All The Stars In Heaven (32 page)

“But if he finds
you,
you’ll be back in jail.” Sarah held his hand tight.

“Then that’s where I’ll be waiting.” Jay pulled away and jumped down. He moved the chair out of her reach. “Hide up there as long as you have to,” he said, tossing her jacket up. “Whatever you do,
don’t
come down until you know he’s gone.”

“I told you I’d never leave you again.” She leaned forward, reaching for him. “I—”

A key turned in the front door.

“You’re not leaving,” Jay said. “I am.” He sprinted off to a bedroom, hoping he could pull this off.

Chapter Sixty-One

There was a reason, Jay decided, that
Casablanca
ended before the Gestapo discovered Bogart. He’d made a point of renting that movie a year or so ago, after Jane compared him to the hero. And he’d liked the film, thought old Humphrey acted bold and looked pretty good when the movie was over. But in reality the ending would have been a little different.

Reality felt bad. Reality was the heart-pounding moment he’d spent ransacking Sarah’s room while he waited for her father to find him. Reality was a gun at his temple, a punch to the gut, and his shoulder screaming with pain as his arms were jerked behind him and handcuffs snapped roughly around his wrists.

Jay didn’t fight back, didn’t dare, knowing Sarah heard every sound they made. He feigned being high and hung over, hoping Grant would get him out of the house and into the cruiser as fast as possible, and Sarah would have a chance to escape. He played his part right, and Grant did just that, but the worst part of reality was leaving Sarah behind, knowing she was alone in the cold attic, wondering if she was going to be all right.

Jay stumbled down the front steps as Sarah’s father swore at him and shoved him from behind.

“You don’t want to tell me where she is,” he said. “Then I’ll take you to someone who’s a little more persuasive.”

For the first time since they’d met in the hall, Jay resisted. What if that
someone
wasn’t the police? Before now he hadn’t considered that Grant
wouldn’t
arrest him. He shoved his shoulder into Grant, turning to face him. “Why do you think I came here?” he asked in a belligerent tone. “Yesterday some guy pulled a gun on us, and we got separated.”

“You’re lying,” Grant said. But he sounded unsure.

“I’m not.” Jay’s eyes were wild. “She’s out there somewhere, and some lunatic with a machine gun is after her.”

A police car raced up the street, sirens blaring as it braked to a stop in front of the house. Kirk jumped out. Grant swore.

Jay followed suit, continuing to act his part. “Another one. I hate cops.” He flinched when Kirk pointed his gun at him.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jay said. “I’m just here looking for Sarah.”

“Nice act, but I don’t buy it,” Grant said as he and Kirk faced each other, guns drawn, on either side of Jay. “I know Officer Anderson’s been helping you—and Sarah.” Neighbors were starting to come out to see what the sirens were for.

“Let him go,” Kirk said.

Looking trapped, Grant put his gun away and spoke to Kirk. “Arrest him and book him into jail. If you do anything else, that little vacation your wife and kids are taking in Worcester ends early.”

“Are you threatening me?” Kirk asked, his tone belying the emotion Jay was certain he felt.

“Not you,
them,
” Grant said under his breath as he pushed past Kirk to the sidewalk. “Just an intruder, folks,” he called to the small crowd gathered in the street. “My officer’s taking care of it.”

Kirk grabbed Jay’s uninjured arm and hauled him toward the car. He opened the back door, and Jay climbed inside, watching out the window as Grant returned to the house—and Sarah.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Sarah peered through the slats of the attic window, watching until the car with Jay in it disappeared down the street. She hadn’t been able to hear the words exchanged outside, but seeing two guns pointed at Jay was enough that she understood what had just happened.

The front door slammed, and she jumped, steadying herself on the crossbeams as the tears fell. She wrapped her jacket around her and shivered, more from worry than cold. Jay was going back to jail and, worse, Kirk was the one taking him. Had she been right to doubt Kirk’s loyalties? Judging by the scene she’d just witnessed, it appeared he might be working with her father after all.

Clutching the flashlight in her hand, Sarah listened to the sounds coming from below. Her father was in the kitchen, making a considerable amount of noise, banging pots and pans and the occasional cupboard door. This lasted a few minutes, then all was silent until the front door crashed shut, rattling the house.

Sarah leaned forward, peeking out the round window again. She watched as her dad got in his car and drove off. For a second, she was too relieved to move, then she sprang into action, scooting along the beams toward the hall access. One hand held the flashlight, guiding her so she didn’t step wrong and crash through the ceiling below. Her other hand held the manila envelope she’d found taped inside a cradle. She’d yet to open the envelope, but her name—written in her father’s handwriting—was scrawled across the front.

Reaching the opening, Sarah slid the cover aside and looked down, half-expecting to see Jay there, his arms held out. She wished she could rewind time, wished with all her heart she’d listened and hurried when he suggested they go. A quiet sob escaped her throat, and she jumped to the floor, the gun in her pocket banging against her hip as she landed.

Wiping her eyes, she grabbed the chair from her room and carried it to the hall so she could close the attic access. Once she’d covered her tracks, she took the flashlight and envelope and left through the kitchen, noting the mess her father had left behind. She guessed the earlier commotion had to do with the lack of food in the house and the necessity of grocery shopping. If so, that meant he’d be gone long enough for her to get out of the neighborhood before he returned. She was walking now—Jay had the key to Kirk’s car, and even if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t dare drive it for fear of being recognized.

More than ever before, it was imperative she not be found. Jay needed her.

* * *

The ride to the station took less than ten minutes, but it was enough time for Jay to remember how much he hadn’t enjoyed being locked up the last time.

He wanted to talk to Kirk, but as they pulled away from the curb, the look and slight shake of the head Kirk gave him in the rearview mirror kept Jay silent. For whatever reason, Kirk didn’t want him talking right now. But he would when they got out of the car, before they took him away for yet another mug shot and fingerprinting. He had to let Kirk know where Sarah was. He was her best chance at getting away safely.

All too soon Kirk parked in front of the station and came around to let Jay out. When they were a few feet from the car, Kirk spoke.

“We were being followed, and I think my car might be bugged. Where’s Sarah?”

“In the attic at her dad’s,” Jay said. “We were searching for something to connect him or Carl with the drug activity at the park. We didn’t expect him home so soon.”

Kirk shook his head and frowned. “That was stupid. How am I supposed to get her out of there now?” He turned to Jay. “You heard what her father said about Christa and the boys?”

“Yeah.”

“Night before last, our house was broken into, then when you and Sarah went missing yesterday, and Doyle didn’t call—”

“You knew the chief was onto you,” Jay guessed. They started up the steps of the station.

Kirk nodded. “Doyle’s murder made the news this morning.”

“Did they find the guy on the roof?” Jay said. “The phony detective who tried to kill us?”

“Yeah. They didn’t give a name though. I don’t know how Chief Morgan—and whoever he’s working with—found out about your meeting. I’m sorry. I never would have sent you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jay said. “And we got away, didn’t we?”

“I’ll have to hear all about it sometime.” They reached the door, and Kirk pulled it open. “You know I don’t want to do this. If there were any other way—”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jay said. “Just get Sarah and keep her safe.”

“I will,” Kirk said. “I’m worried about Christa and the boys too. The chief sounded like he knew where they were, and I don’t dare trust that he’s bluffing. I feel like we’re two animals circling each other right now, waiting for the other to make his move.”

“You’re gutsy for sticking around,” Jay said. “But are you sure that’s wise?”

“Not at all,” Kirk said. “But I haven’t gone to work. I’ve been following the chief, watching his house when he’s there.”

Jay sensed Kirk’s frustration. “I know you want to figure this out, and believe me, I really want you to, but it’s not worth risking your family or Sarah. I’ll be okay here no matter how long it takes.” Jay lowered his voice as they approached the desk. “Take Christa and the boys and Sarah—and get out of town. Keep her safe for me.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

It had taken Sarah more than three hours to walk a circumspect route from her house in Summerfield to the home in Cambridge she and Jay had stayed at two nights before. As Kirk had instructed, they’d left their belongings there to be stored or brought to them later, once their federal protection had been arranged—or so Kirk had told them.

Believing the couple who lived in the house was still on their honeymoon, and hoping Kirk wouldn’t think to look for her there, Sarah had the idea to stay at the house again. She and Jay had locked the key inside when they left, so she hoped to get in through the bedroom window with the newly-cut screen. But a car in the driveway and lights shining from the windows put an end to that plan, until she remembered the motor home parked beside the house. It wasn’t a great hiding place, but it would do.

Being careful to stay in the shadows, Sarah crept along the side of the house. According to her watch it was almost eleven p.m., and most of the house lights on the street were out.

She crouched in front of the motor home and reached beneath the step, searching for a key as she’d seen the couple do two nights ago, when she and Jay hid in the bushes nearby. Her fingers scraped against the rough, cold metal then stopped, her nails snagging on a piece of duct tape. Sarah tugged it away, and a key fell into her hand. Elated, she stood, quickly inserting it into the lock. The door swung open and she climbed inside, closing and locking it behind her.

She switched on the flashlight again, grateful the beam was low and that the front windshield had a cover. She didn’t dare turn on the lights—if they even worked—but seeing the bed in the back, complete with a stack of folded blankets, Sarah felt like she’d arrived at a five-star hotel.

Sarah removed her shoes and sat down, taking a minute to stretch her aching feet. She took the gun from the jacket pocket and set it on the floor beside the bed. Pulling a quilt over her lap, she angled the flashlight so it illuminated the small space. Then she turned the envelope on its side, sliding the papers out.

While walking here she’d given in to curiosity, glancing at a few of the documents. But the need to stay alert and aware of her surroundings kept her from reading anything in detail.

Sarah picked up the paper on top of the pile—a copy of a police report from the early eighties. She scanned the form, noting her dad’s signature at the bottom. Subsequent pages, paper clipped together, described the bust of an art counterfeiting operation run by one James Devon Rossi. Sarah paused, rereading the name, certain she’d heard Kirk mention it before.

“You really do have intuition,” she mused aloud, thinking of Jay and his suggestion they search the attic. She sensed this report was important and wished Jay were here with her to figure it out.

What does an art counterfeiter from the eighties have to do with Dad and drugs in 2005?

After a few minutes, she set the report aside and went on to the next item—a car repair bill. Behind that were two hospital bills—one for her mother and one for Emily. Instead of feeling sad, Sarah held the papers reverently, grateful for proof of her mother’s and sister’s existence.

There were other things in the stack, as varied and unusual as those she’d already looked through, and exhausted as she was, she couldn’t seem to find a common thread linking them together.

She felt a headache forming and began massaging her temples as she glanced at the last two documents. The first was a petition for divorce filed by her mother, the last a page from the
Boston Globe
, dated December 1986. Red ink circled her mother’s obituary, and above that the sentence,
Are we in agreement now?

Agreement with
whom?
Goosebumps sprang up on her arms, followed by an involuntary shiver. Sarah flattened the paper, reading both columns of the newsprint for any additional clues. There were none she could see; the obituary gave only the date and place of her mother’s death. But the red circle around it, along with the note that
wasn’t
in her father’s handwriting, indicated it had been significant to someone.

Sarah decided that a trip to the medical examiner’s office tomorrow might be a good place to start. But for now her eyes blurred and stung, and she couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Giving in to exhaustion, she set the papers aside and lay back against the pillow, pulling the quilt up to her chin.

She had plenty of questions and no answers—nothing that would help Jay. The thought of him in jail made her sick to her stomach. She wondered if he was alone or with other inmates.
Is Carl anywhere near him? Why did I let him go? I’m the one who should have faced Dad.

Rolling on her side, Sarah curled in a ball, wrapping the quilt around her.
What if I can’t get Jay out?
The turmoil continued as her imagination took flight and the worst possibilities filled her mind. Too tired to cry anymore but too worried to sleep, she lay alone in the dark, praying for a miracle.