Damn it. She still couldn’t see them.
Then she could.
Three people, DeLuca, certainly, who seemed to be walking slowly in front of-a man in a tweed jacket. And a woman. Crying? Yes. The woman-who was she?-was crying.
Holy shit. Jane clutched her phone. The man-Munson? Had a gun to the woman’s head. Why was DeLuca walking with them?
Where was Jake?
No gunfire. No screams. No commotion. So Jake wasn’t shot. Was he-well, where the hell was he? And why? He’d told her to stay away. Not that he knew it was her.
Now here was DeLuca, walking with a guy carrying a gun. Why wasn’t Paul doing anything to stop that man?
If Jake was okay, why wasn’t he doing something to stop him?
Was DeLuca-in on this? DeLuca?
She took a step forward, on tiptoe, holding her breath. Watched the trio stride down the hall. The woman tripped in her patent leather heels. The tall man’s arm clamped around her, pulled her back into place. The gun.
As Jane peered after them, baffled, terrified, and completely unsure, DeLuca turned his head for a brief glance back at the office they’d all just left.
Jane had never seen such a look of anguish.
All his fault.
Ricker, dead, because of him. And now, DeLuca was in deep shit, and Ardith Brannigan, and it was his fault again. Jake tried to stand, thrashing, yanking the idiot cuffs and the idiot couch, which didn’t move an inch.
“Damn it!” he yelled. “Damn it! Damn it!”
He closed his eyes, briefly, in disdain. Save your breath, he thought. Maybe no one would ever come uncuff him. Maybe that would be better.
That was Jake! Jake’s voice. He was yelling. He wasn’t dead. Jane took a chance, swiveled, peered down the hallway. The front door was closing. She saw a flash of daylight, then three silhouettes, then the front door swinging closed.
She raced to the end of the hall, tote bag slamming against her back, tripping, stumbling, almost falling in her frantic haste to get to Jake.
Wait. She stopped, bending almost double with her sudden decision. What if someone else was in that room?
She could hear only the sound of her own breathing.
If she went in, she might be in trouble. If she didn’t, Jake might be in trouble. If she did, they might both be in trouble.
“Jake!” she yelled. Fine, it might be the exactly wrong thing to do, let whoever was in there with Jake know she was there but-she dialed 911 as she ran to the office.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
Yeah. That was the question.
78
“Operator, I’m at the-at one-twenty-five Linden Street. Jake!”
“Jane!” His voice was loud, and strong. “It’s okay, get in here!”
She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, pushed. Jake was on the couch. No one else in the room.
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through her cell phone. “What’s your emergency?”
“Jake! What-?”
“In my pocket, Jane.” Jake held up both hands. He was cuffed to the arm of the couch? “My wallet, back pocket. The key.”
“Ma’am, you’ve got to tell me-”
She dropped her tote bag to the floor, raced to him.
“All units,” Jake yelled. “This is Jake Brogan. Officer down. Officer down. Jane, let me talk.”
She held the phone against his cheek as he twisted onto his stomach, letting her lift his leather jacket and grab his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
“In here?” She punched the phone on speaker, then flipped open the wallet, looking for-and there it was, a tiny silver key tucked into a credit card slot. She held it between two fingers. “This?”
“At one-twenty-five Linden, Forest Hills, officer down, officer in trouble, all units, all units, you copy, dispatch?” Jake sat up, cocked his head toward the handcuffs. “Do it, Jane. Hurry.”
He could have kissed the hell out of her, but he didn’t have time. Jake yanked his wrist out of one of the cuffs, then the other, clicked them back on his belt and threw himself across the room. Slammed open the file drawer. Grabbed his weapon, tucked D’s into the small of his back.
“Yes, sir, we copy. Dispatch out.” The phone went silent.
“Stay in here. Do not come out.” Jake said. The radios. He tossed one to Jane, put the other in his jacket pocket. “I’ve got backup on the way. I’ll call you when-”
He yanked back the curtains, looked out the window. Past the low hedge and the stand of hemlocks to the parking lot. Only two cars. One was Jane’s. The other a Mercedes. No Munson yet. They had to be taking Munson’s car. This was the only parking lot.
He twisted the latch, pushed open the window, then clicked up the storm window.
“What are you-who was-?”
“Tell you later. Close the window after me. Stay here.” Would he have time to stop them? Would D and that asshole still be in the parking lot? Would Ardith Brannigan be alive? Would D?
She had no idea what was going on. None.
“Jake!”
But he was out the window. The curtains fell back into place.
“Be careful!” she said.
He was gone. Moving the curtains, she slid the storm back down, then clicked the frame shut as Jake had instructed. She looked outside. Couldn’t see him.
“Be careful,” she whispered.
79
The damn trees were in the way, his line of sight obstructed. Well, good. That meant they couldn’t see him, either. All he had now, besides the Sig, was the element of surprise. And he had that only once.
Jake ducked low, running, following the line of thick shrubbery to its end. A strip of lawn, then the big hemlocks, then the parking lot pavement. He could see the three of them now, walking, arriving at the edge of the parking lot. They couldn’t see him. Nor would Munson be looking.
He took a breath, darted to the stand of hemlocks lining the parking lot. The three were headed for the dark blue Mercedes. Munson behind, holding his weapon on D and Ardith. At least she wasn’t clamped to him anymore. Still, if either of them tried to run, Munson could shoot in an instant. Both of them.
Jake’s window of opportunity would be tiny. Minuscule. Probably impossible.
What was his responsibility here? Save the victim? Even if she was accomplice to a murder? She was innocent until proven guilty.
Or save his partner?
How could anyone make that decision?
Jake had confidence in his marksmanship-but a one-shot deal at a moving car with two innocent people and one asshole? Even at short range, no way. He couldn’t let them get into the car.
It was down to timing. And luck. So far today, neither had been that great for Jake.
The three were getting closer to Munson’s car.
Backup was on the way. Jake listened for sirens. Nothing.
She had to see. Jane pulled back the curtain as she’d watched Jake do. She listened for sirens, squinting as if that could make her hearing more acute. Nothing.
Out in the parking lot-at the far end-she could just make out the people she’d seen in the hall. DeLuca-what did that mean? The woman. The man with the gun. Munson. Did he still have the gun? It was too far away to tell.
She didn’t see Jake. The trees were in the way.