“No doubt.”
“They’ll be looking for you.”
“By then I’ll be long gone.”
“Jack.”
“Keep driving, pastor. Keep driving.” Pastor Boone lived roughly forty minutes from Holbrook. His log-style cabin was nestled in the woods, set back from an isolated road that only had four other neighboring houses.
When they arrived, Boone swerved his SUV to a standstill a few feet from a wraparound porch. “You got family?” Jack asked.
“No, I’m divorced.”
“Divorced. Smoker. No wonder you need God.” He tapped him and chuckled. “It’s a joke, pastor. Smile.” Jack climbed out of the back and brushed himself off. “Thought I was going to have to kill that guard. That was close.”
“Jack?” Jack turned to see Dalton come out of the house, a wide smile spreading. “You’re out?”
“Damn right.”
They hugged it out and Dalton patted him on the back. “How you doing, my old friend?”
“Better for seeing you,” he replied before looking at a nervous Boone. “Like I told you, Boone, it’s complicated.”
As Dalton patted Jack on the shoulder, someone cleared their throat. Jack noticed a woman in the doorway, good-looking, far too young for Boone though. “Jack. This is Kelly Armstrong.”
20
The clock was ticking. His reunion with Dalton was short-lived. Time was against Jack and they all knew it. The longer he stayed at the pastor’s house, the higher the odds of getting caught. Within twenty-four hours an escaped convict would have local, state and federal officers, including FBI agents and U.S. marshals, in hot pursuit. Checkpoints, search dogs and aerial surveillance, they would use it all and that included giving a mug shot to the media. How much more attention would a dangerous mental patient attract? It wouldn’t be long before his face was plastered all over the news. The internet would be buzzing. Eyes would be on him and the public would become his worst enemy.
No, if he wanted to strike back at Angelo he needed to do it now and fast.
New Jersey was a good six-hour journey and that was if they didn’t stop and use the main interstate, but with police spreading their net wide, he would have to stick to the back roads. Experience told him that they would initially set up checkpoints in a five- to ten-mile radius. Needless to say, the first few hours were critical. Fortunately there was a small window of opportunity, two hours max, he believed. The hospital wouldn’t immediately contact state police but would try to save face by searching the grounds and every room in the hospital, especially since only one other person had escaped and that exit point was now known.
He could imagine Jenkins and Porter beating their head against a wall trying to locate him while other staff members made excuses. By the time the dust settled and they needed to report him as AWOL, he would be at least twenty miles away.
The storm door creaked as he pushed it open.
“But Mr. Winchester. You don’t know what I have been through to get here. The risks I have taken, the ridicule I’ve suffered, not to mention enduring the gross habits of my coworker while on the road. All I want is thirty minutes of your time. Tell me your story, who you are, your background, how you came to meet Dana, why you choose to help people and….”
He put a hand up. “Darlin’, I would love to stick around for drinks and story time but as you can appreciate, I’m a little under the gun right now,” he said glancing at his watch as he stepped down and headed toward her rented SUV.
“Hold on a minute. You’re taking that?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded and threw in a small duffel bag of food, and enough clothes so he could change his appearance at least twice on the way down. Change it up. That had always been his method. Keep them guessing.
“Well I’m coming too then.”
“No you’re not,” he said looking back at her.
“You owe me a story. You can tell me on the way.”
She hopped into the driver’s side and patted her jacket but Jack dangled the keys. “Looking for these?”
She put her hand out.
He shook his head. “I’m driving. Scooch over.”
“But…”
“Seriously, Dalton, where did you find her?”
Dalton laughed before he turned to Boone and gave him a hug. “Thanks.”
“If they show up, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Come on, pastor,” Jack said out the window as he fired up the engine. “You smoke and curse, I’m sure God won’t mind you telling one white lie.”
Boone groaned and shook his head. Dalton hopped in.
“Remember. If I see police, you are getting out,” Jack told Dalton. “Can’t have Karen on my back.”
“Too late.”
“Oh shit,” Jack muttered.
Before they peeled away, Dalton said, “You might find this useful.” He handed him a Glock. Jack took it and turned it from side to side.
“I never took you for a gun owner, Dalton.”
“It’s not mine. It belonged to your attorney — Sanders.”
“Sanders?”
It was then Dalton informed him of what had happened to the doc, the confession of Sanders and his release. “We let him go,” he said it in a way as if he knew Jack would be disappointed.
Jack offered back a smile. “Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re not killers and he has family,” Kelly added.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded. “After today, he won’t. And trust me, they’ll be better off without a man like him around.” Jack pointed to the serial number on the side of the gun. The weapon was registered in Sanders’ name. After what Jack had planned, the only evidence they’d find in the bloody carnage would be one gun registered to Sanders. He’d have a lot of explaining to do after that. Jack checked the magazine before palming it and tucking it into his jeans. He honked the horn, stuck his thumb out at Boone and gave it some gas. Although he didn’t know if Boone could be trusted to not tell the police, Dalton was sure, and that was enough for Jack.
The sight of the concrete jungle rising up like fingers to
