Flee (10 page)

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 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 ran 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 come from a lousy background, thinks she's finally found
someone who cares, is there for her. Her soulmate."

"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 was 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 and 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 step-father 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 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 just went 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 wasn'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 okay. 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 duffle 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'd 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.

At
least Victor's cat thought I was all right. Somehow that pleased me more than
it should.

I
ushered Kaufmann into the kitchen. The room was cramped, barely big enough for
a small table slid against one wall. I smelled the faint odor of fried eggs,
dish soap, and sour milk coming from the sink. Victor's jacket hung on the back
of the only chair. I guided Kaufmann to sit, and after checking the jacket's
pockets and finding them empty, I threw it around his shoulders.

A
search of the refrigerator turned up a bottle of orange juice. I opened the
twist top and gave it a sniff. Satisfied it was fresh, I gave it to Kaufmann
and ordered him to drink. At least that would hydrate him and raise his blood
sugar while I focused on stopping the bleeding. "Let me take a look at
that hand."

He
set the bottle of juice on the table. Steadying himself with his good hand, he
nodded and held out the other. "Go ahead."

I
unwound the bloody t-shirt, trying to steel myself against the tight expression
of pain pinching his face and the sweat beading along his hairline. His skin
looked like wax.

The
strong copper-sweet odor of blood oozed over me, making my stomach hitch. I
clamped my bottom lip between my teeth and forced myself to look at the damage
I'd caused. Where his index finger should be, there was only a stub. Blood
surged from the wound in time with his pulse. But as bad as it looked, I let
out a breath of relief. At least Cory had taken the finger off at the joint and
not severed the bone.

 "What
are you going to do?" Kaufmann's voice was weak, his words forced out
between clenched teeth.

"I'm
going to disinfect it and put in a few sutures. I should be able to slow the
bleeding, help it clot."

He
took a long drink then set the bottle of juice on the table. Swiping his good
hand over his face, he let out a sigh. "Got a bullet for me to bite?"

"I
was thinking of something more pharmaceutical…and effective."

"Thank
God."

I
led him into Victor's bedroom. Once Kaufmann was comfortable on the bed, I dumped
the yellow bag filled with money in the closet and pulled a clean syringe from
my duffle along with the amobarbital I’d used on Victor. There was no need for Kaufmann
to be clear-headed. Better to send him into a haze where the pain would be more
bearable. Even better if he could sleep. And one of the best side effects of
the amobarbital was the touch of amnesia it left behind. I couldn't erase the
trauma Cory had put Kaufmann through, couldn't restore his finger, but at least
he wouldn't have to remember the next few hours.

"Care
to hurry with that?" He gave me a little smile, but I could tell the
gesture had taken a good amount of effort.

"By
the time you wake up fully, the worst of this will have passed." I rolled
up his sleeve and gave him the shot. "I'm so sorry, Kaufmann. For your
finger. For Cory. For all of it."

He
shook his head. Raising his good hand, he brushed my words from the air. "No
reason to be sorry. You saved me, just like you said you would. But even more,
you saved yourself."

I
narrowed my eyes on him, not following.