Lisa Black: Takeover

“I asked you to leave him out of it.”

“What I said goes. They’ll never strafe that car if he’s in it. You, I’m not so sure about-chivalry died a long time ago.” He stood up. “Jessie, take the tie-wraps out of the side pocket there and loop their feet together. Just one ankle. Make sure it’s tight.”

He stood back, holding the automatic pistol. On the monitor it would seem as if Jessica followed his commands out of fear. She slid the sleeping Ethan to the floor, gently propping his head on her purse.

“That’s the real reason for the cough medicine, isn’t it?” Theresa asked her. “To keep him quiet and still during your getaway. He’s really out-I hope you didn’t give him too much.”

“You think I drugged my own baby?” Jessica kept her voice down, too low for the microphones in the ducts to pick up, and yet she hadn’t sounded that angry when accused of her husband’s brutal murder.

“I think he hasn’t coughed or even sniffled once all afternoon. You stained his nose with the fruit juice to make him look as if he had a cold so that the day-care lady would tell you he couldn’t stay there. You came with a convenient supply of snacks for him, since you knew she wouldn’t be giving him lunch.”

Jessica placed one plastic tie around Theresa’s right ankle and one around Cavanaugh’s left, then connected the two with a third. She pulled them tight enough to cut off the blood supply. “This whole thing has been for him,” she declared.

“The same thing on their wrists,” Lucas told his girlfriend.

Theresa protested. “No. It hurts.”

Jessica slid the strap over Theresa’s right hand without hesitation. Theresa held it in place so that it tightened around the bones, to keep it from rubbing the already damaged area. The hand might go numb, but it was the best she could do.

Over at the reception desk, the phone began to ring. Lucas ignored it, as she expected him to. He could not risk crossing that open area where the snipers could sight him through the clear window.

Cavanaugh asked, “What’s the purpose of this, Lucas?”

“Here’s the plan: Jessie, put Ethan in the rear driver’s-side seat. You’ll have to drive.”

“But I’ve never even been in that car!”

“Just press the gas and steer. It’s an automatic, and we don’t have much choice. I’ll go out behind you two. The snipers are all on the other side of the street, right, Chris?” When the negotiator didn’t answer, Lucas slung the rifle over one shoulder and pulled a handgun from the back of his waistband, pointing it at Cavanaugh’s head. Then he repeated the question.

“I don’t know! They don’t tell me where the snipers are! It’s too easy for me to slip and give something away.”

Lucas considered this. “That’s true, I remember reading that. I’m not worried about the ones on the library anyway. The car will block me,” he added to Jessica. “Any on the roof of this building will have to aim straight down, and the awning will block their view up until the last second.” He swung the gun’s barrel toward Theresa and Cavanaugh. “You two will get into the rear passenger’s-side seat. I’ll ride shotgun, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Theresa formed a picture in her mind, and not a pretty one. She figured that the cops could handle a vertical shot, desperate at this last chance to stop Lucas-and he intended to stay plastered to her back once again. All of a sudden, she wanted to vomit.

“On your feet,” he ordered. “Jessie, pick up Ethan. Get ready to run. Move fast, but don’t panic-they won’t shoot at you. Here’s the keys. Get in, start the car, and drive. Don’t worry about me- I’ll be inside.”

Theresa and Cavanaugh got to their feet, gingerly, trying to coordinate their movements. They managed not to fall, but three-legged-race walking required their full attention. She twined a few of her fingers around his. He smiled and gave them a squeeze, but she hadn’t done it as a show of moral support. “Try not to yank on my wrist.”

“Sure.” The smile disappeared.

She felt a twinge of guilt. “I’ll try not to bump your chest.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option. There can’t be a lot of room in that backseat, not with those two duffels in the middle.”

“Shut up.” Lucas half crouched behind them, holding on to the back of Cavanaugh’s shirt with one hand and poking the handgun into Theresa’s spine with the other. He kept his head below the level of their shoulders. “Go, Jessie.”

Clutching her son, she ran out and around the front of the Mer-cedes. Lucas pushed, and Theresa and Cavanaugh made for the passenger side in their stumbling gait. He opened the door and slid in. Lucas separated from them, jumped into the passenger seat, and faced them before Theresa could pull in her arms and legs. The barrel of the weapon appeared beside the headrest. He had only to hold down the trigger and she and Cavanaugh became hamburger.

She hoped Rachael was not watching.

“Get in,” he said. “Shut the door or I’ll shoot you both.”

She heard a loud plunk, and something struck her calf. Two divots appeared in the pavement outside. She heard more toward the front of the car and retracted her body without thinking. There had been snipers on their side of the street, and she hoped that bullets would not penetrate the top of the car. Cavanaugh yanked the door shut, and then they were moving, with her butt on his thighs and the top of her head rubbing the upholstered roof. She remembered to breathe just as they approached the intersection of Rockwell and Sixth.

3:58 P.M.

“Go straight,” Lucas instructed, though he did not stop facing Theresa and Cavanaugh in the rear seat. He reached back and locked their door. “Keep up the speed so they can’t jump out. Don’t stop for anything.”

“What now, Lucas?” Chris Cavanaugh asked, and Theresa couldn’t believe how calm he sounded. Their bound wrists caused her right arm to bend double and stretch behind her; he slipped his left arm over her head to relieve the strain. The duffel bags created a solid, cloth-covered wall between the two halves of the car. She could only assume that Ethan lay sleeping on the other side. As she ducked her head under Cavanaugh’s arm, she noticed a swatch of white at her feet. Her lab coat-she had left it in the car, and Brad had plopped the money-filled duffel bag right on top of it.

“Roll down your window, Jessie.” Lucas unzipped the end of the top duffel bag and reached in. He had perhaps six inches of clearance between the top of the bag and the roof of the car, and he pulled out a bundle of money. “Rip the band off this and throw it out.”

“How am I supposed to do that and drive at the same time?”

“Just throw it. It doesn’t have to be neat, as long as it gets people into the street. They’ll slow down the cops.”

The negotiator pressed. “Where are you going to go?”

“That’s a good question, Chris, but I don’t have time to discuss it. Turn right when the road ends, Jessie. Don’t slow down any more than you absolutely have to.”

“Red light.”

“Run it.”

“I hate driving!” she snapped at him.

“You’ll be fine. Just keep throwing.” He rolled his window down a few inches, and even the hot breeze came as a relief. He caught Theresa’s eye. “Don’t think about jumping out.”

She had no intention of it. The idea of the pavement scraping off most of the skin on her face dissuaded her, but more than that, she was not ready to let go of Lucas and Jessica. Paul might be dying because of them, and they were not going to go free. “What about the explosives, Lucas? The ones you cooked up on Jessie’s stove last night? By the way, where did you find a health-food store open in the middle of the night?”