She saw the deputy sheriff pull out and drive up next to her like he was going to pass her-the cop looking over, checking her out-then slowing down and drifting back behind her. She heard bursts of siren and watched him in the rearview mirror and saw the flashers and looked for a place to pull over, but nothing looked good. She slowed and put her turn signal on and took a left on Dumas, a two-lane county road and pulled over. The sheriff ’s deputy followed her and stopped behind her. There were unplowed cornfields on both sides of the road and it smelled like manure.
He got out of his car, put his hat on, and as he approached, she noticed he had his hand on his gun. She pressed the button and her window went down.
He walked up and said, “Step out of the vehicle.”
He stood behind her so she had to turn her head to see him.
“What’s this all about?”
“You are operating a stolen vehicle,” he said. “Now step out.”
“It isn’t mine,” Kate said. “I borrowed it from a friend.” And as soon as she said it, realized how lame it sounded.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” he said, raising his voice.
So Jack was still involved in his old trade after all. Kate considered the situation. She was driving a stolen car with two million in the trunk. How was she going to explain the car or the money?
She wasn’t.
She couldn’t.
She considered putting it in gear, let the hard-ass cop chase her down and try catch and her. At Owen’s suggestion, she’d gone to an advanced driving school and felt confident behind the wheel, believed she could give this young rural police officer a run for his money. But she rejected the notion as being too risky. She didn’t want to put anyone else’s life in danger. She had a better idea. She slid the Beretta out of her purse and put it in her jacket pocket.
The cop opened the door now.
“You’re under arrest,” he said. He had his hand on his gun, but didn’t draw it from the holster.
She stepped out on the blacktop road. Standing next to him, he looked like a Bill Wink clone-same height and build, same two-tone uniform. He pushed her against the front fender and bent her over the hood.
He said, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
He kicked her feet apart and ran his hands up her legs, and the inside of her thighs, getting a good feel.
She said, “What’re you doing?”
“Seeing if you got any weapons.”
“Is this how you get your kicks?”
“I’m the law, I can do whatever I want.”
He said it like he believed it.
Kate knew it was now or never. He reached inside her jacket, ran his hands up her sides, touched her breasts, pawed her like a teenager feeling up his girlfriend for the first time. She turned now, and in one compact motion brought the Beretta out of her pocket and stuck the barrel in the center of his chest. His cockiness vanished in a split second. He looked surprised and afraid.
Kate said, “Think you can do anything you want, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it,” he said.
“You make a habit of doing things you don’t mean?”
He said, “Listen, I’ve got a wife and two little ones at home.” The hard guy tone gone now, replaced by concern.
Kate said, “You look worried and you should be. If you try anything else I’m going do your wife a favor and shoot you. Give me your gun.”
He undid the strap on top of his holster and handed her his Glock-the shape unmistakable, the big G in script on the barrel-passing it to her with his thumb and index finger on the handle-showing her he wasn’t going to try anything. She grabbed the gun and dropped it in the pocket of her suede coat.
She said, “We’re going to walk over to your car now. You want to see the kids tonight? Don’t do anything stupid like you’ve already done. I feel bad for your wife-married to someone gets his kicks like that-and your kids. What kind of pervert dad are you?”
She escorted him to his car and opened the door. “Give me your keys.”
He reached in his pocket and handed them to her. Then he took his hat off and got in behind the wheel and she went around and got in the front passenger seat. He looked young without the hat-only a few years older than Luke. She aimed the Beretta at him and said, “Give me your handcuffs.”
He took them out of a leather compartment on his duty belt and handed them to her.
“Where’s the key?”
He gave that to her too, and she told him to cuff his hands through the steering wheel and he did and now he looked foolish, with his brush cut and pimples-like a high school athlete who’d gotten in trouble.
“Driving a stolen vehicle and using deadly force to resist arrest. I’d say you’re in a whole lot of trouble,” the deputy said. He grinned at her now. “They’re going to catch you-you know that. Let me go, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“I’d worry more about my own situation if I were you,” Kate said. “I’d like to hear you explain how you lost your weapon and were taken hostage by a woman.” She noticed his nametag for the first time. “How’s that going to look on your record, impact your career, Deputy Lamborne?”
Kate opened the door and got out and moved to the Lexus and got in. There was no traffic, no one around. She took a series of arrow-straight county roads back to Cathead Bay-slowing down at one point, throwing Deputy Lamborne’s Glock into a wooded area-and although it was a shortcut, it still took thirty minutes to get back to the lodge: time spent thinking about Luke, hoping he was okay and how she was going to deal with Jack.
He came out of the lodge grinning as soon as she pulled up.
“Why’d you leave without me?”
Luke ran till his lungs were about to explode. He was surprised, thought he was in shape, having played tennis since he was a little kid. It was the chain that weighed him down, made him tired. It didn’t feel like anything at first and now felt heavier than a cinder block. He tried to position it so it didn’t make noise, but it was impossible. It was the handcuffs too, metal digging into his wrists, drawing blood in two places.
Once he’d been able to loosen the eyebolt, it was easy. He waited, listening till he didn’t hear them, and unscrewed it all the way. He coiled the chain into a circle and slipped it over his shoulder. He unlocked the window and lifted it open and slid out, dropped to the ground.
The sky was clear blue, sun up high as he moved through heavy woods, feet crunching on dry leaves. He slowed his pace, stopping, looking back, thinking that if they were coming after him, he’d hear them, wouldn’t he? He didn’t-just the rustle of the wind coming through the trees and an occasional formation of ducks quacking overhead.
It was getting hot. He felt beads of sweat run down his forehead and cheeks. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. He was conscious of the gamey smell of his own body after not showering for three days, and the heavy sound of his own breathing.
He was afraid, but his fear went to another level when he heard Camo’s booming voice behind him like a megaphone blaring through the trees.
“I’m going to find you-you little cocksucker-and I’m going to fuck you up.”
Luke pictured Camo’s face, with its square cartoon jaw and sadistic grin-and he picked up his pace. He had a sense of where he was, seeing the map of the Leelanau Peninsula in his head and reckoning the location of the cottages, about halfway between Omena and Northport, thinking he was heading east and he’d see the lake soon.
He stopped sometime later and heard them, and they sounded close. Luke ducked low and pressed himself against a stand of white birch, getting bark dust on his shirt. He saw Camo and the girl pass right by him, a few feet away-both carrying pistols.
Camo said, “I’m going to kill that little fucker.”
The girl said, “Can you keep your voice down till we find him? He could be anywhere in here.”