s in Columbus now, trying to get her to go on record about Demler-Vargus’s crimes.”
Jack’s phone rang, and Pamela’s heart rate climbed with the sound of it. “A hotel’s going to scare the girls, not to mention my mom,” she said.
He looked at his phone. “It’s DeVry. Let me grab this.”
Jack answered, then listened. “You. Are. Kidding me.” He arched his shoulders and looked straight up.
Pamela’s anxiety intensified.
“Are they okay?” Jack said. “Is that the last you heard?” He nodded and asked Dennis to hold on. “Derrick and Amy are being chased,” he told Pamela. “They got run off the road on the way out of Columbus. They’re trying to get back here.”
“I’m back.” Jack listened again. “Okay. When are you going to be there?”
Jack looked at his watch, then eyed Pamela. “Tell you what, I’ll meet you there. Then my family and I need to decide what we’re going to do for the night.”
Pamela was numb.
Jack hung up. “Dennis is heading to Randalls’ place right now. They’re supposed to meet with Demler-Vargus tomorrow for a settlement. Dennis wants to wire them and do a sting operation.”
Pamela dropped her head. She was beyond overload.
“You follow me to the Randalls’ place, and we’ll decide what to do from there.”
“Jack, I am not taking the girls and my mom to the Randalls’ at this time of night! They’ve been through enough!”
“Believe me, it’s the safest place in town right now—”
“If we have to go, we’ll wait in my car.”
“Okay, fine. I’m just trying to do what’s best for everybody.”
“I know. I just don’t want to upset the girls anymore.”
Jack nodded. “I understand. Look, follow me over there. I’ll run in and get DeVry’s advice on what we should do.”
“Fine.” Pamela just gave in. “Mom … girls, let’s go.” She looked at Jack. “I don’t know how to get there, so go slow.”
“I will. Come on, I’ll get you guys in the car.” Jack reached for Pamela’s hand. “We are going on that date. Soon—I promise.”
She sighed and did her best to manage a smile.
But she was not smiling on the inside.
On the inside, she was doing her best just to breathe—and keep going.
Chapter 36
Derrick’s left headlight wasn’t working, and he was quite certain the left front of his car was badly smashed, but those were the least of his worries. His main concern was the single headlight several hundred yards back. After the fray in Columbus and maneuvering on and off several different highways, he’d lost track of the BMW and couldn’t tell if that was it back there or not.
Derrick’s right headlight lit up snowflakes and a long, black stretch of Interstate 161, which would get them back to Trenton City within thirty minutes. He’d seen no cops or flashing lights—maybe because he had gone outside of the Columbus police district? If that was the BMW back there, why weren’t they coming after Derrick and Amy with all they had?
What are they waiting for?
Amy was sitting up and looking dead ahead with glassy eyes and crossed arms.
Tension filled the car.
“You holding up okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Warm enough?”
“Yes.”
“In much pain?”
“I’ll live.”
It was a weeknight in the dead of winter. There weren’t many cars on the road. Derrick glanced into the backseat and felt around inside his leather shoulder bag until he found his tape recorder.
He checked the rearview. The single headlight remained way back.
“If they’re back there, why aren’t they coming?” Amy said.
“They’re either going to follow us right into town, or that’s not them.”
She noticed the mini recorder, looked out her window, and rubbed hard at her forehead with the palm of her left hand.
“If it is them, where will we go when we get to Trenton City?” she said. “I have no place to go.”
“I’ll call Jack. He was either going to a hotel or to Randalls’ place. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re safe. We need to get you to a hospital or a doc-in-the-box, or something.”
“I’ll be fine. What’s with the recorder?”
They made eye contact.
“I want you to tell me all you know about Demler-Vargus.” He held it out to her, but she didn’t move.
Some thirty seconds passed.
She looked down at it and snatched it, wincing as she did. “How do you turn this sucker on?”
* * *
“Brrr. It’s gonna get into the teens tonight for sure.” Travis stomped the snow onto the rug in the kitchen and shut the door behind Claire. He was trying to keep things light, knowing she was worried about Spivey’s girls.
“I’m calling over there again.” She handed Travis her coat, kicked her shoes off, and walked in her stocking feet for the phone.
“Honey, they ain’t there,” Travis said. “There’s a million places they could be after losing their daddy.”
“Something’s not right,” Claire said.
“They’re probably mourning with relatives somewhere in town.” Travis hung their coats.
“But all the lights are on. There are cars there …”
“We don’t know which cars belong to who. I’m sure they’re with family. Now don’t get all
worked up.”
Travis stopped in his tracks when he got to the TV room.
Big old, bandaged-faced Ralston Coon was nodding at him from the couch, bulky briefcase on the coffee table in front of him.
“Well, looky what the cat drug in,” Travis said. “I do believe that face of yours is looking worse.”
“Travis.” Coon nodded. He was not smiling.
“Man, that was one heck of a fall.”
The lawyer didn’t reply.
Claire came in from the kitchen. “All I get is the answering machine.”
“Leave a message and be done with it,” LJ said.
Bo was still on the floor, polishing the guns with an oily rag.
Coon’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, read for a second, and began texting, one letter at a time with his chubby index finger.
The house still smelled like sausage. The fire was burning steady.
Coon set the phone down. “You boys look like you’re loaded for bear.”
He chuckled, but Travis could tell he wasn’t happy.
“We need to talk, gentlemen.” Coon looked twice at Claire. “And ladies.”
The dog barked out back.
“Mr. Coon, we’re not going to meet with those crooks tomorrow, if that’s what tree you’re barkin’ up.” Daddy was sprawled out on the recliner in his pajamas, blue robe, and ratty old corduroy slippers, which were almost worn through on the bottoms.
“Now, now, Galen, I need you to hear me out on this.” Coon stood. Rusty was howling outside. “You gentlemen have an opportunity before you that will never come your way again, I promise you—”
Travis went through the kitchen, turned the overhead light off, and peered out the back door. One, two, three sets of headlights lit up the snow falling in the parking lot. His heart slammed into his rib cage.
“Git the guns, boys. We got company!”
* * *
Jack swung his car into the Randalls’ parking lot, and Pam pulled in right behind him. They parked side by side. Jack got out and hustled over to her car, careful not to slip on the snowy pavement. She rolled the window down and looked up at Jack with tired eyes and a deflated expression that said she was at the end of her rope. Margaret sat beside her and the girls in back; their eyes were open wide, as if in a trance, and they wore blank expressions.
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