Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (63 page)

“Jason!”

It was for only a second, but Katie’s shriek was enough to break Hart’s concentration, and Cooper reached for the keys and barreled out the side door, her focus on the police officers gathering at the end of the driveway.

The muzzles of their pistols flashed in the night, and the bullets puffed clouds of concrete into the side of the house from the missed shots as Cooper sprinted to Hart’s car, returning fire. The revolver had a harsher kick than the Glock she was used to shooting, but she wasn’t concerned with the aim. The authorities already thought she had killed one officer, and she didn’t want to give them any more reason to kill her than they already had.

Bullets vibrated through the frame of Hart’s sedan as she started the engine, the officers retreating to their vehicles. She shifted into reverse, and the headlights revealed Hart in front of her, gun in hand. Time froze for a moment, but when Cooper finally slammed the accelerator, tearing out of the drive, she watched Hart lower the weapon.

The engine revved loudly, tires spinning smoke into the night air as Cooper raced down the sleeping residential street. The speedometer wavered between thirty and fifty miles per hour as she took sharp turns, doing everything she could to outrun her pursuers. For a moment she’d thought she’d outrun them since she heard no sirens, but she quickly realized why they hadn’t shown they were police. The news of Farnes’s death had already made it to his brother. And the officers chasing her down didn’t have any intention of taking her to jail.

Tires screeched across pavement as Cooper turned a hard left, bending around a corner then flooring the gas pedal once she straightened out. The headlights of both cars flashed in her rearview mirror as she flew over a speed bump, the car jerking heavily from side to side. She kept her escape route sporadic, shifting down side roads, and never took her foot off the gas. The late hour kept the streets empty, and those she did pass quickly moved aside when they saw her approach.

The sedan jolted forward from the sudden crash of metal on metal, and Cooper’s body jerked forward with it. When she checked the rearview mirror, she saw one of the squad cars riding her bumper. Another vicious jolt pushed her forward, and Cooper felt the wheel slip from her hands, and she careened left then right, trying to straighten the vehicle out. But in her attempts to correct her course, she lost speed, and the second car appeared on her right. The driver’s window was down, and he pulled a gun. He fired three shots, the passenger-side window shattered, and Cooper ducked, swerving hard left into the other lanes, which were thankfully empty of traffic.

Cooper’s head was down for only a second, but when she brought it up, a road railing blocked her path. She jerked the wheel right and smashed into the squad car whose driver had fired the shots. Metal ground against metal, and she felt every bump and tear vibrate through the car’s frame as she struggled to keep steady.

Her eyes fell to the speedometer, and her speed had slowed again, though her foot was still glued to the pedal on the floor. The squad car behind her rammed her again, and all semblance of order was lost as the three bounced along the highway like bumper cars.

A structure on the left caught Cooper’s eye, and in a split-second decision, she swerved hard left into the parking garage. The lowered gate splintered into pieces as she drove through and swerved the car hard right, making sure it blocked the rest of the entrance.

Cooper climbed over to the passenger-side door and shoved it open just as the two pairs of headlights from the squad cars pulled up behind her. She was already sprinting toward the exit when she heard the squeal of brakes and tires, followed by the quick slam of car doors.

Gunfire exploded, and she heard the rhythmic tink of bullets collide with the parked cars inside the garage. Cooper ducked, pulling her revolver as she darted behind an SUV for cover. She jumped out from behind the front bumper and fired into the goons, forcing both of them to seek cover as well.

Cooper glanced over to the exit stairwell and weaved behind the backs of cars, keeping her head low, moving toward the glowing signs. The gunfire echoed louder in the confined concrete space, and it wasn’t long before the loud pops morphed into a high-pitched whine, and all she felt was the thumping of her heart as she made one final sprint toward the exit. She emptied the chambers of her weapon and made her move, her pursuers giving chase as she sprinted out the stairwell door and into an alley.

Every step forward sent a stabbing pain through her calf, and she felt the wrapping Katie had given her spill blood that ran down to her heel. But she didn’t stop or slow. She had to keep moving. She had to stay alive.

Chapter 6

It was three blocks before Cooper managed to lose them, ducking into a cluster of abandoned townhomes that had been bordered up, and forced the goons to give up their pursuit out of frustration.

With her calf still bleeding, Cooper collapsed to her back, resting against the cool concrete. She pulled up her left pant leg to examine the dressing. She wiped away the blood as best she could, using the torn-off sleeve of her shirt, then wrapped the exposed wound tightly. When she stood, she lost her balance and slammed into the wall.

Fatigue had curled its icy grip around her mind and body. She needed rest. Limping, Cooper backtracked through the old buildings, being mindful of remaining quiet. If the police found her now, she wouldn’t be able to elude them again.

The night air was still warm when Cooper stepped outside, and the alley she entered was bare of people. Steam rose through grates in the ground, and trash spilled from a full dumpster and littered the pavement. Both ends of the alley were clear, but Cooper chose to head south toward the slums. The hordes of homeless and junkies wouldn’t pose as great a threat as the police.

Cooper stuck to the dark alleyways and sidewalks on her journey, doing her best to hide the limp and blood beneath the cover of the night. Only the occasional car passed in the early morning hours, the thump of bass rattling the sheet metal of the trunk, slowing to take a look at her. But she kept her head down, blending herself into the surroundings, and no trouble came. With the ill-fitting clothes, the half-dazed walk, most people assumed she was just another junkie looking for a fix.

The shell of an apartment building that had never been finished was as good a place as any to spend the night. She passed dozens of lumps in sleeping bags, their human contents snoring and shifting in the night from either withdrawals or bad trips. She drifted silently through the concrete halls, the floors dirtied with the grime of both nature and man.

Exhausted, Cooper chose a spot in the far corner of the building, picking a room that had a door and four walls to guard her back. She barricaded the door with an old workbench bare of any tools and collapsed in the darkest corner. She curled into a ball and felt the weight of the day seal her eyes shut. But whatever rest she hoped to receive was interrupted with nightmares. The killer’s victims visited her in the night, casting their judgment over her as blood spilled from their gaping wounds. They flung accusations of fault and death, and with every word, a drop of blood splattered on her body until she was drenched in the fluids of the dead.

Beth appeared as well, her face a ghostly white, the gunshot wound at her stomach a bright red, pulling Cooper’s gaze toward the crimson. She spoke of their mother, their father, and her children, who she would never see grow up. But the worst of the night came at the very end.

A cold mist flooded over her, and goose bumps rose over her flesh as she puffed icy clouds of air. She looked down to her stomach, which had suddenly swollen with child. When she grazed the bare skin of her womb, a knifelike pain stabbed her in the stomach, and she screamed, the blood-curdling howl so loud her throat bled.

Blood poured from the open gash in her womb, and she watched the lifeless body of her unborn infant drift away in a river of crimson. When she lifted her head, a dark figure loomed above, and he held a knife in his hand. The cold thawed from the hot rage that seared through her body. “You did this!” She spit the accusations like curses, each one more wicked than the last. But the dark figure remained still, hovering over her like a storm cloud. Slowly, the figure’s features filled in, the first being his small, beady eyes.

The icy grip of panic and fear returned, and when Cooper tried to scream, a gag suddenly appeared over her mouth, and her wrists and ankles were bound to the legs and arms of a chair. The killer held the silver box with four switches, and she was suddenly in his basement. All but one had been flipped, and when he pressed his finger to the last switch, he laughed, the ominous timbre filling her mind like chants from the dead. He flicked the last switch up, and a shock sprung her from the nightmare and back into the dark, musty room of the broken-down building.

Drenched from head to toe in sweat, Cooper propped herself up and leaned against the wall. She wiped her eyes clear of the stinging perspiration burning her pupils. Her calf throbbed in pain, and she regained control of her breathing, letting her heart rate slow.
It wasn’t real. It was just a dream.

The door suddenly burst inward, and the bench Cooper had moved to barricade it slammed to the floor as two bums wrestled one another, oblivious to Cooper’s presence. A crowd of homeless gathered to watch the fight, and Cooper quickly shuffled out, evading the harsh stench of body odor that followed the building’s inhabitants like a cloud.

The fog of morning loomed overhead as Cooper stepped outside and squinted into the early light. The sun was still emerging from the river, which meant it couldn’t have been past eight a.m. Cooper lingered by the building’s exit and watched the start of the morning traffic on the interstate down the hill. For the first time in her career, she didn’t know which path to walk. She was a wanted criminal, and the last person she could turn to had betrayed her for his own cause.

With a high level of uncertainty down every road she could see, she started small, stepping out of the building and onto the stoop. All she needed was a starting point, momentum to build on.
McKaffee.
The probation officer was the only surviving member from the video. If the killer wanted Cooper to bring down the governor, then McKaffee could be the key to unlock that door.

Cooper pushed herself off the steps as a homeless woman exited one of the doors on the far end of the building. The woman lit a cigarette then turned the corner. Cooper hobbled after her, struggling to catch up. “Hey, wait.” Even the short distance had caused her trouble, and she hunched over, catching her breath, as the woman stared at her with lifeless eyes. “Is there a soup kitchen around here somewhere?” It’d been almost a day since she’d eaten anything, and she already felt the effects of dehydration from both the wound and the physical exertion.

The woman remained silent, and Cooper reached into her pocket, pulling out her wallet and removing some cash, which was still soggy from her swim in the river. She would have used the money herself, but by now her face was plastered on every news station in the city, and with the FBI’s involvement, they’d be watching traffic cams. A low-level place like a soup kitchen wouldn’t have any surveillance equipment for her to worry about. “I just need to get something to eat.”

The woman extended a weathered hand and carefully removed the bills, then crumpled them in her fist and shoved them into her pocket. She pointed down the street. “There’s a place off of Seventh that serves till nine. It’s not more than a few blocks away.”

“Thank you.” Cooper limped in the direction of the woman’s hand and flipped the collar of her shirt up and kept her head down.

“Did you have to use that or something?”

Cooper stopped, turning around. “Use what?”

The woman took a few steps forward, squinting with half a smile that revealed several missing teeth, and gestured to the revolver tucked in Cooper’s waistband, which was hidden behind her shirt. “Most of the people that stay in that place have never even fired a gun, let alone have the money to buy one. And you don’t fit the mold of our normal visitors.” The woman shifted her head from side to side. “Typically the only two things people have when they come here are money and trouble.” She tapped her pocket where she’d hidden the bills. “And you’re strapped for cash.”

Whatever angle the old woman was working Cooper couldn’t be sure, but the last thing she needed was for that old hag to point the cops in her direction. She reached for the pistol and curled her fingers around the handle that protruded from her waistband. “Are we going to have a problem here?”

“Shit, honey.” The hag coughed as a wheezing laugh escaped her lips. “I don’t give a fuck what you did, just as long as you don’t use that thing on me.” She held up her hands and backed away. “The cops don’t ever come around this part of town anyway, not unless it’s to peddle some of their own shit.”

Cooper waited until the woman was completely gone before she started back on the path toward the soup kitchen, and even then she found herself turning to ensure no one had followed. When she spotted the horde of hungry bodies, she joined the rest of the homeless waiting for a hot meal.

The line moved quickly, and the chatter between the serving line and its patrons was friendlier than she expected. She found a spot in the corner, close to an exit, in case the unforeseeable occurred and she was recognized. But she managed to finish the powdered eggs, home fries, and grits without incident and chugged the small carton of orange juice in one long gulp. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and returned the tray to the collection pile. Now all that was left was to find McKaffee.

“Hey.”

The voice came from the door, and when Cooper turned, she saw that it was the same woman from earlier, grinning a toothless smile. Cooper followed the old woman outside and around the building to an alleyway. “What do you want?” Silent, she dug her hands into her pockets and pulled out a balled-up piece of paper. At first Cooper thought the old woman was returning the money, but the paper was white, not green. “What is this?”