Heist 2 Page 17

  When this good ole boy climbs out from the car, his gaze zeroes in on me like a laser.

  I force on a smile and nod as a greeting.

  The sheriff doesn’t say anything as he heads into the station’s front door.

  The moment he’s inside, I turn back toward the bathroom and hammer the door. “Johnnie, we gotta go,” I hiss.

  No response.

  “Johnnie!” Bam! Bam!

  What the fuck? I slip the key back into the lock and push inside. The muthafucka is empty. For a few seconds I just stand there blinking, unable to process how the fuck this shit could be—then I notice the rectangular window high above the mirror. Clearly, she could’ve reached it if she stood on the sink.

  Rushing inside, I hop up on the sink. The porcelain bowl wobbles beneath my weight, but I get a good look out the window to see where the muthafucka leads and if I can spot Johnnie. But I hear something behind me and before the door slams shut, I catch sight of Johnnie’s long legs bolting from the door and slamming it shut.

  She was hiding behind the door the whole time. I jump down off the sink, stumble about a foot before I reached the door. Locked. As I fumble to unlock the door, I hear the roar of a car engine. How in the fuck? The car key is still in my pocket so I know Johnnie can’t possibly be behind the wheel of the car. But when I bolt out of the door, that’s exactly where she is. The car speeds back in reverse.

  In an ironic replay with the roles reversed, I race toward the passenger-side door as she tries to whip around to head back out of the gas station. I get the door open but then nearly stumble and wipe out when she shifts into drive and floors it. It’s just a miracle that I’m able to heft my way into the speeding car.

  “Stop the fucking car!”

  “No. You get the fuck out,” she shouts, swinging her right arm wildly at me in an attempt to knock me back out the car. With the speed accelerating, it’s attempted murder in my eyes.

  I duck and dodge the blows, but make sure that I go ahead and slam my car door. Next, I dive to wrench hold of the steering wheel. We zip and zag all over the road.

  “Let go,” Johnnie shouts, snatching the wheel in the opposite direction.

  The wail of a police siren draws my attention. I jerk my head toward the back window to see the same sheriff’s patrol car now gaining speed on us.

  “FUCK!”

  16

  Sam

  After Kasey completes her story about how her older sister Johnnie and Harlem met and fell in love, the entire Robinson family is in shock. Apparently, the younger sister was the only person Johnnie had ever truly confided in. When I add the fact that Johnnie had recently pulled strings to see Harlem last month to possibly plan or aid in his escape, Reese Singleton turns apoplectic.

  “This is going to be a scandal,” Mrs. Robinson whispers. Her face drains more blood by the second.

  “I still say that this is some horseshit,” Mr. Robinson barks. “You say this man escaped last night, but our daughter was with us the entire day for the wedding rehearsal and the dinner. And we can all vouch that she didn’t leave that dinner until this morning. Her friend Janine drove her home, isn’t that right?” He glances over to the woman I presume is Janine.

  She nods. “Yeah. Gosh. It had to be like one—one-thirty. I watched her as she went into the house.”

  “Doesn’t rule out that Mr. Banks was waiting for her inside.”

  The idea clearly horrifies the woman. “Maybe I should’ve walked her inside myself.”

  “And then what? You could’ve just been in danger yourself,” I try to console. “Don’t beat yourself up. We’re going to find her.”

  I order more of my team to the scene as we instruct everyone except the immediate-family and fiancé to leave. Within minutes of their arrival, every inch of the house is combed over. Evidence points to Johnnie having a visitor last night—especially in the bedroom. But if Johnnie had planned to run off with her ex-lover, she forgot the clothes she’d packed for her honeymoon.

  An APB goes out for her vehicle. This now swings the pendulum to Harlem Banks definitely being out of the tri-state area, crushing my assumption that he wouldn’t leave his sick child behind.

  “Still have my money on Mexico,” Greg deadpans.

  “You may be right.” I dig my cell from out of my pants pocket and quickly get the chief on the other line for the latest updates. The local story will be national within the hour. Harlem’s name and picture will shoot up the FBI’s Most Wanted List. No sooner do I disconnect the call with the chief than the first news van arrives outside of the house.

  “Oh God,” Mrs. Robinson laments. “What are we going to say?”

  I shake my head because I can’t tell whether she is more concerned for her daughter or their image.

  Reese Singleton, however, is definitely more pissed than concerned. The brewing scandal will tarnish him just as much as the Robinsons, if not more. In politics, a rising star can quickly turn into a dying star in a single news cycle.

  For me, our best option is to continue to press Kasey for more information.

  “I need you to think. Did your sister ever mention any place that she’d be dying to go—or any talk of her and Harlem wanting to go somewhere?”

  The young girl is completely drained and keeps shaking her head. “No. No nothing like that. She was determined to move on. I swear.”

  “Then why the visit?” I counter.

  Kasey’s large brown eyes keep filling with tears. “I don’t know. Clearly, she kept some secrets from me, too.” She glances to her family for help, but their disappointment trumps their sympathy for her at the moment.

  My phone rings. It’s Max. “Tell me some good news.”

  “Not today, boss,” he says. “We got another runner.”

  “What?”

  “Isaiah Kane. He’s missing from the halfway house.”

  “Shit!” All heads in the house whip in my direction. “Excuse me,” I tell them, climbing up from the sofa and seeking out a corner in the house for some privacy. “What happened to the team posted outside?” I ask Max.

  “Apparently, they didn’t see a damn thing. And neither did anyone else in the damn house. I’m on my way to talk to the community corrections manager. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “All right. Thanks.” I disconnect the call with a “fuck,” mumbled under my breath.

  “That doesn’t sound promising,” Greg says, cornering me.

  “Isaiah Kane is in the wind.”

  Greg doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “I knew that dude wasn’t on the up and up.”

  “Which means that there’s a huge part of this puzzle that we’re missing. They’re all in this together somehow and there’s got to be some powerful people helping them out, too. They could be headed for Mexico or halfway around the world for all we know.” The idea of these people slipping through my grasp is starting to give me my first ulcer.

  Outside, two more news vehicles arrive. One manages to successfully persuade Reese Singleton to the sidelines to get his take on what happened to his runaway bride and the escaped convict. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I’m sure that he’s broadcasting his ignorance and throwing his deceitful fiancée under the bus. The victim card is probably the best way to save his promising career.

  I pull in a deep breath as my exhaustion becomes extremely difficult to ignore. My ringing phone pulls me back to the job at hand. Since it’s too much to hope for good news, I answer with a flat, “Yeah.”

  “We got something!”

  The announcement hits me like an injection of adrenaline straight to the heart. “Hit me.”

  “Johnnie Robinson’s vehicle is in the middle of an active police chase right outside Cleveland, Tennessee.”

  “Yes!” I signal to Greg for us to roll out. “Get me the number for the district US Marshal for that area and you guys get ready for a field trip.”

  17

  Johnnie

  My life has flash
ed before my eyes at least three times during the high-speed police chase out here in the back roads of Tennessee—and that’s before Harlem started firing at the cops. Any illusions of my believing Harlem wouldn’t cause me any real harm flies out of the window. When I try to slam on the brakes, I’m stunned by how he’s able to snatch me completely from the driver’s seat and over to the passenger’s side while simultaneously climbing over.

  In a matter of minutes, we go from having one sheriff’s car to a whole team of squad cars chasing us down.

  “Please,” I shout at Harlem. “Just pull over before you get us both killed.”

  “Can’t do that,” he says without a second thought. “I have to get to that money before Isaiah. My daughter’s life depends on it.”

  His words rush past me, but I can’t make any sense of them. What money? Isaiah who? And what’s wrong with his daughter? “What are you talking about?”

  A squad car tries to come up his left side.

  Harlem doesn’t bother taking aim, but fires out his window to get the car to fall back a few paces. Once the cop is behind us again, Harlem moves to the center of the two roads to prevent another bypass attempt.

  “Harlem,” I yell for his attention. “Answer me. What is this all about?”

  He cuts me an angry look. “What the hell does it matter now? You just want me to be back behind bars, right? You want to write me off and go back to that rich brother you’re trying to marry.”

  POW! POW! POW!

  I scream as the back window of my car explodes.

  “Get down,” Harlem shouts, pushing my head all the way down toward the floorboard.

  He gets no resistance from me this time because I’m literally scared out of my mind. As much as I want to lay the blame on him, I know this time that I’m the one that set this whole chase in motion.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The apology is meant for myself, but Harlem thinks it’s for him.

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he says, still weaving all over the road. “I never meant to drag you into this . . . but I really did need to see you again.”

  I don’t bother correcting the misunderstanding because it’s still nice to hear and believe that he couldn’t stay away. “Please. Tell me what’s really going on? What’s this all about?”

  Harlem pulls the wheel hard to the right. The back of my head bangs against the glove compartment, causing it to snap open. At the same time, the police open fire and I can hear the bullets slamming into my car.

  I don’t mean to lose it, but I can’t stop the tears from leaping over my lashes. This is it. I’m going to die in a damn police chase. Me. Little Ms. Goody Two-shoes, as they called me most of my life. My sole crime was falling in love with the wrong man.

  “What we had together—what we felt—was real,” Harlem says suddenly. “I really need for you to know that. I had every intention to retire. That’s why I gave you the ring. I wanted to bring you into my real world. Introduce you to my people—my daughter.”

  It was hard to catch that last part because of the wail of all the police sirens. I have no idea what’s going on the road and I’m too scared to climb up from the floorboard to take a look for myself.

  During the break of his storytelling, I share something with him too. “I saw her.”

  Harlem sneaks another look at me.

  “Your daughter,” I clarify. “Your grandmother brought her to court a couple of times. She looks a lot like you.”

  He smiles. “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.” The conversation drops there. I’m still not ready to know anything about the mother or the type of relationship he possibly has with her. The knowledge that she even exists fills me with an unexplainable jealousy.

  “She’s really sick,” he blurts out. “My daughter, Tyler. She has to have heart surgery and I couldn’t leave the money accessible to my nana. She’s been slowly losing everything while I’ve been locked down. After she drops that news on me, I hear through the prison grapevine that Isaiah has somehow managed an early release—scheduled for today. I don’t have to be Einstein to figure out where he’s headed at the first opportunity. With twenty-five million, his ass would be in the wind. I’ll never see him or my money again. And then Tyler . . .”

  He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I get the big picture. Along with my fear of our current situation, I’m also overcome with guilt and compassion.

  “I’m sorry. I . . . I wish that I had known.” The implication being that he should’ve told me. I have no real answer to when exactly that should’ve happened. I’m sure that if he had told me in the beginning, I would have shut him down and not have given him the time of day. And had he told me later in the relationship, would I have had the strength to end it and walk away? Somehow, I seriously doubt it. Right or wrong, I’m still connected to this man by something more powerful than logic: love.

  Wait. Did he say twenty-five million?

  “Oh shit,” Harlem swears.

  I look up to see terror flash across his face. Before I can get the words out of my mouth to ask what’s going on, we hit something—hard, and then, if I’m not mistaken, we’re airborne. After that, we clearly smash into a body of water because it quickly fills up the car.

  18

  Sam

  News of Harlem Banks’s swan dive off a Tennessee bridge reaches my team while we’re still in the air. The idea of these two’s Bonnie and Clyde stint being over in less than twenty-four hours fills the team with an undeniable hope. The hope that we can go home and get a decent night’s sleep. I’m immune to hope. I never can get myself to trust it.

  It’s sunset by the time the team makes their way to the crash site. Along with the local police, FBI, and the district US Marshal’s office there’s a swarm of news vans and helicopters covering the air.

  “And you must be Assistant Deputy Chief Marshal Samantha Reynolds,” a white-haired southern boy says, thrusting out his thick, liver-spotted hand toward me.

  “I am,” I respond, throwing on my professional smile.

  “Yeah. I’m Chief Deputy George Carter. Your boss called and told me all about you.” His pale blue eyes rake over me. He’s not impressed, but he continues to pump my arm as if he’s jacking up a car.

  A line of officers holds the news crews back but their cameras swing in our direction.

  “So what news do you have for me, chief?”

  “Only that your fugitive is currently at the bottom of this here river, which was witnessed by over half the local sheriff department’s men. The crazy fool clipped an eighteen-wheeler and then spun out over the bank. They weren’t equipped to attempt a rescue so all they could do is secure the area while the car took approximately eighteen minutes to sink out of their line of vision.

  Not good enough.

  “Any bodies float to the top?”

  “No, ma’am. But trust me. Those two nig—uh, I mean fugitives didn’t get out of that car.”

  My smile doesn’t budge during his tongue slip. “Well, I’m sure you know how this goes. Trust but verify.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He laughs, posing for the cameras to get his best profile. “Anyway, we’re working on getting a crew here to pull the car back out, but as you know, this is a small town that’s not exactly equipped for that sort of thing. The closest department who can help is coming out of Knoxville. Lugging all that is going to take a few hours so we’re going to keep the area secure until they get here.”

  I nod along with the update, not liking the idea of us just sitting on our hands while we wait. But at least the department got us booked at a nearby motel. I glance over my shoulder at my crew, who are talking to a team of local agents and noting how they all look like extras for the show The Walking Dead.

  “Listen, guys,” I address them after talking to Carter. “We got a couple of hours to take a nap and a shower. So let’s just say we’ll meet back up outside our posh three-star motel at about . . . nine o�
��clock p.m. before coming back here?”

  They nod, looking ready to collapse with relief.

  That’s exactly what I do the second I’m in my room. Hell, I don’t even remember being concerned about whether the sheets are clean before I coast into La La Land. What I do know is that it’s a short trip before the alarm on my cell phone is going off. “How in the hell can it be eight forty-five?” I stare at the time in disbelief for a full minute before I swing my legs out of the bed. After a seven-minute shower, I feel fresh as a daisy before breezing back out of the room. When I meet back up with the team, they are looking a bit better, too. The steam trunks that were around Greg’s eyes have been reduced to regular bags again.

  The weather has taken a nasty turn in the few hours we were gone. Rain and river currents make the recovery effort difficult for the authorities. According to Major Brian Collins with the county sheriff’s office, the river’s current has more than doubled. Add the drizzling rain and gusting winds and then suddenly there is talk about whether to delay the recovery until the morning.

  I toss in my two cents, even though at this point the final decision lies with the district deputy chief. “I’d prefer if we could just push through. If my fugitive is somewhere on foot, I need to know that sooner rather than later.”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” Carter says. “But I’m not trying to lose any men out here either.”

  “What about the side sonars and water cameras? Can we at least find out whether there are bodies inside the car?” I ask.

  “Won’t rule out whether their bodies were swept farther down the river,” he counters.

  I wonder why he’s fighting me so hard on this, but then it occurs to me that he wants the credit for him and his guys for ending Banks’s brazen getaway. At the end of the day, all things end in politics. Drawing a deep breath, I fall back on my professional smile again. “The search isn’t called off until I have two bodies. Dead or alive.”

  19

  Harlem

  Now that darkness has fallen, I can breathe easier as I trudge through these thick trees. Even as I put one foot in front of the other, I have no damn idea where I’m even going. I’m not even sure that it matters.