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“I came looking.” He put his hand on her shoulder, forced her down. “Crawl through. I’m right behind you.”
Lying down on her stomach, she wiggled through the opening. The ground was damp, but because of the drought, it wasn’t muddy. The wall was about a foot thick. On the other side was a twenty-acre greenbelt that served as a buffer between the elite private properties that backed up to it, like the Speakmans’, and the commercial district on the far side.
By the time she was on her feet, Griff had pushed the duffel bag through the opening. It was a squeeze to get his shoulders through, but he did and sprang up on the other side. Taking her hand, he guided her across a rough and rocky creek bed. It was dry now, but when it rained, the runoff from the Speakman property would drain into it through the grate by which they’d made their escape.
Once across the creek bed, Griff took off running through the greenbelt. But as they approached the boulevard on the far side, he slowed to a walk. Across the wide street was a row of boutique shops and two popular restaurants. The shops were closed, but the restaurants were busy with the dinner crowd.
Pausing in the shadows of the park, he released her hand long enough to take off the uniform shirt, leaving him in a white T-shirt. He removed the pistol from the policeman’s holster, then tossed the gun belt, shirt, hat, and cold drink can into the nearest trash receptacle. He zipped the pistol into Manuelo Ruiz’s duffel bag.
Taking her hand again, he waited until the traffic thinned, then struck off across the divided street. He didn’t run, which would have attracted attention, but walked swiftly toward the parking lot of the Indian restaurant. He wove them through the rows of cars until they reached the back of the lot, where it was dark.
He fished a remote key from his pants pocket and used it to unlock a car. He opened the passenger door and motioned her in. He walked around and got behind the wheel, closed the door, and tossed the duffel bag onto the backseat. The dome light dimmed and then went out, leaving them in darkness.
They sat still and silent, trying to catch their breath.
Not until now that they’d stopped did Laura realize how breathless she was, and how fast her heart was pounding, as much from adrenaline as from physical exertion. The palms of her hands were dirty. The front of her tracksuit was streaked with loose soil.
“I’m sorry about that,” h
e said, when he noticed her palms.
“I’m a fugitive, too. I’m not worried about a little dirt.”
“You’re not the fugitive, I am. You’re my hostage, remember.”
She smiled ruefully. “You asked why Rodarte had placed me under lock and key? He claimed it was for my protection.”
“But?”
“He was afraid I would help you escape.” His gaze remained steady, but she could read the unasked questions in it. “He never said that, but I sensed that was why he put me in the hotel, under guard. And I suppose I have helped you escape, haven’t I?”
“Does that mean you believe I’m innocent?”
Before she could answer, a police car screamed down the boulevard, its lights a wild kaleidoscope. Griff turned on the car’s ignition. Grinning, he said, “Rough neighborhood. We’d better move to a safer one.”
He had to wait for another oncoming police car to roar past before pulling out into the street. “You’re thumbing your nose at them,” she remarked.
“Nothing that brave. They won’t be looking for this car.”
“Whose is it?”
He drove, saying nothing.
“The visit to your lawyer’s house made the news.”
“Yeah, I saw. The media failed to mention what an untrustworthy son of a bitch my former attorney is.”
“He said by turning you in he was trying to help.”
“Bullshit. He was trying to cover his own ass.”
“They searched for you for hours.”
“I got lucky.”
“How did you get away?”
He gave her a wry grin. “It wasn’t easy. Sometime, when you’ve got a lot of time, maybe I’ll tell you all the adventures I encountered that night.”
