No such luck.
The spotlight hit me as soon as I was through the gate, coming from behind, its reflection in the rearview mirror blinding me for a moment. Then the other lights came on, blue and red, and the New Paradise police car that had been parked in the shadow of the wall as I'd passed pulled in behind me.
I stomped the Jetta's brakes, coming to an abrupt halt, and whoever it was behind the wheel of the cruiser had to do the same, surprised that I'd stopped so quickly. The light from the spot shifted, trying to scan the interior of the car, and I didn't turn around in my seat, staying still, furious with myself for not having counted on this, for not having a contingency.
The driver's door on the police car opened, followed immediately by the one on the front passenger side. Two cops, and I didn't need to check my mirrors to guess who they were. Again I cursed myself; I'd been so damn concerned with getting into the house, with what I'd do once inside, I hadn't considered the possibility I might not even reach the place at all.
A new light joined the glare from the flood, a flashlight beam, and I'd been right, it was the same two cops who'd stopped me before, the talker and his silent brother in corruption. It was the talker holding the Maglite, and he recognized me immediately.
"Jeezus, buddy," he said. "Can't you take a hint?"
I tensed my shoulders, tightened my grip on the steering wheel, set my jaw, still staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him. He read my body language, shifted further around toward the front of the car, now wary, pivoting to keep his eyes on me. One hand dropped to cover his holster.
"Out, asshole," he said. "Kill the engine and get out."
I hesitated, then snapped the engine off, put my hands back on the wheel.
"Get out of the fucking car, now."
"I didn't do anything," I said, and it came out as both petulant and angry.
"You're trespassing."
"Bullshit, that's fucking bullshit."
"Get out of the vehicle, keep your hands where I can see them."
I unfastened my seatbelt, shoved open my door. As soon as I was out, the other one had me into the side of the car. I kept my body tensed, pushed back, my hands on the roof of the Jetta, and got shoved a second time, harder.
"There's no sign," I said. "There's no sign, there's nothing. You can't do this."
"You want to make this hard?" the talker asked. "That what you want to do? Because we can do that, we'd be happy to do that."
I glared at him, trying to place his position behind the flashlight in his hand. He was still covering his holster, still keeping his distance. Behind me, his silent partner shifted, and I heard the ring of metal on metal as he pulled out his cuffs, and that was the cue I'd been waiting for. With an audible sigh, I let myself sag against the side of the Jetta, let every muscle that I'd been holding tense relax, let my posture shift from resistance to submission.
"I want a lawyer," I said softly.
The talker read my surrender, stepping closer, the Maglite coming down, his other hand no longer covering the butt of his pistol. He'd seen my behavior before on a hundred drunks faced with the power of the badge, the moment when reality sets in just before the cuffs go on.
"Tell you what, we'll go down to the station, sort this out."
I nodded slightly, thinking that all three of us knew damn well there was no station involved in what they had planned. The one behind me closed the cuff around my right wrist, pulled my hand from the top of the Jetta, bringing it down and behind me toward the small of my back, and that's when I moved, using my hips to pivot into him and away from his talkative partner. My right hand found his wrist, and I twisted, brought his arm up, straightening it and locking his elbow before slamming my left hand upward, into the joint. It broke and he screamed and I let go.
The talkative one had dropped the Maglite and was trying to index his pistol, but distance is everything, and I was too close to him already. I took his right knee with my boot before he could clear his holster, pounded my fist into the side of his neck even as he was going down. He landed on his side, and I stole the canister of pepper spray from his belt, gave him a faceful, then spun back and sprayed the rest of it at his partner.
Tossing the can, I took the cuffs off the talker and trapped his hands behind his back. He wore his keys on a lanyard, and I yanked them free from his belt, unlocked the set that dangled from my wrist, and reapplied them to his partner. He gurgled in pain when I twisted his arm behind him. I took his keys as well, along with his radio, then went back for his partner's. I let them keep their guns.
Both men were still mewling and gagging when I loaded them into the back of their cruiser. The residue of pepper spray was strong enough to make my own eyes water, and I was coughing when I locked them into the backseat, coughing even more when I slid behind the wheel and backed their car into the shadows beneath the wall. With the three of us in the vehicle, we sounded like a symphony of bronchitis.
I shut off the car, used the keys to lock it up, then climbed back into the Jetta. Without their personal radios, locked in the back of their cruiser, the cops wouldn't be able to call for help. From what I'd seen behind the wheel of their car, the New Paradise PD tracked their units via GPS, which meant that somewhere, someone would eventually notice that they hadn't moved in a while. How long a while that would be, I had no way to know.
But somewhere, a clock was now running, and I had no more time to waste. I crept the Jetta through the barren streets, using only the accelerator, afraid that brake lights would give me away, afraid of more of Bella Downs's bought-and-paid-for police lurking in the darkness. My visit the night before last had given me a good lay of the land, but now I had another decision to make. The cul-de-sac was a problem, because cul-de-sac meant dead end. That would leave only one route of escape. But the car would provide protection and speed.
In the end, I parked the Jetta behind the house I'd used for my surveillance, leaving it unlocked. The entire time I'd kept watch on the McMansion, I'd seen police come through the area only once, and that had been almost an hour earlier than it was now. Unless Bella had the entirety of the New Paradise Police Department patrolling her neighborhood, no one would notice the car.
I killed the dome light inside the Jetta so it wouldn't switch on when I opened the door, then checked the Glock a final time, making it ready. I got out, tucked the pistol into my waistband, at the front. Then I pulled the toolbox and the tire iron from the trunk. The toolbox was heavier than I remembered it being.
I made my way to the cul-de-sac, using every shadow I could find. I didn't know if there was a security system on the house, if there were cameras. I hadn't seen any during my visit, nor on my surveillance, but all that meant was that I'd missed them, not that they didn't exist. It didn't much matter. There was no way in hell that Bella Downs had sprung for an alarm system that would route through a security service; the risk of cops she didn't own crashing the party would've been too great.
I closed on the building from the west rather than straight on and, when I reached the side of the house, crouched and opened the toolbox. The two antennae screwed easily and quickly into place. I double-checked that I was on power, then hit the Big Red Button, and there was no noise, and for a moment I wondered if anything was happening at all. I put my hand on the side of the case; heat was beginning to radiate through the metal.