direction. He looked dazed, but not necessarily too out of it to fire a shot that might kill me. Not the gates, then. I altered my course and wound my way to the oleander, trying to see Ethan, thinking once or twice that I caught a glimpse of movement in the dark.
I reached the oleander and burrowed into it, then watched for Ethan while catching my breath.
I couldn’t see much. There was only one flashlight now, and it was shining eerily up out of a grave, illuminating the face and wings of the angel above. Eric had taken off his jacket and was using it as a lifeline to Mitch, bracing himself against the tombstone, trying to pull Mitch out without being pulled in himself. It didn’t seem to be working well, judging from Mitch’s shouted obscenities. Apparently, he had sprained or broken an ankle in the fall. Eric tried grabbing hold of his clothing and hauling him up, but this also failed-he lost his grip on Mitch’s muddy clothing, and dropped him for a second dunking.
I tried desperately to think of a way to draw Ian’s attention away from Ethan, without getting caught myself.
I searched along the chain-link fence as quietly as I could and found a place where someone or something had previously burrowed in or out. The gap between the ground and the bottom of the fence was narrow, but I lowered myself to my belly and began to snake my way through the opening. Metal prongs of broken fencing caught at my skin and clothes, but I made it through. I came clumsily to my feet. I ran to the Jeep and slammed myself against it.
The car alarm went off.
Over its din, I heard Eric and Ian shouting that we were getting away.
“Never mind!” Mitch yelled. “Just get me the hell out of here.”
I hurried back through the fence, but stayed hidden within the oleander. Ethan might have made his way free by now, but I couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t want to abandon him. I decided I’d wait where I was a little longer. With any luck, the car alarm might attract the attention of a passing patrol car.
I watched as Ian stumbled his way toward his brother and uncle. With his assistance, Mitch was freed from his trap. “Eric, go shut that damned alarm off. Bring the car in here,” Mitch said. “We need the headlights.”
Ian handed the keys over to him. Eric moved with surprising speed back to the Jeep, eventually coming close enough to turn the alarm off with the key-chain remote. He paused, in the quiet that followed, and seemed to look back toward the oleander. I hunkered down, hoping I wasn’t more visible to him than I thought I was.
I heard Ian say, “Maybe I should call the helicopter.”
“Yes, yes… that’s even better,” Mitch said. “The chopper will see them. We’ll leave from here.”
When Eric pulled the car in, he said, “I think there’s someone hiding in those bushes, by the back fence.”
Hell.
“You and Ian, search along that back fence,” Mitch ordered. “You hear me, Ian?”
“Who’s going to watch the gate?” Ian protested.
“I’ll watch the gate. Leave the Jeep lights on.”
“I need my gun,” Eric said. “Give it back.”
“I’m not going to sit here crippled and unarmed, you dunce! They don’t have guns. Take a stick.”
“Give me the flashlight, at least.”
Mitch conceded that this would aid in the search and handed it to him. “Now hurry! By now the bastard’s over the fence and halfway to Hong Kong.”
“He’s going to Hong Kong?” Eric asked, distracted.
“Damn you, Eric, get over to that fence!”
From the moment I had heard Eric mention the oleander, I began easing out from my hiding place. One flashlight, I told myself. The car was providing light in one line of sight, but Mitch wouldn’t be able to maneuver that source of light. That was to my advantage. Staying as low as I could, I hurried out of the oleander and toward a nearby tomb.
Ian moved down the outside of the cemetery; Eric used the flashlight and a large stick to poke and prod at the bushes. I could stay hidden from them where I was, but not from Mitch, who was focused on shouting instructions to them, but at any moment might start to look around him. It was only a matter of time before he saw the silver of the duct tape reflected on my wrists in the moonlight.
The one place none of them seemed to be watching was the cemetery’s front gates. I started to make my way toward them, thinking that if I didn’t find a way through the entrance before the helicopter arrived, at least I might be able to hide under the equipment.
If the helicopter was going to carry all of the Yeagers and a crew for a distance that would allow them to escape law enforcement, it would probably be a big one. Landing it in other parts of the city might have attracted too much attention. But here? As Mitch Yeager had noted, no one in here was going to complain.
I wondered if the helicopter might be too big to land in the cemetery. No, I decided-I could see an area of more modern graves that was flat and open. That area was not near the front gates, though.
Mitch Yeager sat between me and the area I wanted to reach. I’d have to pass fairly close to him if I wanted to reach the gate. If the helicopter arrived before I made it, well-I decided I’d run back and kill him, if I had to do it by pushing him into the grave again, jumping in after him, and head-butting him to death.
I was really hoping against having to try that.
I crept along until I drew just about even with him, only a few yards away, but obscured from his view by tombstones and equipment, and watched him sit in the moonlight. His attention was fully absorbed by the hunt in the oleander. The expression on his face was smug.
Rage rose within me. The arrogant asshole was confident that once again he’d escape justice. He had every reason to believe that, of course. Maureen O’Connor and her family, the Ducanes, Rose Hannon, Baby Max, Corrigan, even his own adopted son-what price had he ever paid for the pain and death he had caused? None. He had become wealthy and more respectable. Why should he fear capture?
For a moment, the idea of killing him by any means I could didn’t seem so bad.
I had taken one creeping step toward him when there was sudden shouting and wrestling in the bushes.
“Don’t shoot him!” Mitch shouted.
I saw Ethan being dragged from the bushes as he and Eric fought. Eric used his size and weight to tackle Ethan to the ground. He raised the flashlight, ready to strike him, when Mitch’s shout stopped him mid-swing.
“No! Bring him to me!”
68
“I SAID, BRING HIM TO ME, YOU MORONS!”
Eric stood slowly. In the past twenty minutes or so, we had probably given him the biggest workout he’d had in twenty years. As Ian hauled Ethan up between them, Eric shined his flashlight beam over the ground. “There!” he shouted. “What the fuck is that?”
He picked up an object that I couldn’t make out from where I stood.
They brought Ethan to the edge of the grave where Mitch sat.
Eric tossed something shiny down before Mitch.
“A tape recorder?” Mitch said, outraged. “Eric, get rid of it.”
Eric stomped on it with a heavy booted heel, then picked it up and made as if to hurl it away.
“No,” Mitch said. “In the grave.”
I heard it hit with a splash.
“You don’t have shit, do you?” Mitch said.
Ethan, still out of breath from his struggle with Eric, smiled. “Risk it, if you think I don’t.”
Mitch stared at him, rubbing his ankle. “I might.”
He turned to Ian. “Shoot him in the kneecap.”
One flashlight, I told myself, and shouted, from behind a tombstone, “Bad bet, Yeager.”
“Irene!” Ethan shouted. “No!”
“Get her! Get that bitch! No, Ian, give me your gun first.”
As usual, his troops needed direction, and while he shouted orders, I ran like hell, ducking and dodging behind
