15 Seconds (7 page)

Chapter Ten

S
he was right. Mike's Jag did make me look guilty.

Guiltier.

And it was only a matter of time before an APB was out on it as well. I had nowhere to go, but I had to get off the street until Liz could work a miracle. At least for a couple of hours. I had my iPad; that was one way to communicate. I just needed a safe place to hold out.

I flicked on the radio and found a news channel. It took no more than a minute to hear the news I dreaded come on:

“Our continuing story this morning is the execution-style slaying of a Jacksonville police officer off Lakeview Drive. Dr. Henry Steadman
, a
prominent South Florida surgeon . . .”

A sickening feeling filled up my belly, my hands on my head. I couldn't believe I was actually hearing my name in connection with a homicide investigation! A double homicide. It was only a matter of time until Mike was discovered—and his missing car.
Okay, Henry, think—is there anyone else you know here you can trust?
Was there anyone here whom I could count on? Just to stay off the streets. For a short while. Who would believe me?

I thought of Richard Taylor, the head of the Doctors Without Borders conference who had invited me to speak tonight. But I didn't want to involve him. I couldn't ask that.

Then Jennifer came to mind.
Miss Jacksonville.
I could explain it all to her. I knew she'd see me for who I was. Not some crazy cop killer. I recalled that she was staying at a different hotel from mine. The Hyatt.

Hopefully she'd already made it to town and checked in.

I took Mike's phone and punched in the number I had for her. I knew it was kind of a long shot, but that's what we were playing now. It took a few seconds for her to answer, probably not recognizing the caller ID—Mike's—but sure enough, after I heard her voice, a little tentatively perhaps, I felt better.

“This is Jennifer Keegan.”

“Jennifer—it's Henry Steadman. Please don't hang up. I don't know if you've heard, but something crazy has happened.”

“I
did
hear!” Jennifer replied. She sounded surprised, but not upset that I was calling. “We've all heard, Dr. Steadman!
What's happened?
They're saying such incredible things . . .”

“Jennifer, I'll explain . . . Just trust me—it's not at all what you might think. I just need to be somewhere safe, for an hour or two, until I can negotiate something and get this whole crazy thing resolved. That's all. Can I trust you, Jennifer? I know I have no business asking this, it's just that . . . It's just that, to be honest, I just don't have anywhere else to turn.”

“You want to come
here
?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“Just for an hour or two, that's all! I have someone working on turning me over. I won't put you in any harm. I promise.
What do you say?
”

Chapter Eleven

“Y
es,”
she replied, without hesitation. “I knew this all had to be something crazy. I'm at the—”

“I know where you are—” I cut her off. “And you have no idea what this means to me, Jennifer. You can't. You're a godsend. I'll be there in half an hour.”

It took about twenty minutes to get there, and just to be safe, I entered the hotel grounds at the adjacent golf course, and left Mike's Jag on the second level of the two-story garage.

I walked the short distance over to the main lobby, telling myself I had no reason to be concerned, that no one was looking for me here. That I looked like any golfer, in my khakis, my golf cap, and shades. That Mike's stolen car wasn't on any news reports yet.

I stepped into the glass-roofed, atrium lobby. It was packed with people from maybe a dozen trade-show groups and conventions. There was some kind of arena football game in town and a throng of boosters wearing black-and-aqua Shark caps and logo sweatshirts was gathered near the entrance, probably heading to some kind of rally.

Everything seemed benign, nothing to worry about. Not that I was exactly trained to spot undercover police if they were there. I scanned the lobby . . . lots of noise, people moving everywhere . . . and spotted the elevators. Jennifer told me to go to room 2107.

I put down my cap and was about to head across the floor when I saw him.

My chest tightened.

Not someone in uniform, but in a plain, navy-blue windbreaker, leaning against the wall near the restrooms while scanning the crowd.

He might well have just been hotel security, if it wasn't for the terrifying realization that I had seen him once before.

From the back of Martinez's police car.

He was one of the policemen who was milling around when Martinez stopped me.

Every nerve in my body slammed to a stop.

I turned my back to him. I didn't know what to do, except that I had to get out of there now. In truth, I was petrified to even take a step. The guy clearly hadn't seen me yet. He just stood there as if he was waiting to meet a friend. I eased my way toward the football boosters.

Why was he here now?

Then the answer became clear: Jennifer had turned me in. It was a trap! They were waiting for me. Who could even blame her? The only reason I wasn't spread-eagled on the floor with a gun to my head was that I hadn't come in through the front entrance, pulling up in my white Caddie, as they were clearly expecting me to do. They must not know about Mike yet. I figured there were several of them, stationed all around. My whole body went rigid with fear. I searched around for the best way out.

And then my cell phone rang.

I would never have even glanced at it in that moment—I was petrified it would draw attention to me—had I not thought that it could well be Liz, and I didn't want to miss her. Slowly I melded into the crowd of boosters. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen. It wasn't Liz.

It was Hallie.

I didn't want to answer, but it rang two, then three times, and I felt as if the trill was echoing around the lobby, calling everyone's attention to me. I just saw my daughter's name on the screen—
Hallie, Hallie . . .
And I didn't know if Liz had spoken with her and if she knew. Knew all that had happened.

So I just pressed the green button before my voice recording came on and muttered softly, set to call her back. “Hallie . . .”

But the voice I heard wasn't hers. It was a man's voice, both muffled and unrecognizable.

And what he said on my daughter's phone jarred me more than anything that had happened today.

He kind of chuckled as he asked, “So how you liking it all so far, Doc?”

Chapter Twelve

I
froze.

I realized right away who was on the other end. That I was speaking to the person who was responsible for all this. Who had killed Mike. Martinez.

And he was calling on my daughter's phone.

“Who are you? Where's Hallie?
Where's my daughter?
” I demanded, my body heaving with mounting dread.

“Oh, we'll get to all that pretty soon. I promise,” the man said. “But if you ever want to see her again—
alive,
that is—I think there's just one little thing you oughta know . . .”

“Go on,” I said. I ducked behind two boosters introducing their wives.

“If I happen to hear that you get caught by the police, or even turn yourself in . . . Or if it comes out in the press that your little girl is missing, meaning if you tell 'em, Hallie here's gonna end up with a bullet in that smart, pretty brain of hers. And that's if I'm feeling generous.
You hear?
”

The crowd was loud and buzzing all around. I tried to think if I had ever heard the voice before, but it was Southern, slangy, and wasn't clear.

“You hearing me, Doc?” he said again, like ice this time. Waiting.

“Yes.” I swallowed, razors in my throat. “I hear.”

“So here's a little present for you—just so there's no doubts, about our arrangement.”

My heart started to race. Suddenly Hallie got on, her voice shaking with fear.
“Daddy . . . Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes, hon, it is! It's me.”

“Oh, Daddy, I'm so sorry . . . Please just listen to what he says. He'll do it. I know he will. He's crazy! Just do what he says. Please. He—I love you, Daddy,” she blurted as the phone was yanked away from her in midsentence.

“Just wanted you to have a sense of what's really at stake here, Doc. Pretty little thing, if I say so myself. And she surely can ride.”

“You touch a hair on her head and I'll kill you myself, you son of a bitch! So help me God . . .” I shouted above the noise, my blood on fire.

“Now don't you be giving me orders,” the man said. “That wouldn't go over well. Long as you heard exactly what I said, about if I hear the cops find you.”

“What is it you want? Why are you doing this to me? I have money. I can pay you. Please . . .”

“We'll get to what I want. In a while. First, go get yourself a new phone. One of those disposable ones. Text the number to Hallie here. Okay? That is, if you ever want to hear from her alive again.”

I shuddered.

“So get on now, y'hear?” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “You keep yourself safe. Remember, longer you stay out there, Doc, longer your little girl lives.”

“Listen! Don't hang up!
Listen . . .”

I heard the phone click off, and all trace of my little girl with it. I pushed the button to call her back, but no one answered. I was left staring at her name on the cell-phone screen.

My knees felt weak.

I turned in the crowd, every corner of me filling up with a mounting sense of dread. He was right! I had to get out of here! I still had the cop to worry about. Liz had told me just to give up if anything went wrong. But now I couldn't. Now I had to do everything I could to get away!

I scanned the lobby and realized there was no way I could go back the way I'd come in. If the police were waiting for me here, there were probably dozens of them all around. I glanced back at the one I had seen, still protected by the crowd.

A heavyset man in a green Sharks headdress shifted from my line of sight just as I did so.

Suddenly the cop and I were eye to eye.

My heart felt like it exploded. He looked straight at me, seemingly trying to pierce through the golf cap and the shades . . .

Then, suddenly, he did just that!

I watched his eyes grow wide and his face light up with recognition. He took a step toward me. I moved away, pushing my way through the throng of boosters. I thought I heard him shout out something, echoing, above the din of the lobby. I began to run.

Then I heard him call out: “
Steadman!”

I spun and saw him pull out his radio, signaling the others. I slithered through the dense booster gathering, thirty or forty strong, and came out directly in front of the elevators. A door opened in front of me. I didn't know where it would take me, other than
away
. Which was all I wanted right then. I jumped in.

The cop was already running after me.
“Steadman. Stop!”

Bystanders turned. The cop still had to cross the lobby and make his way through the crowd. I jammed my finger against the heat-sensored panels. Pushing on every upper-floor—30 . . . 32 . . . 34.

The doors didn't close.
C'mon, goddammit, shut!

I watched, in mounting horror, as the cop elbowed his way through the shocked crowd. Midway through, he stopped, his eyes locked on me in the elevator, still thirty feet away.

He pulled out his gun.

C'mon, c'mon, close!
I realized he saw me as nothing more than a cop killer. He'd be justified to shoot. He wouldn't hesitate for a second.
They already hadn't hesitated!
I kept pressing on the arrow. And on the upper floors.

Close.

The cop finally made it through. Suddenly we were face-to-face again. He leveled his gun at me. I realized he could squeeze off a shot at any second and I'd be dead.
Close, you sonovabitch. Close!

That's when the doors finally started to shut. The cop sprinted toward me, aimed, and squeezed off a shot, which slammed into the doors as I ducked behind them.

Another made it into the car, ripping into the wood walls.
The guy was crazy! What if there were other people in here?

A third clanged off the handrail.

The doors finally squeezed shut an instant before he made it over to me. I could hear the cop holler,
“Shit!
Shit!”
and bang on the doors as the elevator started to rise. All the higher floors were lit up now, and I knew in that instant that all that would happen if I went up there was that I'd be trapped and captured . . . and then Hallie . . .

As if by instinct, I hit the button for the third floor. The elevator came to a sudden stop. I bolted out, knowing it would keep on going up, floor by floor, all the way to the top.

I ran down the hall, searching frantically for the fire exit. I didn't know how many cops were spread about—or would be, in a matter of minutes. But the elevator was heading up to the roof. They'd have to check around up there. They'd have to search all the upper floors. Room by room.

By that time the entire building might be on lockdown.

I had to get out of here fast.

At last, I found the emergency stairwell and bounded down the stairs, two at a time, my heart almost in spasm. I was completely winded and gasping by the time I reached the ground floor. I fully expected to run right into some trigger-happy policeman who would force me to the ground with a gun at my head.

Mercifully, no one was there. I pushed open the pneumatic door and, with a
whoosh,
found myself outside.

Thank God
. I didn't wait to get my bearings—I just sprinted, fast as I could, away—spotting the golf course to my right and realizing I was heading toward the clubhouse. Where my car was parked!

I spun around and didn't see anyone behind me. No one shouted my name. I just prayed that I wouldn't feel a bullet ripping into my back. Ahead, I saw the garage, which I figured was reserved for golfers. I knew I couldn't use Mike's car anymore. The police might have found him by now, and if they hadn't, they surely would soon. Any second it might be over the airwaves . . . and then I was cooked.

I ran inside the garage and spotted one of the green-vested valets hustling to get a car and I waited behind a stanchion until he climbed inside a Lincoln—and I saw him feel under the seat for the key. Then it started up. I had a flashback to my old parking-attendant days, one of the jobs I did to get myself through med school. I counted the seconds until the Lincoln drove off, then I ran over to a red GMC parked nearby. The door was unlocked and I felt frantically under the seat for the key.

Shit.
Nothing
. I had to try another car.

I hopped out and tried a blue Lexus SUV in the next bay. I figured there was a security camera here and that someone might well be watching me right now. Heisting a car.

This time I found the keys under the floor mat.

I started it up and drove out of the garage, leaving Mike's Jag behind. It didn't matter that my DNA was all over it. I wasn't about to deny taking it. I knew I had only a short time before all exits from the hotel were shut down. I drove out to the front gate. There was a guard there. I'd had to talk my way past him the first time, but now he gave me just a lackadaisical wave, as if to say,
Hope you hit 'em well. See you next time.

I made a right, knowing I was only minutes from the highway. I was so excited, I wanted to whoop out loud.

But then a sober realization ran through me, and my whole body began to tremble.

I suddenly realized that if there was even a chance I was only a person of interest an hour ago after fleeing the scene of Martinez's killing, that possibility was now long gone.

My daughter was in peril. And I was a full-fledged suspect in two murders now.