Heist 2 (18 page)

17

Johnnie

M
y life has flashed before my eyes at least three times during the high-speed police chase out here in the back roads of Tennessee—and that's before Harlem started firing at the cops. Any illusions of my believing Harlem wouldn't cause me any real harm flies out of the window. When I try to slam on the brakes, I'm stunned by how he's able to snatch me completely from the driver's seat and over to the passenger's side while simultaneously climbing over.

In a matter of minutes, we go from having one sheriff's car to a whole team of squad cars chasing us down.

“Please,” I shout at Harlem. “Just pull over before you get us both killed.”

“Can't do that,” he says without a second thought. “I have to get to that money before Isaiah. My daughter's life depends on it.”

His words rush past me, but I can't make any sense of them.
What money? Isaiah who? And what's wrong with his daughter?
“What are you talking about?”

A squad car tries to come up his left side.

Harlem doesn't bother taking aim, but fires out his window to get the car to fall back a few paces. Once the cop is behind us again, Harlem moves to the center of the two roads to prevent another bypass attempt.

“Harlem,” I yell for his attention. “Answer me. What is this all about?”

He cuts me an angry look. “What the hell does it matter now? You just want me to be back behind bars, right? You want to write me off and go back to that rich brother you're trying to marry.”

I scream as the back window of my car explodes.

“Get down,” Harlem shouts, pushing my head all the way down toward the floorboard.

He gets no resistance from me this time because I'm literally scared out of my mind. As much as I want to lay the blame on him, I know this time that I'm the one that set this whole chase in motion.

“Oh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” The apology is meant for myself, but Harlem thinks it's for him.

“It's okay. It's not your fault,” he says, still weaving all over the road. “I never meant to drag you into this . . . but I really did need to see you again.”

I don't bother correcting the misunderstanding because it's still nice to hear and believe that he couldn't stay away. “Please. Tell me what's really going on? What's this all about?”

Harlem pulls the wheel hard to the right. The back of my head bangs against the glove compartment, causing it to snap open. At the same time, the police open fire and I can hear the bullets slamming into my car.

I don't mean to lose it, but I can't stop the tears from leaping over my lashes. This is it. I'm going to die in a damn police chase. Me. Little Ms. Goody Two-shoes, as they called me most of my life. My sole crime was falling in love with the wrong man.

“What we had together—what we felt—was real,” Harlem says suddenly. “I really need for you to know that. I had every intention to retire. That's why I gave you the ring. I wanted to bring you into my real world. Introduce you to my people—my daughter.”

It was hard to catch that last part because of the wail of all the police sirens. I have no idea what's going on the road and I'm too scared to climb up from the floorboard to take a look for myself.

During the break of his storytelling, I share something with him too. “I saw her.”

Harlem sneaks another look at me.

“Your daughter,” I clarify. “Your grandmother brought her to court a couple of times. She looks a lot like you.”

He smiles. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Definitely.” The conversation drops there. I'm still not ready to know anything about the mother or the type of relationship he possibly has with her. The knowledge that she even exists fills me with an unexplainable jealousy.

“She's really sick,” he blurts out. “My daughter, Tyler. She has to have heart surgery and I couldn't leave the money accessible to my nana. She's been slowly losing everything while I've been locked down. After she drops that news on me, I hear through the prison grapevine that Isaiah has somehow managed an early release—scheduled for today. I don't have to be Einstein to figure out where he's headed at the first opportunity. With twenty-five million, his ass would be in the wind. I'll never see him or my money again. And then Tyler . . .”

He doesn't have to finish the sentence. I get the big picture. Along with my fear of our current situation, I'm also overcome with guilt and compassion.

“I'm sorry. I . . . I wish that I had known.” The implication being that he should've told me. I have no real answer to when exactly that should've happened. I'm sure that if he had told me in the beginning, I would have shut him down and not have given him the time of day. And had he told me
later
in the relationship, would I have had the strength to end it and walk away? Somehow, I seriously doubt it. Right or wrong, I'm still connected to this man by something more powerful than logic: love.

“Oh shit,” Harlem swears.

I look up to see terror flash across his face. Before I can get the words out of my mouth to ask what's going on, we hit something—hard, and then, if I'm not mistaken, we're airborne. After that, we clearly smash into a body of water because it quickly fills up the car.

18

Sam

N
ews of Harlem Banks's swan dive off a Tennessee bridge reaches my team while we're still in the air. The idea of these two's Bonnie and Clyde stint being over in less than twenty-four hours fills the team with an undeniable hope. The hope that we can go home and get a decent night's sleep. I'm immune to hope. I never can get myself to trust it.

It's sunset by the time the team makes their way to the crash site. Along with the local police, FBI, and the district US Marshal's office there's a swarm of news vans and helicopters covering the air.

“And you must be Assistant Deputy Chief Marshal Samantha Reynolds,” a white-haired southern boy says, thrusting out his thick, liver-spotted hand toward me.

“I am,” I respond, throwing on my professional smile.

“Yeah. I'm Chief Deputy George Carter. Your boss called and told me all about you.” His pale blue eyes rake over me. He's not impressed, but he continues to pump my arm as if he's jacking up a car.

A line of officers holds the news crews back but their cameras swing in our direction.

“So what news do you have for me, chief?”

“Only that your fugitive is currently at the bottom of this here river, which was witnessed by over half the local sheriff department's men. The crazy fool clipped an eighteen-wheeler and then spun out over the bank. They weren't equipped to attempt a rescue so all they could do is secure the area while the car took approximately eighteen minutes to sink out of their line of vision.

“Any bodies float to the top?”

“No, ma'am. But trust me. Those two nig—uh, I mean
fugitives
didn't get out of that car.”

My smile doesn't budge during his tongue slip. “Well, I'm sure you know how this goes. Trust but verify.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He laughs, posing for the cameras to get his best profile. “Anyway, we're working on getting a crew here to pull the car back out, but as you know, this is a small town that's not exactly equipped for that sort of thing. The closest department who can help is coming out of Knoxville. Lugging all that is going to take a few hours so we're going to keep the area secure until they get here.”

I nod along with the update, not liking the idea of us just sitting on our hands while we wait. But at least the department got us booked at a nearby motel. I glance over my shoulder at my crew, who are talking to a team of local agents and noting how they all look like extras for the show
The Walking Dead
.

“Listen, guys,” I address them after talking to Carter. “We got a couple of hours to take a nap and a shower. So let's just say we'll meet back up outside our posh three-star motel at about . . . nine o'clock p.m. before coming back here?”

They nod, looking ready to collapse with relief.

That's exactly what I do the second I'm in my room. Hell, I don't even remember being concerned about whether the sheets are clean before I coast into La La Land. What I do know is that it's a short trip before the alarm on my cell phone is going off. “How in the hell can it be eight forty-five?” I stare at the time in disbelief for a full minute before I swing my legs out of the bed. After a seven-minute shower, I feel fresh as a daisy before breezing back out of the room. When I meet back up with the team, they are looking a bit better, too. The steam trunks that were around Greg's eyes have been reduced to regular bags again.

The weather has taken a nasty turn in the few hours we were gone. Rain and river currents make the recovery effort difficult for the authorities. According to Major Brian Collins with the county sheriff's office, the river's current has more than doubled. Add the drizzling rain and gusting winds and then suddenly there is talk about whether to delay the recovery until the morning.

I toss in my two cents, even though at this point the final decision lies with the district deputy chief. “I'd prefer if we could just push through. If my fugitive is somewhere on foot, I need to know that sooner rather than later.”

“I hear what you're saying,” Carter says. “But I'm not trying to lose any men out here either.”

“What about the side sonars and water cameras? Can we at least find out whether there are bodies inside the car?” I ask.

“Won't rule out whether their bodies were swept farther down the river,” he counters.

I wonder why he's fighting me so hard on this, but then it occurs to me that he wants the credit for him and his guys for ending Banks's brazen getaway. At the end of the day, all things end in politics. Drawing a deep breath, I fall back on my professional smile again. “The search isn't called off until I have two bodies. Dead or alive.”

19

Harlem

N
ow that darkness has fallen, I can breathe easier as I trudge through these thick trees. Even as I put one foot in front of the other, I have no damn idea where I'm even going. I'm not even sure that it matters.

“I . . . I'm soooo cold,” Johnnie whimpers as I cradle her in my arms.

“I know, princess. So am I.” I swallow hard and get moving against the rain and gusting wind. There is a good chance that our asses could simply freeze to death out here and it could be weeks or months before anyone finds our frozen corpses.

“I'm sorry,” Johnnie keeps crying, trying her best to hold onto me.

“Please stop apologizing,” I tell her. “Put all the blame on me.” As usual. It's been a long time since anything I've planned has gone right. I don't know what in the hell possessed me to believe that this jailbreak would be any different. My best friend betrayed me. Not once, but clearly several times. I've disappointed my grandmother and it looks like I'm going to fail my daughter.

The voice in the back of my head keeps telling me to be grateful for the miracle of getting out of that damn river. We have no idea how far the cold current carried us. If I had my guess, it was more than a couple of miles. One thing for sure, we were both human popsicles by the time we were able to drag ourselves out of there.

Johnnie broke down when I told her that we had to keep moving. But we didn't have a choice. She managed about a mile by herself and when it was clear that she couldn't go any further, of course I wasn't going to just leave her out there in the middle of nowhere. Since I'm a big guy, I scooped her up and carried her.

The rain is one thing, but the wind is a killer. The way these thick tree branches keep whipping across my face and arms, I'm going to look like I've been in a fight with Freddy Kruger if we ever get out of here.

About another mile, I'm sure Johnnie has fallen asleep. That or she drifted into a coma. I can't stop to tell which at the moment. A few more steps and then suddenly I'm standing in the backyard of a brick ranch house. There's not a single light on, but that doesn't mean that the owners aren't simply fast asleep inside.

“Johnnie,” I whisper, bouncing her in my arms to try and wake her.

Thankfully, she stirs. “Huh?”

“Look.” I nod toward the house.

She turns her head and then sighs. It's possibly our second miracle.

“I'm going to go and check it out,” I tell her and then set her on her feet.

“Be careful,” she whispers, slinking over to a nearby tree and waiting for what I find out.

Quickly, I comb the entire perimeter and then peek through all of the windows. “It doesn't look as though anyone is here,” I say, returning to the backyard. “Can you walk?”

She nods and then follows me to the back door. In no time, I'm able to break us in. The heat in the house is a welcome relief. Neither of us wastes time stripping out of our wet clothes and throwing them into the wash. We also don't blink an eye in hopping into a hot shower together to wash the goop from the river off our bodies.

After toweling off, Johnnie strips blankets off the beds and I risk starting a fire in the fireplace.

“What are we going to do if these people return home?” she asks as we cuddle up in front of the flames.

“To tell you the truth, I have no fucking idea,” I answer honestly. At the moment, I can't remember another time when I've been this exhausted. I can't even process our naked bodies being pressed together. We're more concerned about getting warm. The cold seems to be in our bones.

Johnnie has it the worst.

I do what I can by holding her close and rubbing her back and arms until we fall asleep. According to the clock over the fireplace, I get a solid five hours. Still tucked beneath my chin and sleeping like a log is Johnnie. Easing my head back, I take a good look at her sleeping face and marvel at just how flawless she really is even without a stitch of makeup.

When I brush a kiss against her forehead, she stirs and moans softly. Smiling, I brush the second kiss against her upturned nose and get the same response. So, of course, the third kiss is planted squarely on her full lips. This time, I'm the one that moans.

Johnnie slides her long arms up and around my neck.

I take it as an open invitation. With no resistance or protest, I roll her over onto her back and knee open her legs. Breaking our kiss, I move my lips under her chin and down her graceful neck. In the back of my head, I know that she can stop me at any time, but I'm praying that she doesn't.

The odds improve in my favor when I plop a hard nipple into my mouth and she arches her back to give me even better access. I don't know if she's forgiven me or she's allowing herself to be swept up into the moment. Selfishly, I'll accept either one.

As I dive between her luscious mounds of pecan-brown skin, Johnnie releases a light, feathery moan. When I slide into position, her legs fall east to west. This lets me know that she's fully awake and is aware of what's about to go down. Once I glide into her warm, wet pussy, those same legs then wrap around my hips. We go at it slow and deep—and long. I don't know why it is, but I'm addicted to the smell of her skin, the way she tastes, and definitely to the way she feels.

We go at it from every position and before I know it, we're both slick with sweat and our knees ache with rug burns. When we're done, we cuddle back up and pepper kisses on each other until she falls back asleep. The next time I open my eyes, a soft light is coming from the living room's back door.

We can't stay here.
When I try to pop up, I belatedly remember that Johnnie is still sleeping right up under me. I pause for a few quiet seconds to drink in her beauty and wonder why is it that I still see a future with her. That shit is impossible now. After I get Nana Gloria the money for Tyler's surgery, I'll have to disappear forever or go back to jail. After all of this, they'll never let me out of there.

The money.
Snapping out of my little daydream, I try to ease my arm out from around Johnnie without waking her up. The moment I manage to get it halfway out, her eyes flutter open.

I freeze and then force on a smile like I'd been caught with my hands in the cookie jar.

“Morning,” she coos.

“Morning.” When it looks like she's not in any hurry to get up, I'm forced to remind her, “Uh, I need to get going.”

Her smile drops with disappointment as she sits up.

Still, I don't think that my speaking in singular terms registers with her. We rush to toss our clothes into the dryer and then rush to take yet another shower after last night's lovemaking session. While I scramble through the house for things that would be useful on the last leg of my road trip, Johnnie rummages through these people's kitchen to fix us a quick breakfast. Overall, I find about thirty bucks in cash and some cheap jewelry in the main bedroom. I take the cash and leave the jewelry.

When I go to join Johnnie and tell her about my decision to leave her, she is standing in the living room in front of an old television, looking like she's lost color. “What's wrong?”

“They think that I helped you escape,” she says and then sits down before falling down.

“What?”

“The people on the news.” She pointed at the screen. “They're talking about my visiting you last month and then my disappearing with you. They think I'm in on it.”

I turn my gaze toward the screen. I recognize Boss Hog from the convenience store yesterday.

Johnnie groans. “I can't believe this.”

The next people the newscasters are trying to talk with are Mr. and Mrs. Charles Robinson. The New York governor looks grim as he stares into the cameras.

A reporter jumps in:

“Humph. So much for my chances of ever meeting the parents,” I joke.

Johnnie cuts off the television. “Please say that you don't think any of this is funny.”

“No. I guess not.” I sigh because this is the perfect time to tell her. “I think that it's time we part ways.”

Her attitude melts away. “What?”

I gesture to the blank television screen. “Look. It's the only way that we're going to clear up this confusion. I never planned on bringing you along with me, at the same time I didn't want to let you go—but this shit is too serious. This is the type of shit that ruins lives. Trust me. I know. You still have a chance to get out of this.”

“No. I mean.” She glances around. “You just can't leave me here. I . . . I . . .”

We both know that there's no reason for her to continue on with me except, “I don't
want
to stay.”

Stunned, I can only manage to stare at her.

She sighs as if it's a huge confession for her. “I understand the danger. I do. I just . . . don't care anymore.”

“You can't know what you're saying—what you're suggesting that you'd give up. Your life. Your career. Your family. I can't ask you to do all of that to live on the run with me.”

“You don't have to ask,” she says, standing. “I'm telling you. I don't want to go back to being just another overpriced lawyer on Wall Street, or a barter chip that links my family to the next generation of political leaders. I don't want to be a trophy wife to the future governor of the state. I just want . . . to be with you—for however long that is.”

Once that I read that she's serious, I'm rushing forward and drawing her into my arms. When our lips seal together, I know that I'll never let her go as long as she wants to remain at my side. It may be just for another day for all we know, but if we play the few cards we have left right, maybe it can be forever.