Daddy's Girl (21 page)

Nat sighed, then noticed an icon on the phone. She’d gotten a message from Angus’s number. She used the password Bill had given her, got to voicemail, then recognized the caller’s voice, with a tiny fluttering.

“Natalie, it’s Angus, and I got your message at my office.” He sounded anxious, and urgent. “Call me as soon as you get this. The D.A.’s looking for you. They found the murder weapon in a field.”

Nat felt sick to the pit of her stomach.

“They want you to turn yourself in.”

Nat gathered the papers, threw the rest of the hoagie aside, and started the engine.

N
at tore out of the parking lot, turned onto the main road, and headed for Route 202, speeding south to the state line. Pennsylvania police didn’t have jurisdiction in Delaware, and she’d be damned if she’d turn herself in. She wouldn’t get bail, not for the first-degree murder of a cop. It was a charge that carried the death penalty. She made the decision in a blink, for once not overanalyzing something. She’d always believed in, and even loved, the law. But if she submitted to the law, she’d never get justice. And neither would Trooper Shorney or Barb Saunders. The cops weren’t going to hunt for the man in the ski mask. No one else was trying to find out what had really happened.

She flicked on the radio, already tuned to the all-news station, and didn’t have to wait long until she heard her own name. The announcer said, “University of Pennsylvania professor Natalie Greco is being sought in connection with the homicide of Trooper Matthew Shorney of the Pennsylvania State Police and the attempted murder of Barbara Saunders of Chester County. Mrs. Saunders remains in intensive care, in a coma, following her injuries.”

Nat shuddered, for Barb. Her stomach clenched like a fist and she hit the gas. She passed strip malls and gas stations, an Arby’s and a McDonald’s, a Staples and an Office Depot, jockeying as well as she could in the traffic of Saturday errands in the suburbs. She picked up the cell phone and pressed buttons until she got to the number Angus had called from, then hit Send. “Angus?” she said, when the call connected.

“Natalie.” It was all he had to say, and she felt her throat catch. “They’re looking for you. They want to arrest you. Where are you?”

“On the way to Delaware.” Nat passed another strip mall with another McDonald’s.

“You must be terrified.”

“Basically, yes.” Nat ran a hand through her shorn hair. “I’m worried that the doorman is going to tell the cops that he lent me his car. If the police are charging me, then he’s an accomplice after the fact, and sooner or later somebody will tell him so.”

“Natalie, slow down. You borrowed a car?”

“Yes, and as soon as he tells them, they’ll have an ID on the car and a warrant for the cell phone. They could be looking for the car right now, and if they are, my disguise isn’t worth a damn. I could be pulled over and arrested any minute.”

“Disguise? You’re wearing a disguise?”

“A good one, too.”

“Natalie, listen. Bennie says you should turn yourself in. The cops said you could turn yourself in to her. I respect her opinion.”

“What do you think?” Nat listened hard for his answer, pressing the phone to her ear.

“I’m not an expert. I don’t want to give you the wrong advice.” Angus’s voice softened. “Right now, Bennie’s opinion matters more than mine.”

“Not to me.”

“Honestly?” Angus sounded almost pained, and Nat bore down. Somewhere inside, her heart wanted to know what this man was going to say to her, right now.

“Honestly.”

“For me, I think you’d be crazy to turn yourself in, to her or anyone else. I think they’ll crucify you. I think you should let me meet you in Delaware. We can figure out the best thing to do, together.”

Nat almost cried, with gratitude. “Are you well enough to drive?”

“I’ll get to you. Tell me where to go.”

“Call you when I get there. Bye.” Nat closed the phone and in time saw the blue sign ahead,
WELCOME TO DELAWARE
. Her heart lifted, and she made a beeline for the border. She remembered that some cell phones had GPS in them, so she found a pen in the car, scribbled Angus’s cell number on her hand, then powered down the phone. She’d have to get rid of the car, too. Another strip mall lay ahead, and she pulled in.

People milled everywhere around the lot, families with kids in winter gear, carrying plastic bags and pushing oversized shopping carts. She drove around the back of the big-box store, so she couldn’t be seen from the main drag. She toyed with the idea of parking the car around the back, with the license plate against the wall, but cops would come back here eventually. She wanted the car disappeared and she couldn’t go out in the middle of nowhere to dump it or she’d never get back. Then it struck her. She shouldn’t hide the car at all. There was only one way to get it disappeared instantly and still make a clean getaway.

She drove around to the front of the store, where customers were coming and going, and found just what she was looking for. Signs.
NO PARKING. NO STOPPING. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AT OWNER’S EXPENSE.
She parked in front of the store, gathered up the prison file, grabbed her purse, and got out of the Kia and walked quickly away. On a busy shopping day like Saturday, the car would be towed within an hour, hopefully before Bill got wind that she was wanted for murder. She walked calmly out of the parking lot to the street, watching the traffic for a bus or a cab.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still waiting nervously when a blue tow truck that read Bill’s Tow-the-Line steered past her and into the mall’s parking lot. She turned and watched with satisfaction as the Kia was tugged away, hanging from the chain like a minnow on a fishing line. She finally spotted a cab, hailed it, climbed inside, and told the older driver she needed a cheap, out-of-the way motel.

“I know just what you mean,” the driver said, with a knowing wink, and Nat didn’t disabuse him of whatever notion he had. The cab lurched into traffic and eventually steered into the outskirts of Wilmington. She felt suddenly as if she were leaving her life. Speeding away from her home, her city, and the job she loved. And Hank and the family who, as annoying as they were, at least didn’t believe she’d killed anybody. There was no way she could see them now.

She was officially on the run, a law professor turned fugitive. She didn’t know how it had all gone so wrong, or how she could set it right. She knew only that it wouldn’t be as quick a fix as a box of Beach Blonde and CVS eyeglasses. And that Angus would help. She felt like he
got
her, in a way no man had before. She felt as if he’d fight for her, and help her fight for herself. And she loved what he’d said:

I’ll get to you.

Because she knew he already had.

N
at hit the cheesy motel room, threw her stuff on the bed, crossed directly to the curtains, and yanked them closed. She went to the TV, grabbed the greasy remote, and clicked through the channels, relieved not to see her face on the screen. She left the news on, muted, so she could monitor the cops. She was on edge, keeping fear at bay by sheer denial. Academics were ill-suited to life on the lam, and she felt disorientated, lost in time and space.

I thought you wanted space. Which is it, space or time?

Nat thought about calling Hank, but he’d tell her to turn herself in.

We can figure out the best thing to do, together.

She went to the phone, double-checked the number on her palm, and called.

Nat showered, dried off, and put the same clothes back on, having no other choice. She brushed her teeth with a finger and combed her hair so it was less Bart Simpson, then put on some makeup, pretending that she wasn’t wanted for murder. Her eyes looked back at her from the mirror, a darker brown against the contrast of the blond. They looked worried, too, but that had nothing to do with Revlon. She banished all negative thoughts. She had work to do.

She went to the bed and picked up the prison file, but a packet of blueprints fell onto the patterned rug. She got the packet and took it to a little veneer table, where she spread it out so that it dropped over the sides like a tablecloth. A hanging light with a gold-toned shade hung over the table, casting a circle on a floor plan of the prison, before remodeling.

On the plan, she could see the entrance of the prison, the control center, the cafeteria, the classroom where she’d been attacked, and, on the other side, the room in which Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. She turned to the second page, which was HVAC, then turned to the third page. It was the electrical plan, the schematics that showed the wiring.

She eyed them, then looked closer. She could see the straight black lines that would have been wiring for the security cameras, because they went to a central spot in the ceiling, which she gathered was the silver orb Angus had mentioned. She compared the wiring in the room where Saunders and Upchurch had been killed. There was no such wiring. No security camera.

Nat double-checked. She could see the wires going to the other security cameras, but the room where Upchurch had been killed had no such pattern of wires. She followed the black lines of wiring to the other staff rooms on that side of the hallway. There were three staff rooms, and they all had wiring for security cameras, except for one at the end of the row nearest the RHU pod.

She mulled this over. She didn’t ask Graf why he and Saunders had taken Upchurch into that room in particular. She had assumed it was because it was the security office, but maybe it was because it didn’t have a camera. Graf had to have known that. If he didn’t know it before the remodeling, he would certainly have known after. His brother had the schematics, and even a professor could read them.

She felt as if she were onto something. So Graf knew that whatever he did in that room wouldn’t be recorded. It suggested a degree of premeditation that gave another lie to Graf’s version of events. So either Upchurch had been involved in dealing drugs, or he’d simply found out that Graf and maybe Saunders were. So what did Upchurch do exactly that merited execution? His killing seemed like an overreaction to skimming profits or a double-cross of some kind. Why bother killing him, given the risk? Why not simply make his life miserable?

Nat felt stymied. What if Mrs. Rhoden had been right, and Upchurch was a quiet little guy who never bothered anyone? A victim of teasing, first by schoolkids and later by Graf. It forced her to re-analyze the problem, which led her to a startling question: What if Upchurch wasn’t the intended victim that morning? What if it was
Saunders
whom Graf had intended to kill? What if Graf merely used Upchurch as an excuse, to catch Saunders unawares?

She tested her theory. Could Graf have killed both Saunders and Upchurch? Was it even physically possible? She went through the steps in her mind. Say Graf brings the knife in. He kills Saunders, then Upchurch, then makes it look like Upchurch killed Saunders. Graf tells the lie to cover up his crime. So it was possible. If it was a cover-up, how high up did it go? At least to Machik, for all of the foregoing, as the lawyers say. But why would Graf have killed Saunders, his best friend? And if it happened that way, why hadn’t Saunders told her that before he died? His keeping mum shot her whole theory.

Nat jumped at the sound of a knock, then walked over and peeked through the peephole. She couldn’t deny the fluttering inside her chest at the sight of the familiar shaggy ponytail, thick gray sweater, and jeans. She opened the door.

“Natalie,” Angus said softly, scooping her up into an embrace that lifted her off her bare feet, then quickly setting her back down. “Okay, that hurts. Sorry.”

“My, jeez.” Nat tugged her sweater down, flustered.
That was a definite hug, wasn’t it?

“Look at your hair! You’re blond!” Angus ruffled her spikes with a hand.

“It’s my disguise.”

“You look so cute, like a little puppy! A little yellow puppy!”

Great
. “I’m a felon, not a Labrador.”

“It’s a totally great disguise.” Angus set a brown shopping bag on the bed. “I never would have known it was you at all.”

“Good.”

“You’re still so pretty.” Angus’s eyes locked hers for an awkward moment, and Nat squirmed in the silence. It seemed too much, all of a sudden. A motel room with a bed, and the two of them alone together. She, newly single, and he, terminally sexy. Nat gestured to the bed…er, bag.

“What’s in there?”

“Good stuff!” Angus seemed to snap out of the moment, his characteristic good cheer returning. He went to the bed and opened the bag. “I’ve got you everything you need to be a proper outlaw. Ready?”

“Sure.”

“First, for the fugitive who has everything,
voilà
!” Angus pulled a pink toothbrush out of the bag.

“My favorite color!” Nat laughed. It was fun to be silly, after today.

“I knew it. Blondes love pink.”

“That’s me, Fugitive Barbie.”

“Now, for my next trick, check it out.” Angus’s hand went back in the bag and retrieved a twelve pack of king-size Snickers. “Nutrition!”

“Yummy!” Nat took the Snickers, the sight of which actually made her hungry. “Just the thing for the girl on the go. Literally.”

“Snickers are one of the four basic food groups, which are pizza, The Strokes, California rosé, and”—from the bag, Angus pulled a red-and-white Verizon box—“a new cell phone.”

“Yay!” Nat took the box. “I’m back in business.”

“Get ready.” Angus held up a three-pack of Hanes white cotton underwear, bikini style. “Ta-da!”

“You bought me
underwear
?” Nat burst into astonished laughter, grabbed the pack, and swatted him.

“I’d never run from the law without clean underwear.”

“So if they shoot me dead, I won’t be embarrassed?” Nat eyed the package. “Size two? You think I’m a two? I can’t fit my hand in a two!”

“What do I know?” Angus shrugged. “I don’t want you thinking I spend lots of time imagining your adorable little butt, which I do. Just don’t tell your boyfriend.”

Nat stopped smiling. She felt guilty standing with Angus, holding undies.

“What?” Angus asked.

“We broke up.”

“Am I supposed to act sorry?” He cocked his head matter-of-factly. “Because I’m not. I’m better for you, and we both know it.”

Whoa
. Nat hit him with the packet again, and he turned back to the bag.

“But that’s beside the point now, because you’re in jeopardy. There’s a time and a place for everything.” Angus plunged his hand in the bag, then turned around with a white bank envelope, which he presented to Nat. “My mother always said a girl needs mad money, and I haven’t met a girl I’m as mad about in my life.”

Gulp
. “Are you serious?”

“About the money or you?”

Me
. “The money.”

“Absolutely.”

Nat opened up the end of the envelope, exposing a thick stack of stiff new bills. “Yikes, how much is here?”

“A thousand dollars. Luckily my bank is open on Saturday. I had about three bucks on me when you called.”

“Angus, I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can, and you will.” He closed her hand around the envelope, and Nat couldn’t deny the effect of his touch. “Pay me back whenever. Now, I have one last item in your going-away kit. Hold on.” He turned away, dug in the bag, and handed her another envelope. “This is a one-way ticket to Miami, on a train that leaves early tomorrow from Wilmington. It’s the earliest I can get you out of here. I’d fly you, but you need ID for that. I’ll take you to the Wilmington station tomorrow morning.”

“No. If I accept a ticket from you, you’re an accomplice. You’re aiding and abetting.”

“I can’t think of anybody I’d rather do that to. With. Whatever.” His gaze was direct and even, meeting Nat somewhere in the middle of the space between them, which she could sense growing smaller by the second.

“Angus, I can’t do that to you.”

“Just go, and we’ll see what to do next.”

“Why Miami?”

“Because it’s as far away as possible and I have a good friend there, a great criminal lawyer.”

“I’ll get away on my own.”

“You have to take this, for me. For us.”

Us?
Nat didn’t know what to say.

“We have a chance if you get through this. I’m being selfish here.”

Nat’s heart quickened and before she could protest, Angus leaned over and kissed her softly, his beard still cold as it brushed against her cheek. He explored her mouth, and she kissed him back, tasting his warmth until he pulled away and met her eye with frank desire.

“I love you, I do,” Angus whispered.

Nat fell speechless, feeling everything at once.

“I want you to be safe and sound, away from here. I don’t know if it’s legally right or wrong, I only know that I love you and want you safe.” He leaned down and kissed her again, his blue eyes still open, clear as sky, and Nat kissed him back, eyes open, too, exposing herself to him. Their gaze and kiss connected them, one to the other, and she knew in her heart that even though it was too soon, she was stone crazy about the man.

“Angus, I—” Nat began to say, but he kissed her again, more urgently, probing, and she felt herself enveloped in his scratchy sweater.

“I knew it would be like this,” Angus murmured, stroking her face, then cupping the back of her shorn head, pulling her mouth to his again.

Nat surrendered to the feeling, enjoying the sweetness. He kissed her again and his hands traveled down her back to her hips. He picked her up in both hands and gentled her onto his lap, easing them both backward onto the bed. She found herself climbing onto him, straddling him in her jeans, in a way she hadn’t done ever before, and his arms gripped her waist, pulling her down onto him. He kissed her deeply, and she wanted to wrap herself around him in every way, feel herself take him inside, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, he seemed to know and began to take off his sweater, laughing when he got it stuck on his head. “Help!”

“It’s caught on your beard.” Nat laughed with him and helped, and when Angus’s face finally reappeared, flushed with effort, she looked into his eyes and touched his beard with wonderment, running her fingertips over its reddish gold strands, feeling its softness and coarseness at the same time. He yanked off his T-shirt, revealing a thick, muscular chest covered with dark gold hair and a long ponytail snaking over the bulge of his shoulder.

Nat stirred at the sight of such a natural man, kissing him deeply as he put his hands under her sweater and guided it upward, smiling with pleasure as she pulled it over her head and let it fall away.

“My poor baby,” Angus said suddenly, and Nat saw his face change. Then she remembered, ashamed. Her chest. The scratches. Her hands flew to cover herself, but he caught her hands and kissed them.

“No, it’s okay. Let me see,” he said, his eyes troubled, and he gentled her hands apart and eyed Buford’s handiwork.

“Let me make it better,” he murmured, while he kissed each scratch, then sent a shiver down her spine as he placed his hands warmly on her shoulders and slid down the straps of her bra. He reached around and unfastened the bra, and she wriggled out of it and tossed it aside, both of them giggling as if they were children at play. He pulled her close to him, and she felt the strength in his shoulders and back as they kissed again, harder and with need, and everything changed, darkening and deepening, as soon as skin met skin and his chest pressed against hers.

Angus lifted her in his arms and laid her back on the bed, quickly unbuttoning her jeans, pulling down her zipper, and tugging her pants off, then standing over her and sliding her panties down. Nat shuddered with arousal as he put his hands behind her knees and slid her to the edge of the bed, and then they suddenly stopped being children at play and became again adults, a woman and a man.

About to love each other.