Flee, Spree, Three (Codename: Chandler Trilogy - Three Complete Novels) Read online

  “Kaufmann? Talk to me.” The odor of blood and sweat and fear filled the car. I did my best to glance over my shoulder while watching the tight spiral ahead.

  A rustle of movement from the backseat.

  Had Kaufmann been hit? I hadn’t seen any holes in the car, but I could have easily missed them. “Kaufmann? Are you OK?”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  My throat tightened. I’d been scared for Kaufmann since Cory’s call, but at that moment, I realized how much. I pushed the emotion back. This wasn’t over. I had to fully focus on what was happening now.

  The spiral opened up, and the car thunked onto the ramp’s top level. I swung into a handicapped spot next to the elevator and jumped out, shucking the duffel and shoulder bag. I grabbed a glance of Kaufmann through a shattered back window.

  He lay on his side in the backseat. His hands were bound in front of him with handcuffs, and he clutched a bloody rag around his injured fingers. Duct tape wrapped his ankles. He looked small, pale, the lines bracketing his mouth and digging across his forehead etched deep. I was sure the past few hours had taken their toll, but at least he was alive.

  Now I had to keep him that way. “Stay down.”

  He hitched himself up on one elbow. “We need to call the—”

  “You need to lay your ass back down.”

  He didn’t move, damn fool. Probably thought he was going to save me. Again. He didn’t realize it was my turn to pay him back.

  I checked Cory’s gun and handed it to Kaufmann. He grasped it in his uninjured hand. I pulled my semiautomatic from the back of my waistband. “Stay down. If anyone comes looking for you, kill them.”

  “Carmen, I—”

  “Just listen to me. Cory isn’t as bad as the ones we’ve got coming after us now. Shoot first, and shoot to kill.”

  I pulled away from his bewildered expression and took position behind a concrete support. I fitted my weapon tightly into the web between thumb and forefinger and wrapped my second hand around the first. I moved my index finger to the trigger. The odors of exhaust and burned rubber coated the back of my throat. The roar of an approaching engine reverberated off concrete, the sound amplified by the corkscrew shape of the ramp.

  The music goes round and round…ohhh…and it comes out here.

  I could see the SUV winding toward me. It emerged on the sixth floor. The moment I saw the driver’s eyes, I squeezed the trigger.

  The report cracked in my ears. I let my wrists move with the kick of the first shot. When it settled back, I gave him a second tap.

  The windshield cracked, splintering into hundreds of tiny lines, obscuring the driver’s face. The SUV kept hurtling forward across the parking level. It hit the half wall hard, reared up as the concrete crumbled, and plunged over the edge. The loud crash of vehicle and pavement shuddered up my spine.

  When I got back to the car, Kaufmann was sitting upright in the seat, Cory’s pistol in his bound hands. He stared at me for a moment before he finally spoke. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t been entirely honest with me.”

  A typical Kaufmann understatement. “I’ll explain. Later. As much as I can.”

  To his credit, he didn’t say a word, just let me help him out of the car. I cut the duct tape around his ankles with the utility knife I’d bought. I picked the handcuffs binding his wrists and stashed the cuffs in the duffel. We ducked into the elevator. He sagged against the wall as I hit the button to take us to the lobby.

  The elevator car started down, moving much more smoothly than the high-speed car I’d taken to the ninety-fifth floor. The cramped quarters smelled strongly of sweat and stress and even more strongly of blood.

  I eyed the rag wrapping Kaufmann’s fingers. “Let me see your hand.”

  He unpeeled what looked like a girl’s T-shirt and held out three fingers. I examined the bloody stump, and my stomach did a little flip. I’d seen many injuries worse than this, but this was Kaufmann and he was hurt because of me. I needed a second to regain my balance.

  “You killed the driver. You caused…” His lips thinned into a line.

  I pulled my gaze up to his eyes. “It’s what I do. What I really do.” I wasn’t sure what I expected. Shock. Disbelief. Repulsion. Instead, Kaufmann offered a simple nod. “Later?”

  I wanted to hug him. “Yes. Later.”

  As much as I needed to explain things to Kaufmann, to take care of his hand, we didn’t have time. At worst, more of the people who were after me waited outside the lobby door. At best, the police would be looking to arrest whoever had taken out the SUV driver and caused it to hurtle six floors to the pavement below. Dealing with the bad guys was uncomplicated. They were trying to kill me. I would try to kill them. The cops presented a more complex problem, especially where Kaufmann was concerned.

  The elevator’s movement slowed and settled. “Kaufmann,” I said. “We can’t go to the police.”

  Kaufmann stared at me as if I were speaking gibberish. “People died. Maybe more than we know.”

  “And I can’t explain that now.”

  “I’ll explain it, what I know, anyway.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I’m an agent of the court. I have to.”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t worried about his ethics. “You won’t be safe.”

  “The police can protect me from Cory.”

  I also wasn’t worried about Cory. I looked Kaufmann square in the eye. I had to convince him to follow my lead before the elevator doors opened. “Those guys in the SUV, there are more of them, and I don’t know who they are. But if they can reach me, they can reach you.”

  Kaufmann shook his head.

  The elevator’s bell chimed. I could hear the shriek of sirens even before the door opened. “Years ago I trusted you, Kaufmann, and you saved me. Now you have to trust me. If you don’t do what I say, we both will likely die. Now tuck your hand in your pocket and follow me.”

  The door slid open. I heard the clatter of running footsteps, the bark of voices. Outside the lobby doors, a circus of flashing lights exploded red and blue. Blue-uniformed police officers blocked the exit, trying to control the crowd. Two officers pushed through the revolving door and into the lobby.

  I scanned the area, stopping on the yellow-and-black Best Buy sign just off the lobby. I started in that direction, willing Kaufmann to come along.

  For a second, his body physically swayed toward the cops. Then he focused on me, and we walked into the electronics shop. We blended with shoppers and minutes later made it out the exit, swept by the crowd. A block away, we managed to flag a cab, leaving Hancock Center behind.

  “Debriefing is essential,” The Instructor said. “It’s not called the intelligence business because people are smart. Knowledge is power. When debriefing, think like a reporter. Who, what, where, when, how, and why. And learn to know when a subject is lying. Everybody lies.”

  Settling into the cab, I got my first good look at Kaufmann. In the bright sunlight, he looked even paler than he had in the parking ramp. His gray hair stuck to his forehead. He smelled of blood and the slightly metallic scent that accompanied fear. I cupped my hands over his, cradled in his lap. His skin felt cold and clammy, his pulse disturbingly fast.

  For a second, I thought about risking a hospital. I discarded the idea before we had traveled a block. I had to go with my training, not my emotion. And my training was telling me whoever had gotten to Jacob wouldn’t let police or hospital security get in his way. After my rescue of Kaufmann, they knew where I was vulnerable, and they would use him to reach me, just as Cory had. My only chance to keep him alive was protecting him myself.

  I gave the cabbie an address about a block from Victor’s apartment. Normally I would double back, change cabs, or do some other countersurveillance moves, ending up several blocks from my destination and walking the remainder of the distance. But Kaufmann had lost a lot of blood. I needed to get him to a safe place where he could rest and I could get my hands o
n first aid supplies. My friendly neighborhood EMT could provide both.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, nodding to his hand.

  “I’ve had better days.”

  The cab took a right turn, and the shifting sunlight brought out the depth of shadows under his eyes.

  “It’s later,” Kaufmann said, his kind eyes meeting mine.

  I nodded, knowing he was referencing the promise I’d made in the parking ramp to explain what I could.

  “Cory escaped from Stateville two weeks ago. He must have noticed you at his trial, figured out you were important to me.”

  Of course Cory had. Back then, he could read me like a billboard. I should have thought of that. The moment I heard of Cory’s escape, I should have made sure Kaufmann had some kind of protection.

  “I’m not asking about Cory. I could figure that one out on my own.” He glanced at the cabbie, then back at me. “Who were the men in the SUV?”

  I looked Kaufmann straight in the eye. At least I could answer this question truthfully. “I don’t know.”

  “But they have something to do with your job?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is your job exactly?”

  I wished I could tell him. But while spilling my guts would make me feel better and less alone, it would only put Kaufmann in more danger.

  His brows dipped low. “You’re not going to tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Will more of them be after us?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Hopefully, not for a while.” At least with my phone stashed at the John Hancock Center, they wouldn’t be able to find me so easily. And I doubted they’d foresee me returning to Victor’s. That move was decidedly not by the book.

  “Does Cory have anything to do with them?”

  “I don’t know.” I’d been over and over it. I couldn’t see a connection no matter how I tried, but maybe Kaufmann could help shed some light on that. “How did Cory manage to abduct you?”

  “There was a knock on my apartment door. I opened it.”

  “When?”

  “About twenty minutes before he called you this morning. I opened the door, and he pushed inside.” He glanced out the window as if unwilling to meet my eyes. Or ashamed.

  I wanted to ask why he’d answered some random knock, but I held my tongue. Kaufmann was a smart man, but smart people could do stupid things when unaware of their surroundings. He obviously knew he shouldn’t have opened the door. The last thing I wanted to do was rub it in his face. “Did he hold you in your apartment?”

  Kaufmann nodded. “Until we left to meet you.”

  I hadn’t seen that coming. I’d assumed Cory would take him somewhere else, somewhere tougher for me to locate. Not that it mattered, since I hadn’t had much opportunity to storm Kaufmann’s apartment this morning. Maybe Cory didn’t really care where I caught up with him, just so long as I did. “Did Cory seem to be working with someone? Taking orders over the phone or in person?”

  “He wasn’t taking orders. And he never talked on the phone except when he called you.” Kaufmann turned away from me and faced the window. “You haven’t asked how he got your number.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Kaufmann.”

  He faced me again, his eyes intent. “I didn’t give it to him.”

  “I believe you.”

  “He knocked me around, but I didn’t.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Kaufmann.”

  “He would have killed me. And I would have let him before I gave you up. But the girl found my cell phone. Found your number. It had your real name, not Carmen, or Judy, or Emma, or any of the ones you’ve used over the years. Stupid old man making stupid mistakes…”

  His eyes glassed over. I gripped his good hand, squeezing hard. “This isn’t your fault.”

  He sniffled, trying on a pathetic grin. “Sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.”

  “The only one to blame here is Cory.” I pictured the teenager who had run from the car after I’d shot out the tire. “Tell me about the girl.”

  Kaufmann’s voice grew hushed, the kind of tone reserved for disturbing tragedies. “She was the reason I opened the door. She said she needed help. Fourteen years old, the poor, misguided thing.”

  My stomach felt queasy, and I knew it had nothing to do with the adrenaline now ebbing from my system. A bad taste rose in the back of my throat. “She’s fourteen?”

  “Same age you were.”

  “Let me guess. She’s from a lousy background, thinks she’s finally found someone who cares, is there for her. Her soul mate.”

  “Don’t know the details, but I’m sure you’re right.”

  I followed his gaze to the bloody T-shirt wrapping his hand. Emotion battered at the edges of my self-control. I’d found a way to move beyond all Cory had done to me, but the thought of him doing the same to another, the thought of him hurting Kaufmann to punish me…I heaved a long, cold breath. “As soon as I can, I’ll take care of Cory, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t care about Cory. I’m just worried about you.”

  If Kaufmann were anyone else, I would hate that he knew I once was that fourteen-year-old girl, that he could see the vulnerability in me now. But while I’d deluded myself into believing Cory was there for me all those years ago, over the years Kaufmann had proven he actually was. If not for him, I’d be nothing but a broken shell. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle Cory.”

  He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “And the girl?”

  “I just hope she ends up with a parole officer like you, old man. I’m just afraid you’re one of a kind.”

  Kaufmann pressed his lips into a tight smile.

  For a few blocks, he stared out the window and said nothing. The whisper of breath through his nostrils came faster. His blood loss over the last few hours was catching up with him. I watched the street behind us, looking for tails. I thought of asking the cabbie to circle the block once before dropping us off but decided against it. I needed to stop Kaufmann’s bleeding and get fluids into him. I couldn’t have him going into shock.

  “You’re a spy, aren’t you?” he whispered.

  I shot a look at the cabbie, saw he was fiddling with the radio.

  “Sort of.”

  Kaufmann nodded. “I always suspected. No job, yet money to spare. Always moving. Changing names every few months. Then once in a while disappearing for a few weeks at a time.”

  “Maybe I’m a bank robber.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not after what you went through with Cory. You wouldn’t do anything like that again.”

  I had a mini flashback. Being young and stupid, falling for the bad boy twice my age because my stepfather didn’t give two shits what I did. Cory broke me in slowly. First sex. Then drugs. Then some petty crime. Busting open a vending machine. Robbing a bum. Snatching a purse from an old lady.

  Then it got worse. Then people starting dying.

  At the trial, I played the innocent, brainwashed victim. Forced to participate in a four-state crime wave. I never pulled a single trigger, never cut a single throat.

  But I never tried to stop Cory, either. I’d done everything he’d told me to do all because of my misguided, girlish crush. Whatever love I thought I’d had for him died the moment he shot that first bartender.

  I hadn’t tried to stop him. I hadn’t even tried to run away. I had just gone along, like I had before. Not for love any longer, but because I was scared out of my goddamn mind. And when it finally all ended—in a police car chase that wound up being broadcast on World’s Most Dangerous Criminals, with our car flipped over in a lake and sinking fast—I was still so afraid I couldn’t move. Not even as the water seeped in and inched up my body. Not even as it covered my face.

  Not even when the police pulled me out of the lake and brought me back to life.

  I didn’t make a sound for three days after they saved me. My first utterance was sobbing, and that went on for two more days.


  I would have been thrown in the loony bin if it weren’t for Murray Kaufmann, juvenile probation officer extraordinaire. Kaufmann had brought me back. Helped me get my head on straight. Helped me testify. I wound up getting two years in juvie hall, but Kaufmann saw me through that, too. He never gave up on me.

  And I’d be damned if I was going to give up on him.

  The cabbie stopped at the address I’d given. I paid him with cash from the yellow bag and helped Kaufmann out onto the sidewalk. Beyond the usual traffic noises, a dog yapped from a parked car and the thump of woofers rattled the windows of an apartment across the street. I detected no unusual scents, either, aside from the odors of blood, stress, and the faint whiff of the wintergreen lifesavers Kaufmann favored. No one seemed to be following. From what I could tell, ditching the phone had done the trick.

  I took Kaufmann’s arm. “Lean on me.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be OK. Really.”

  Half a block later, I slipped my arm around his back, and he let me prop him up. It wasn’t easy, as I was coping with injuries of my own along with my duffel and the yellow bag. But we managed without falling.

  We approached Victor’s building from the opposite direction and limped into the back entrance. By the time we reached the apartment, I couldn’t help noticing Kaufmann’s lean was heavier, his steps growing more unsure.

  Victor was still unconscious when we entered. He lay in an awkward position on the floor, his wrists still bound behind his back with the zip tie, his knees bent, ankles similarly hitched together. For a moment I felt guilty for what I’d done to him. Then I stashed the emotion away. If Victor was the mild-mannered Sox fan EMT he said he was, I would have time to regret drugging and binding him later.

  “Who is he?” Kaufmann asked.

  “A friend.”

  Kaufmann’s brows arched.

  If he was rethinking his friendship with me right about now, I wouldn’t blame him. “It’s complicated.”

  “Obviously.”

  A low trilling sound came from the hall.

  I spun in time to see Mozart rub against the door molding. She wound between Kaufmann’s legs and rubbed her fat, calico body against me from whiskers to tail.