Nowhere to Run (27 page)

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Authors: Nancy Bush

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BOOK: Nowhere to Run
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“I’ll just get water, too.” Her fingers, though quivering, found the small box of shells inside her purse. She quickly opened the chamber and put the ammo inside.
When she turned around he was staring at her, alerted by the sound of her loading the gun.
“You know that sound, don’t you? Loading a gun?” She pointed the .38 at him and his eyes moved from her face to the end of the weapon.
“What are you doing?” he asked cautiously.
“I’m going to tie you up. I’m sorry. You won’t be able to ‘bring Dugan in.’”
“What happened?”
“You! You happened!” She could feel her control slipping a little and forced herself to get a grip. “You happened along right when I needed someone, didn’t you?”
“At the coffee shop?”
“DIDN’T YOU! Don’t LIE. Don’t you lie!”
“Yes,” he said, holding up his hands at the wavering gun.
“Who are you working for?”
“The police,” he answered. Then quickly, “I’m on your side, Liv. I didn’t expect you to jump in the car, but you did and—”
“Don’t say my name. Don’t say
anything!
”
“—and I wasn’t sure what your part in it was. But I believe you. There’s something about your past that—”
“Shut—up.”
“—has something to do with the Zuma killings. And Trask Martin’s death.”
“You’ve been reporting in all along, haven’t you?”
“I’ve—yes—I’ve called in.”
“I’m going to tie you up, and I’m going to leave. I will shoot you. Don’t think I won’t, this time. I will. I want to.”
Her lips were quivering. She’d slipped the leash on her own control and she wanted to hurl herself at him and pull out his hair and claw his face. Betrayal. It was everywhere.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to turn the chair around. You can tie me up.” He carefully did as he said he would and put his arms around the back of the chair. Liv grabbed the twine and stood in front of him, still holding the gun at him. “Trust me, I’m gonna let you tie me up. I’m not gonna fight you for the gun. I’m not gonna risk either of our lives.”
She took the chance that he was telling the truth and walked behind the chair, setting the gun on the table as she quickly wrapped the twine around his hands. He didn’t move a muscle. She tied his legs to the chair as well, although halfway through her hands and arms were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure how good a job she did. Then she swept up the gun and held it in both hands in front of him.
“I’m on your side,” he said again, his expression totally sober.
“I’m the only one on my side,” she answered, then she walked out the door and headed for his Jeep.
Chapter 19
Liv drove directly to Hathaway House, her insides wrenched in turmoil. Part of her wanted to go back and slap Auggie, or kiss him, or kill him. All of the above.
But she couldn’t think. She was ill. Sick . . . lovesick . . . Strange little mews of torment spilled from her lips. She’d trusted him. And he’d set her up!
It was beyond bearing. No wonder he’d been so eager to take her to the authorities: they were clearly waiting for him to bring her in.
Oh,
God
!
Liv shook her head violently, wanting to run his car off the road, smash it into something, cause him pain. But she wasn’t an idiot. She couldn’t afford to foolishly wreck his Jeep. She had to get away . . . get away . . .
She was on her own. Again.
And she couldn’t leave him there indefinitely, either. She had to go back eventually and free him, or something. But he could damn well sit there a while! Maybe she’d find a pay phone and call the Laurelton police and tell them where to find him. He hadn’t said where he worked, but since he’d been assigned to her, apparently, that was the right jurisdiction.
She
hated
him!
No, you don’t,
the rational side of herself said.
Yes I do!
the irrational, wounded side of herself answered.
She slammed her palm on the steering wheel hard three times in a row, feeling the impact bruise her skin. Good. She wanted to feel physical pain.
Tears burned her eyes.
I could just die!
her inner self cried and that brought her up short.
She roughly brushed the tears aside with her sleeve. She was trying to stay alive. That was the purpose of all this. Keeping ahead of a killer who’d slain Aaron Dirkus and Paul de Fore and shot Jessica Maltona and Kurt Upjohn and probably Trask Burcher Martin.
Damn Auggie Rafferty. Detective August Rafferty.
Damn
him.
She was at Hathaway House much too fast. She parked, grabbed her backpack and swung out of the car, loose and staggering. Crazy. Just the way they liked ’em here.
She felt disembodied and oddly empowered. This time when she walked toward the reception area under the pools of diffused light, she didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone thought or if they called the cops or anything.
“I need to speak to Dr. Knudson,” Liv said to the woman in a tone that brooked no argument. “Right now.”
The receptionist was the same as before. Same shagged gray hair. Same pinched attitude, as she said, “Well, I’m sorry, Miss. But we only accept appointments for our staff.”
“Dr. Knudson is the director,” Liv stated flatly.
“Yes, but he’s very, very busy.” She looked down her rather long nose at Liv.
“Yeah? Well, tell Dr. Knudson my name’s Liv Dugan and that I used to be a patient here of Dr. Yancy’s. Now, I’m on the run from the authorities because I should have been shot at Zuma Software last Friday, but I got away. I think it has something to do with one of the doctors who used to be connected with Hathaway House. Dr. Navarone. You can call the cops, if you like. Go right ahead. They undoubtedly know where I am or will soon. But I am going to speak to Dr. Knudson today, if I have to walk down every hall screaming his name until I do.”
With that she turned blindly toward the corridor on her right. “Dr. Knudson?” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She turned back to the receptionist who was reaching quickly for the phone. “That crazy enough for you? Dr. KNUDSON!!! Dr.
KNUDSON!!!
”
Doors flew open along the corridor and heads peeked out. One of the rooms’ occupants, a man with silver hair moussed back slickly from his scalp, eased into the hallway a step or two later, probably having just picked up the page from the receptionist. He walked slowly Liv’s way with what looked like false confidence.
“Dr. Knudson?” she demanded as he neared.
“Let’s take a moment,” he said with a practiced smile. “Please . . . Ms. . . . ?”
“Dugan. Liv Dugan. You didn’t get that when she called you?” Liv inclined her head to the receptionist.
“There’s a bench right over by the wall where we can sit down and talk.”
“Afraid to have me in your office?” Liv smiled coldly. To hell with them all. “I don’t have time for this shit. Was Dr. Navarone a visiting doctor here when I was a patient here seven years ago?”
“I think it would be best—”
“Yes or no. It’s a simple question.” She hitched her backpack up her arm. “I have a gun,” she added mildly. “Make of that what you will. Just give me the information.”
His eyes jumped to her backpack. “That sounds very much like a threat.”
“You’re quick. Call the police. Go ahead. I’m a lunatic. Not responsible for anything. Hey, who should know better than Hathaway House?”
“Ms. Dugan . . .” He was starting to panic, his lower lip trembling a bit.
“Did he work here?”
He nodded, gulping.
“Where did he base from? Or, where did he go from here?”
“I’m not certain. . . .”
“Guess!”
“Halo Valley Security Hospital.”
Liv felt her own energy start to dwindle. They’d given Auggie the runaround at Halo Valley, like he’d said. Or, he hadn’t passed on the information to her because he worked for the
police department.
Either way, the answer was at Halo Valley.
Liv turned on her heel and pushed back through the front doors, aware they knew where she was headed and it was down to minutes how long she would be free before the authorities caught up with her.
 
 
Auggie slowly worked himself free of the bonds, a little surprised at how long it took him. He’d expected Liv to do a half-assed job in her emotional state but she had managed to make it damn difficult.
His cell phone lay on the table, mocking him. Piece of goddamn garbage. Who had texted him? September?
He swore solidly for about a minute and a half, pulling out every word he knew as he struggled with the twine. He’d told Liv the truth about his compliance: he didn’t want her accidentally shooting either herself or him. It was safer to let her go.
But it pissed him off to no end.
He wrenched his right thumb free, then seesawed out the rest of his hand. The fetters dropped and he was on his feet, sweeping up his phone. Another text came through just as he switched the screen to his caller list.
 
When?
 
September. Yup.
God. Damn. It.
Pulling up her profile, he hit the CALL button with repressed savagery. She answered after one ring and started in a surprised voice, “Well, well, well—”
“She saw your text. And now she’s fled. I asked you not to. I wasn’t kidding around, Nine!” he bit out, cutting her off. “When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it!”
A pause. Then, “What do you mean she’s fled?”
“Liv took my car. She left me at the safe house. That’s where I am. Do you know where it is?”
“Um . . . no.”
“Find out from D’Annibal and get over here. I need your vehicle, and I need it now.”
“I soooo appreciate your high-handedness, Auggie. We’ve got tons of time to indulge you,” she said sardonically. Then, “You think I’m not involved in this investigation? We all are. We’re waiting on
you.
”
“Bitch at me later. I don’t have time. Liv’s in trouble and now she thinks I’m the enemy. Either get over here, or send someone fast. I’m not kidding, Nine.”
“So, you’re through pussy-footing around?”
“Are you listening to me?” he ground through his teeth.
“Fine. Jesus. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good.”
He clicked off in a fulminating fury. He loved his sister, even thought she might make a good detective . . . someday. But not today. Not . . . today.
Then he sat down at the table and stared straight ahead, a clock ticking inside his skull. She said she wanted to go to Hathaway House. That’s where she was.
Did he dare call them? Tip her off? Tip them off? Have someone find her and drag her into custody?
The thought of her loaded gun made his stomach drop and his limbs go cold.
He needed to find her.
“Goddammit, Liv,” he whispered aloud. “Be . . . careful. . .”
 
 
She drove with repressed fury. A little out of control, not a lot. This time the fields of stubble and turned earth were a blur that barely registered in her peripheral vision. Would they call Halo Valley and alert them? Maybe. Though they would probably call the police first. Put the problem of Olivia Dugan in their capable hands. Auggie’s hands.
She thumped the steering wheel again; this time with less force. Hurt her bruised palm a little, but it was a tiny little pain on the edge of a much larger one.
She kept to the speed limit. Didn’t need to pick up a trooper for any reason other than she was in Auggie’s car. A stolen car, actually. The felonies were just piling up, weren’t they?
She was half-surprised when she made it all the way to the hospital without being pulled over. Minor miracle. She screeched to a halt with a little
burp
of the tires, grabbed her backpack, which was starting to feel heavier and heavier as her energy waned, headed for the front doors.
The hospital receptionist had to buzz her in. She asked Liv her name and without really thinking, Liv answered: “Jo Cardwick.”
Bzzzzz.
Liv clicked through and then stopped and inhaled a long, long breath. If they knew about Olivia Dugan’s meltdown at Hathaway House, she didn’t want to give herself away by losing control.
But suddenly, she was done. Her knees trembled violently and she couldn’t even get herself to the chairs grouped against the wall opposite the reception desk. She just melted into the floor, put her hands to her face, and sobbed.
 
 
September had barely gotten out of her car when Auggie was demanding the keys and commandeering the Pilot while she sputtered, “I’m coming with you! Where the hell are you going? Damn it, Auggie! Stop being such a cowboy!”
“I’m taking your car, and I’m heading south to Halo Valley Hospital. I’m not taking you with me.”
“Portland PD contacted us. They got a call from the director of Hathaway House that a Liv Dugan threatened them with a gun.”
“
What?”
“You heard me.”
“Liv pulled a gun on someone?”
September lifted a hand. “Yes. No. There’s some confusion about that. She definitely said she had a gun.”
“Jesus Christ.” Auggie reached to slam the driver’s door shut behind him and September shoved her way between the door and the car, stopping his momentum.
“Stop it. I’m going with you.”
“The hell you are. I’m chasing Liv down before she gets in worse trouble.”
“She’s a loose cannon, Auggie. And you’re clearly personally involved. Let the department—”
“Get out of my way.” He met his twin sister’s gaze, two sets of coldly furious blue eyes dueling with each other.
“Ballistics came back. Same Glock for Zuma and the Martin killing.”
“Shit. I knew it.”
“I’m going to walk around and get in the passenger side.”
“I’m not taking you with me.”
“And one more thing: Jessica Maltona died a few hours ago. And Upjohn doesn’t look good.”
Auggie’s lips became a thin line of determination. “Back up, September.”
“You’re taking me with you.”
“No.”
“Auggie!”
“You’ve got your cell,” he bit out. “Text somebody else.”
His implacability finally reached her and she stepped away from the vehicle, holding up her hands and shaking her head to let him know she’d ceded but she thought he was a complete madman.
He reversed and burned out of the driveway.
Swearing like a truck driver, she inwardly called her pigheaded, gotta-save-the-damsel-in-distress-at-all-costs brother an idiot to the nth degree.
 
 
They took Liv into a quiet room and actually lay her down on a bed, still clutching her backpack. They spoke in soothing tones. Maybe they’d seen enough nervous breakdowns to establish a protocol. Probably. Not that this was what that was. This was physical collapse from overwhelming mental stress.
He betrayed you. You trusted him, and he betrayed you.
One of the women was a doctor. Dr. Norris, by the tag on her lab coat. She was slim and dark-haired and regarded Liv with concern. Liv’s ears finally seemed to start working again, picking up her words.

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