He eyed that patrol car again. Who knew when Jamansky would disappear on him again?
A few regular-looking citizens strolled down the sidewalk toward the township office. He backed out of sight until they were safely inside, and then he dashed across the street. Making a wide, careful circle around the offices, he ended up on the far side of Jamansky’s vehicle.
Crouching low, he opened the driver’s side door and popped the trunk. The trunk was dark and stuffy. Sadly, Greg already knew that he would fit inside.
Checking the precinct one last time, he hoisted himself inside and shut the trunk.
forty-seven
GREG SLEPT OFF AND ON over the next few hours. The heat in the trunk was unbearable, the smell of his own sweat, even worse, but as the day progressed, the heat abated, his nose acclimated, and he did his best to sleep out Jamansky’s shift. A few times he heard voices and cars coming and going, but they were never David Jamansky.
Finally, he woke with a start, hearing footsteps approaching. Voices accompanied the footsteps. A car door opened, and the voices amplified as two men got in. Jamansky was in the middle of a conversation with another man, a voice Greg vaguely recognized. If Jamansky decided to throw something in his trunk, Greg was a dead man. But Jamansky got in front, continuing the conversation.
Two car doors shut.
As the engine started up and the car began moving, Greg tried to track the movements. Reverse. Left. Left. Straight for a while, speeding up. He’d never used conventional roads to get to Shelton, and it didn’t take long for him to feel lost, which would make finding his way back home interesting. Hopefully, he would have Carrie to help him by then.
No, not hopefully.
This time he wouldn’t return home without her.
The conversation in the front seat faded in and out of coherency. Lying on the dark, itchy trunk’s interior, Greg only caught about half of what the men were saying. Mostly it sounded like two guys shooting the breeze. The one guy invited Jamansky over for drinks after work, but Jamansky turned him down. After another minute, the other guy said something that made Greg’s ears perk up.
“How long are you going to hole up with this new girl of yours?”
There was a long pause in which Jamansky must have responded nonverbally because the other guy spoke again.
“What?” the guy said. “You disappear for a few days, keep your curtains drawn, and act all secretive. Sorry, boss, but I caught a glimpse of her last night.”
Jamansky swore softly.
So did Greg.
Jamansky was keeping Carrie at his house.
Greg scooted closer to the seats, trying to press his ear against them.
“So who is she?” the guy asked.
“None of your business,” Jamansky said.
The other guy laughed.
Greg jolted, suddenly placing the voice. It was the dark laugh of a big man. Giordano. Obviously, Giordano hadn’t seen Carrie that well at Jamansky’s house, or he would have recognized her as the woman he’d arrested.
“So, where did you meet this new lady friend?” Giordano asked.
“South Elgin,” Jamansky said.
“And she’s already moved in with you? That’s...fun.”
“She hasn’t moved in—not officially yet. I’m just helping her out with something. She’s in a bind. Although…” A sudden smile entered Jamansky’s voice. “She’s definitely showing her gratitude. I had to fight her off me this morning just to get to work on time.”
Giordano laughed another booming laugh. “Nice. Don’t worry, chief. I’ll keep this between the two of us. I’d hate for Ashlee to find out when she gets back from vacation.”
Jamansky’s voice lowered again, so Greg didn’t catch exactly what he said, but it sounded like something about how Ashlee could jump off a cliff for all he cared.
A few more turns, and the car pulled to a stop.
“Bring this new girl over tonight,” Giordano said. “I want to meet her.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because you arrested her! Greg wanted to yell through the trunk. Apparently, Jamansky lied even to his own coworkers, too.
“Because she and I have better things to be doing than hanging out with you,” Jamansky said.
The way he said it made Greg’s stomach turn.
Another laugh. “I’ll bet. Well, enjoy.”
A door opened, and the big patrolman got out. Then Jamansky backed out of the driveway.
Like Greg had wanted for a long time, he was suddenly alone with the lying, violent, murdering David Jamansky. But instead of planning how to maim the guy, all Greg could think about was where Jamansky would go next.
His house.
Carrie.
Greg had no idea what condition he would find her in. What had prison done to her? What had Jamansky done to her? Would she even speak to Greg after all she’d been through, all he could have prevented? Even if she didn’t blame him, she should.
A minute later the car rolled to a stop. Greg heard the soft hum of a garage door opener. Jamansky pulled in and shut off the engine, and then the same sound of a garage door closed behind them, locking the two of them inside.
Greg’s heart rate spiked. Carrie was yards, if not feet, from him. Freckled face, golden hair, and big blue eyes. He’d finally found her.
A sound broke through the garage, distinct and disturbing.
Barking.
Dogs.
That was the last thing he needed right now—especially those dogs. Or so he thought.
Jamansky spoke three words, and three words only, but it was enough to make Greg sick.
“Honey…” Jamansky sang out softly, “I’m home.”
With a dark chuckle, the patrol chief got out. A door opened, a door closed, and Greg was left alone in the hot, dark trunk.
forty-eight
GREG SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY. Carrie was free and alive. Whatever damage had been done in prison, slashes or bruises, physical or emotional, was hopefully on its way to healing. But he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. The next ten minutes could make or break him—maybe even kill him if Jamansky had anything to do with it.
Feeling around, he found the safety latch and opened the trunk.
He pushed himself up to sitting and, for a few seconds, just looked around. Jamansky’s garage was plenty big, but it was stuffed with junk, some piled as high as the ceiling. Blankets. Bikes. Tarps. Even a couch. The clan’s stuff was probably buried somewhere in there, like Carrie’s porcelain keepsake and Zach’s baseball. As if Greg needed another reason to loathe the man.
He forced himself to focus on what mattered. Jamansky had disappeared inside a door that probably led to a mudroom or kitchen. Greg needed a different door, preferably one that wouldn’t get him shot or attacked by dogs, but there were too many piles of junk to see around.
Carefully, he climbed out of the car’s trunk and started searching. Silently, he moved boxes aside to try to find another way out.
His foot caught on something. He tripped. Not bad. Not enough to go down. But enough to alert the dogs.
Barking erupted on the other side of the door to the house, loud and furious.
Greg dropped to the cement. His pulse thundered. He hid behind the car, searching for a weapon. A shovel sat a few feet off. It would have to do. He waited, trying to hold his breath.
More barking. Could those dogs tell it was him in the garage? They hated him.
He braced himself for Jamansky to inspect, but instead, Jamansky yelled at them to shut up.
The dogs kept barking.
Greg heard footsteps storm through the house, as furious as the barking. Panicked, he slid to the side and grabbed the shovel. If he attacked first, he would have a fighting chance. He just had to down Jamansky before Jamansky got his gun.
But instead of the door opening, the dogs quieted down. Then the garage fell silent.
Frozen, Greg waited several minutes to be sure
. Then he started searching again, deciding he definitely needed a different door to escape out.
Even more slowly, he moved the piles of junk, box by box. With some digging, he found a side door that seemed to lead to the side yard—which would give him a chance to get his bearings. With the same maddening precision that helped him break into Kearney’s group, Greg kept moving things, putting them back as he passed, until he was able to squeeze out that side door.
It was early evening when he emerged on the side of Jamansky’s house. The yard had minimal landscaping which meant no bushes to hide behind. Crouched low again, he scanned the area. The next home was twenty feet away, also with little landscaping. Same with the one across the street. He’d landed himself in the middle of patrolmen heaven. Thankfully, the identical homes didn’t have any windows on the sides, but he couldn’t stay in his spot for long.
The dogs complicated everything.
Even if he could nab Carrie, they couldn’t make a run for it without the beasts pursuing. Dogs could easily outrun them. And maybe that was the point, an easy way for Jamansky to lock her in.
Desperate, he crept along the dirt beds until he reached the corner of the house. Jamansky’s backyard looked small, but it backed up against a thick row of trees. Two bushes sat next to the house, waist-high, on either side of a small cement patio. In between them, a full-length, sliding glass door that led—hopefully—to the woman he loved.
Ducking low to escape a kitchen window, he ambled over to the first bush. Not a perfect cover, but good enough.
His mind was a torrent. Carrie. She was in there somewhere. And if she was in less-than-pristine condition, things were going to get ugly. Fast.
With a quick breath, he leaned sideways to peer through the sliding glass door.
Zach.
That was the first thing Greg saw. It was enough to startle him back to his hiding spot. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle any sound that could alert the dogs.
Zach was there. The kid’s scrawny, bony body stood five feet from the glass door, complete with Carrie-colored rooster-tails sticking up in every direction. Carrie’s brother stood next to a kitchen table with his back to the glass, blocking the view of anything else.
Greg strained to listen, picking up light conversation inside. The voices were soft, unrecognizable, and definitely not Carrie’s. Nor Jamansky’s. The voices erupted into brief but forced laughter. Zach laughed, too.
The kid was watching TV.
Moving out of the bush, Greg stole another peek. Zach looked to be in no worse condition than when Greg had last seen him. That was good. The kid was okay—at least physically. Then Zach shifted, and in an instant, he was forgotten.
Greg saw her.
Carrie sat on a black couch beyond the kitchen, watching the same show Zach was. Though the front curtains were drawn, Greg could still make out her delicate profile in the muted light, the soft waves of her hair. His heart stilled at the sight of her. She looked great. Amazing even. Not the deformed, broken image he had conjured up for her. The urge to hold her, to envelope her in a crushing hug, overwhelmed him.
He fell back against the siding. Carrie was happy. She was in Jamansky’s house and she was happy.
Why?
“Hey, Carrie,” he heard Jamansky call. “Want a drink?”
Unable to restrain himself, Greg leaned back around and glared inside. Zach left the kitchen and joined Carrie on the couch. Unfortunately, so did Jamansky. Luckily Zach nabbed the spot next to her. That left the tall patrolman to sit on the far end of the couch, loosening the beige tie around his neck.
As they all watched their show, Greg watched them. The longing kept him paralyzed. He wanted nothing more than to break down the door and take out Jamansky and his dogs. But something didn’t make sense. That Jamansky, of all people on earth, should be the one enjoying a nice evening with Carrie, just the three of them, killed Greg. But there were only three. Not four.
Curious, he searched what he could of the small home, but he couldn’t see Amber anywhere.
Jamansky suddenly leaned forward far enough to spot Greg. Greg ducked back against the white siding.
“Are you ready for that movie, Zach?” Jamansky said. “You’re going to love Batman.”
“Sure!” Zach said excitedly.
Then it came.
Carrie’s soft voice floated through the glass. “Isn’t that movie kind of intense, David? Zach hasn’t watched anything since he was little, and those were kid shows.”
“Naw. Zach’s a man now,” Jamansky said. “Hey, Zach, be a man and grab us some popcorn. It’s next to the fridge.”
As Zach walked into the kitchen, Greg saw his chance. Unfortunately, so did Jamansky. The patrol chief slid across the leather couch and slung an arm up on the back of the couch—not exactly around Carrie’s shoulders, but one step away from it. That left Greg two options: tap on the glass to get Zach’s attention or break through the glass and rip off Jamansky’s arms.
Zach stopped, suddenly spotting Greg outside. His blue eyes went huge.
Greg pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh!” he begged.
The smile that lit Zach’s freckled face was enough to give anybody hope. The kid turned and called, “Can I go out onto the patio for a minute, David?”
“No problem,” Jamansky said, easing closer to Carrie. “Take your time.”
Greg was momentarily tempted to change his mind—rip off Jamansky’s arms—but then Zach unlocked the door and yanked it open.
“Greg!” Zach called in an excited whisper.
Before the kid could blow his cover, Greg snagged his arm and dragged him behind the bush, out of sight. Once they were clear, Zach started jumping up and down.
“Greg, you’re here! I can’t believe you’re—”
Greg threw a hand over the kid’s mouth. “You wanna get me killed?”
Zach peeled his hand away. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.
“First, where are the dogs?” Greg asked.
“David locked them in his laundry room because they wouldn’t stop barking.”
Greg exhaled. “Good. Make sure he keeps them there no matter what.”
“Right, right,” Zach said, still bouncing. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doin’ here?” Greg couldn’t keep the bite from his tone. “Why are you and Carrie here? Of all the awful places on earth, why here?”
“David got me out yesterday. He got Carrie out before that.” Zach’s freckled face wrinkled in confusion. “Wait. How did you get out?”
Greg took in the state of Zach’s skin. Sunburned, peeling, with scratches and red spots on his arms. A small white bandage covered each of his palms. The kid wasn’t as okay as Greg had originally thought.
“Are you alright?” Greg asked.
Zach shrugged. “They didn’t saw my ankle in half, so that’s good.”
Whatever that meant.
“What about Amber?” Greg asked.
“David is getting her out tomorrow, but how did you get free?”
Tomorrow.
Greg digested that. All three Ashworths would be free by tomorrow. Was it possible Jamansky would keep his word? Was he keeping them here until the exchange with Greg?
Frowning, he stared down at the grass. He could wait one more day for Amber, then swipe the three of them. No negotiations. No testifying against Oliver. They’d just disappear from here.
“Did you break out of prison?” Zach asked. “Oh, man, did you climb the fence to get out? Was it a barbed-wire one, or was it electric?” His eyes widened to the size of baseballs. “Did you shoot a prison guard? Did you kill someone to get free?”
Greg grabbed his shoulders. “What the heck are you talkin’ about? Get out of where?”
“Prison. Did David get you out, too? But why didn’t David tell us if he did? Oh, wait, it’s a surprise, right? You’re going to surprise Carrie? That’s it.”
Zach’s mouth was going faster
than Greg could keep up. Greg threw a hand over his mouth.
“Shhh! I wasn’t in prison, Zach.”
Zach shook free. “Yes, you were,” he whispered urgently. “David told us you were arrested just like Carrie was.”
“Arrested?” The implications dawned on Greg. Jamansky told Carrie he’d been taken. Why? So she wouldn’t go looking for him? So when she went home she wouldn’t want to stay?
What other lies had Jamansky fed her?
The realization hit him full force. Jamansky wasn’t planning on returning Carrie. Not if he’d lied about Greg’s whereabouts. There would be no exchange. So what was he planning instead?
Jamansky. Jamansky! JAMANSKY!
“Man,” Zach whispered, still hyper. “Carrie’s gonna flip out when she finds out you’re free. Can I tell her? I’ll go right now.”
Greg couldn’t answer. He ached so badly to see her, to feel the warmth of her in his arms. He wanted all of it and a thousand more things. Instead, he straightened to his full height to peek through the kitchen window.
The love of his life sat watching a huge flat-screen TV from the comforts of a black leather couch, next to the man Greg despised more than anything or anyone in the world. She wore a man’s t-shirt and incredibly short shorts. Worse, she looked okay with the fact that the pathological lying vulture was claiming her as his own.
“Is she hurt?” Greg whispered. “Has Jamansky done anything to her?”
“I don’t think so,” Zach said.
At least that was something.
“Does she…talk about me?” Greg asked softly.
“No.”
It was amazing how one flippant little word could completely shred a man.
“She doesn’t talk about anything right now,” Zach clarified. “She’s been really quiet. We’re just waiting for David to get Amber out, so we can go home. Wait! Where’s Tucker? Where’s everyone, Greg? Carrie went home, and nobody was there.”
Greg didn’t explain. Already the kid would struggle to keep his secrets. The Ferris neighborhood was providing the perfect hideout for the clan, but one slip of the tongue could ruin it all.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 121