John Gilstrap - At all costs

“Nothing’s happening,” Carolyn said without moving her lips.

“Did they stop?” Jake asked softly.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, then, they’re just running the plates. They should check out, so relax.”

“Yeah, right.” Her stomach was alive with butterflies-no, make that condors, a flock of them. The biggest birds on the planet.

“You’ll know what they know by the way they get out of the car. If their guns are drawn, we’re screwed.”

Travis yanked down his blanket. “Guns?” He hadn’t even considered the thought of a shoot-out. His eyes focused on the Glock in Jake’s hand. “Dad?” There was genuine terror in the boy’s eyes now.

Jake held up a finger to silence him. “Shh. Remember what I told you. I promise I’ll explain it all to you. Later. For now, I need you to stay under that blanket.” He made a point to smile.

Trembling now, and crying a little, Travis did as he was told.

“They’re getting out now,” Carolyn said. “No guns, though. Suppose they want to search the inside?”

“They won’t. No probable cause.” Unless they recognize you.

“But what if they do?”

Jake didn’t have a clue. “Then we’ll wing it.”

The cops got out of their car together. The one from the passenger side stationed himself at the rear bumper of the van, not three feet away from Jake. But for a thin layer of sheet metal, they could have shaken hands. Meanwhile, the driver strolled cautiously toward Carolyn’s window. As he neared, she cranked it down a few inches.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” the cop said.

Carolyn had to crane her neck back and to the left to see him at all. “Hello, Officer. Did I do something wrong?”

The cop was all business; not a trace of humor. “Can I see your driver’s license, please?” The silver name tag over his pocket read “Pernell.”

It took a huge effort for Carolyn to keep her hands steady as she fumbled through her purse for her new ID. Carrie Durflinger, she told herself. As she handed the laminated card with her picture over to the cop, she quickly scanned the address block and jammed it into her short-term memory. 274 Oak Lane, High Point, North Carolina.

Pernell looked at it for just a few seconds, then stuffed it casually into his belt. “Have you seen this man?” he asked, displaying a fuzzy photocopy of Jake’s ancient arrest picture, full-face and profile.

The last time Carolyn had seen the picture, a similarly outdated picture of her former self had resided right next to Jake on the sheet of paper. Carolyn made a show of studying the picture carefully. He looked so young back then; no salt yet in his pepper-colored hair, freshly shaved cheeks.

“No, I don’t think so,” Carolyn said at length, inwardly proud of her acting skills. “Who is it?”

The cop took the picture back and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “He goes by the name of Brighton. He’s wanted for murder.”

Carolyn dropped her jaw. “Murder! Oh, my God! In our little town?”

The cop gave a yeah-ain’t-it-awful smirk and shook his head. “You think you know people, right?” he said. “Ms. Durflinger, I’m gonna ask you to stay here for just a minute more, okay?”

Carolyn’s heart dropped. What did he see? What did I say?

“Well, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she said, checking her watch.

The cop nodded. Clearly, he didn’t give a hoot about her schedule. “It’ll just be a minute.”

“Jesus, Carolyn,” Jake whispered from behind. “You’re from North Carolina. This isn’t your little town!”

Oh, shit! How could she be so stupid? Her stomach cramped harder still. She tensed against the pain but maintained a perfect poker face. The other cop was staring straight at her reflection in the door-mounted mirror. If she so much as twitched, he’d see it.

“Too late to worry now,” Jake grumbled.

Carolyn ignored him. Let’s see you do this if you think you’re so damn good at it.

Pernell walked back to his partner. Carolyn watched as they chatted calmly, in the manner of consulting physicians: Pernell with his back to Carolyn, the partner facing her. She didn’t like the other guy. His eyes were unfriendly, and as he listened, he appeared to stare straight through her. From body language alone, Carolyn surmised that Pernell was the subordinate. The boss cop asked a couple of questions, and Pernell answered each with a subtle shake of his head.

“What’s happening?” Travis pleaded from beneath the blanket.

Jake reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder. “Shhhh. We’ll be fine.”

Finally, the meeting broke up. As Pernell strolled back to the van, the boss returned to the cruiser.

“Sorry to have bothered you, Ms. Durflinger,” Pernell said, handing her driver’s license back through the window. After Carolyn took the card back, the officer smiled and tapped the door twice, a gesture of finality. “Have a good day.”

The nerves kicked in as soon as Pernell started back to his car. Carolyn’s hands trembled out of control, making it difficult for her to crank her window shut. Then a wave of anxiety swept over her, left to right, top to bottom. Within seconds, she was trembling all over: hands, knees, legs, shoulders, jaws. A crippling wave of nausea followed, along with an overwhelming need to go to the bathroom. They’d come so close, and now she was going to wreck it all in a flood of tears and vomit.

“I’m going to be sick,” she tried to say, but the words came out as a garbled croak.

“No, you’re not!” Jake commanded. “You don’t have the luxury of getting sick. You’re going to swallow down whatever you have to and pull away just like there’s nothing wrong.” The sternness of Jake’s tone caused Travis’s head to pop out again from under the blanket. He looked more frightened than ever. Jake saw the look and softened. “You’ve got the reins now, honey,” he went on. “It’s you, me, and Travis. That’s all that matters. We can get away or we can get caught. Those are the only choices. And it’s all up to you. You did a great job a minute ago. Don’t blow it now.”

Jake’s words wounded Carolyn, and he knew it. She hated to be scolded like a child; in front of Travis, it was even worse. No words of praise for the wonderful deception; just warnings of dire consequences if she caved in to the flood of emotions which had just swallowed her up.

“… just get control, Carolyn.” Jake was still coaching her.

“I’ve got it, okay?” she snapped. Like flipping a switch, the emotions evaporated. Her hands and knees stilled, and her heart slowed to a survivable pace. The nausea was gone.

She slipped the van’s transmission into drive and pulled away from the shoulder. She glanced back in the side-view mirror at Officer Pernell, who seemed busy with paperwork on his lap. As the image grew smaller with distance, Carolyn found herself hoping he’d never find out how badly he just screwed up.

Behind her, Jake let out a war whoop that nearly made her wreck the van. “We made it, babe! You were brilliant!”

By four-thirty, the full authority and resources of the United States government were behind the search for the Donovans, and, much to her surprise, Irene still had full tactical command. As a practical matter, all that really meant was that she’d been named as the official scapegoat. If she truly had lost her prey, only one career would be trashed.

Actually, two. Irene had known Paul Boersky since their days together in Minneapolis-her first assignment out of the academy, and his second. Together, they’d racked up quite an impressive list of arrests over the years, putting them both on faster tracks than their respective classmates. Irene had passed her old partner on the career ladder just fourteen months ago, thanks to the political realities of the nineties. These days, when it came time for promotions, all ties went to minority candidates-in this case, to a woman-and if you asked her, it was about damn time.