But he didn’t want her to leave.
“Thank you.” The words seemed wholly inadequate, like she had just dropped off lunch for him, or picked up his dry cleaning.
“Jack, what are you going to do now?”
“I haven’t thought it all through yet. But it’s coming. I’m not going down without a fight.”
“Yeah, but you don’t even know who it is you’re fighting. That’s hardly fair.”
“Who said it was supposed to be fair?”
He smiled at her as the wind kicked old newspapers down the street.
“You better get going. It’s not that safe around here.”
“I’ve got my pepper mace.”
“Good girl.”
She turned to leave, then clutched him by the arm.
“Jack, please be careful.”
“I’m always careful. I’m a lawyer. CYA is SOP for us.”
“Jack, I’m not kidding.”
He shrugged. “I know. I promise I will be as careful as I can.” As Jack said this he stepped toward Kate and took off his hood.
The night goggles fixated on Jack’s exposed features and then they were lowered. Shaky hands picked up the car’s cellular phone.
The two clung in an easy embrace. While Jack desperately wanted to kiss her, under the circumstances he settled for a soft brush of his lips against her neck. When they stepped back from each other, tears had begun to form in Kate’s eyes. Jack turned and walked quickly away.
As Kate walked back down the street she didn’t notice the car until it swerved across the street and almost ended up on the curb. She staggered back as the driver’s side door flew open. In the background, the air had exploded with sirens, all coming toward her. Toward Jack. She instinctively looked behind her. There was no sign of him. When she turned back, she was staring into a pair of smug eyes, framed under bushy eyebrows.
“I thought our paths might cross again, Ms. Whitney.”
Kate stared at the man, but recognition was not forthcoming.
He looked disappointed. “Bob Gavin. From the Post?”
She looked at his car. She had seen it before. On the street passing Edwina Broome’s house.
“You’ve been following me.”
“Yes, I have. Figured you’d eventually lead me to Graham.”
“The police?” Her head jerked around as a squad car, siren blaring, tore down the street toward them. “You called them.”
Gavin nodded, smiling. He was obviously pleased with himself.
“Now before the cops get here I think we can work a little deal. You give me an exclusive. The down and dirty on Jack Graham, and my story changes just enough so that instead of an accessory, you’re just an innocent bystander in this whole mess.”
Kate glared at the man, the rage within her, having been built up from a month of personal horrors, was near its exploding point. And Bob Gavin was standing directly over the epicenter.
Gavin looked around at the patrol car nearing them. In the background, two more squad cars were heading in their direction.
“Come on, Kate,” he said urgently, “you don’t have much time. You stay out of jail and I get my long-overdue Pulitzer and my fifteen minutes of fame. What’s it gonna be?”
She gnashed her teeth, her response startlingly calm, as though she had practiced its delivery for months. “Pain, Mr. Gavin. Fifteen minutes of pain.” As he stared at her, she pulled the palm-size canister, pointed it directly at his face and squeezed the trigger. The pepper gas hit Gavin flush in the eyes and nose, marking his face with a red dye. By the time the cops exited their vehicle, Bob Gavin was on the pavement clutching at his face, trying unsuccessfully to tear his eyes out.
The first siren had sent Jack into a sprint down a side street.
He slid flat against a building sucking in air. His lungs ached, the cold tore at his face. The deserted nature of the area he was in had turned into a huge tactical disadvantage. He could keep moving, but he was like a black ant on a sheet of white paper. The sirens were coming so heavy now he couldn’t ascertain from what direction.
Actually they were coming from all directions. And they were getting closer. He ran hard to the next corner, stopped and peered around. The view was not encouraging. His eyes fastened on a police blockade being set up at the end of the street. Their strategy was readily apparent. They knew his general coordinates. They would simply cordon off a wide radius and systematically close that radius in. They had the manpower and the time.
The one thing he did have was a good knowledge of the area he was in. Many of his PD clients had come from here. Their dreams set not on college, law school, good job, loving family and the suburban split-level but on how much cash they could generate from selling bags of crack, how they could survive one day at a time. Survival. It was a strong, human drive. Jack hoped his was strong enough.
As he flew down the alley, he had no idea what he would encounter, although he supposed the fierce weather had kept some of the local felons indoors. He almost laughed. Not one of his former partners at Patton, Shaw would have come near this place, even with an armored battalion surrounding them. He might as well be running across the surface of Pluto.
He cleared the chain-link fence with one jump and landed slightly off-balance. As he put out his hand against the rugged brick wall to steady himself he heard two sounds. His own heavy breathing and the sound of running feet. Several pair. He’d been spotted. They were homing in on him. Next the K-9’s would be brought in and you didn’t run away from the four-legged cops. He exploded out of the alley and made his way over to Indiana Avenue.
Jack veered down another street as the squeal of tires flew toward him. Even as he raced in the new direction, a new flank of pursuers rushed to greet him. It was only a matter of time now. He felt in his pocket for the packet. What could he do with it? He didn’t trust anybody. Technically, an inventory of an arrestee’s possessions taken from him would be made, with appropriate signatures and chain-of-custody safeguards, all of which meant nothing to Jack. Whoever could kill in the middle of hundreds of law officers and disappear without a trace could certainly manage to secure a prisoner’s personal possessions from the D.C. Police Department. And what he had in his pocket was the only chance he had. D.C. didn’t have the death penalty but life without parole wasn’t any better and in a lot of ways seemed a helluva lot worse.
He raced in between two buildings, stumbled on some ice and plunged over a stack of garbage cans and hit the pavement hard. He picked himself up and half-rolled into the street, rubbing at his elbow. He could feel the burn, and there was a looseness in his knee that was a new sensation. As he stopped rolling, he managed to sit up, then froze.
A car’s headlights were coming right for him. The police bubble light blasted into his eyes as the wheels came within two inches of his head. He slumped back on the asphalt. He was too winded to even move.
The car door sprang open. Jack looked up, puzzled. It was the passenger door. Then the driver’s door flew open. Big hands slid under his armpits.
“Goddammit, Jack, get your ass up.”
Jack looked up at Seth Frank.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Bill Burton leaned his head into the secret service command post. Tim Collin sat at one of the desks going over a report.
“Come on, Tim.”
Collin looked up, puzzled.
Burton said quietly, “They’ve got him cornered down near the courthouse. I want to be there. Just in case.”
Seth Frank’s sedan flew down the street, the blue bubble light commanding immediate respect from a traffic population unaccustomed to conveying any whatsoever to fellow motorists.