The Edge of Lost (30 page)

He patted the raft to gauge his progress. He wasn’t filling it fast enough. How would they ever make it into the water in time?

Nights ago, he’d decided that if anything went terribly wrong, so long as they hadn’t been discovered, they would sneak back up if they could. Try again another time, find a different way. He’d told Sadie and she had agreed, yet now he dreaded to deliver the news.

“I’m sorry, but we gotta go back.”

Her lips pursed and her chin quivered. He wanted to comfort her—above all, to solve this—but the window of opportunity was closing. “We have to go now.”

Sadie inhaled sharply, hands flying to her mouth. It was an expression of disappointment, he assumed, until she pointed toward the water. Shan turned just in time to catch a bright flash. He took it for lightning before it returned as a beam. A searchlight.

“Oh, God, no.”

His absence shouldn’t have been noticed yet. He had time left on his detail. Then he realized …

Still no alarm.

Suddenly a voice carried from outside. It was dim, but judging from Sadie’s face, they had both heard it. Then louder. A man was calling her name. This meant Johnston had expanded the search. They were combing the entire island.

There was no escaping.

Shan would have to surrender—now as a kidnapper—or wait to be found. If his greenhouse chats with Sadie had risked foul and dark rumors, the fallout of this would be unimaginable. Not to mention what waited after Ted and Ralph learned of his deception.

And yet, from the sheer panic in Sadie’s eyes, he feared even more the punishment she would face from her father. For bringing him shame, surely jeopardizing his career, how much more of her skin would he burn? How many hits could she endure before her body simply gave out?

Whether she had come voluntarily or not, Shan’s crimes would be no different. His ending was sealed, but hers could be saved.

Shan leaned in and held her arms. “You tell them I forced you. Got it? That I threatened to hurt you, and your father, too, if you didn’t help me. Do you hear?”

She nodded, her eyes rimmed with tears.

“Now, stay put.” He rushed to the entrance of the cave, debating how best to surrender. Once they recognized him, the goon squad might descend with guns blazing, putting Sadie in equal danger.

He could always dive into the waves and ignore their warnings. Pull a Dutch Bowers. End it all right here. The idea gained appeal as he edged his head out and peered up the cliff. He expected guards to be working their way down, but no one was coming.

Again a voice called for Sadie. It traveled across the water, originating from the left. The silhouette of a rowboat carrying two people floated into view. One controlled the oars while the other held a flashlight, intermittently yelling, “Sadie!” Both were in guard uniforms and hats, topped with raincoats. Just like …

Shan.

The thought stopped him. In its wake an old memory slung back. Desperate to save himself and Nick, he’d once used the trick of a hat and a voice to become a ship steward. And the gamble had worked. The current stakes were inconceivably higher, but he glanced toward Sadie in the fuzzy blackness, and something in his gut, his heart, insisted he try.

An assessment of resources zipped through his mind, sprouting an idea.

“I think we still got a shot,” he told her. “But we’d have to work fast.”

The boat was closing in, likely with plans to pass by, but that was going to change. With supplies ready, Sadie crouched into hiding and Shan disguised his profile with his hood. He peered at the boat but still couldn’t determine which guards were approaching. Hoping to high heaven they didn’t include Ranger Roy, Shan transformed into the Southern lieutenant.

He cupped his mouth with one hand, further obscuring his face, as he stepped into view and hollered through the wind, “Fellas, over here! I need some help from y’all!” He motioned them closer, his heart thumping all the while. When the flashlight beamed toward his face, he angled away as if it were too bright.

“Who is that?” a guard shouted.

“It’s Roy! Now, stop lollygagging and get over here. Found somethin’ peculiar.” Retreating into the shadows, Shan hugged the wall at the entrance. He waited, shank in hand.

If this didn’t work, it would all be over.

Then came a
thunk
—the boat hitting rocks by the side of the cave. “Lieutenant? What is it?”

They were just outside. While searching for a civilian, they would be unarmed. Shan hoped.

He poked his head out just enough for a peek. “Y’all can tie up to that pile of tires there! But I need a hand from just one of ya. So hurry it up!”

If they hadn’t heard him clearly and both came in at once, the odds of pulling this off could plummet.

The guards appeared to talk for a moment before one hopped out and quickly tied off the boat as ordered. Then he took the flashlight, leaving his pal behind, and scurried over a tire and some rocks.

The fact that it was Rookie was not a disappointment.

Shan moved a little farther in to assume his pose. His back to the entrance, hands on hips, he stared down at the raft. He heard the sloshing of Rookie’s footsteps.

“What’d you find, Lieutenant?”

“Get a load of this,” Shan said. “Reckon some inmates were fixin’ to escape.”

Rookie directed his flashlight at the ground and sidled up to Shan. “Well, how about that,” he said in awe. “Who do you think—”

Shan stopped him with a blade to the neck. “Drop the light and put your hands behind your back.” The guard bristled, and the flashlight fell into the water. “You keep silent, and my pal Ted Cole over there won’t shoot the .45 he took off the Hill Tower guard. And trust me, he’d sure be happy to.”

Rookie released a shaky breath and nodded. The guy was new to the gig, but not new enough to be unfamiliar with Ted’s volatility.

In a minute tops, Shan had the guard seated behind a mound of tires with hands and feet bound with rope, gagged and blindfolded with strips of canvas. To support the ruse, Shan switched to the deeper, more sinister tone of Ted Cole. “Not a peep, you goddamn screw.”

Rookie became a statue.

Shan salvaged the flashlight and scrambled back toward the entrance. Reverting to Ranger Roy, he would pull the same stunt in a flash. Only then did he consider that the second guard could be Yappy.

At the cave’s edge, he was about to holler regardless, yet caught himself. The boat was rocking, with no one aboard. Where the hell had he gone?

The answer came when the officer stepped from the side and stopped two feet away. It was Chandler, the guard with no reservations about shooting cons, as proven by the death of Bowers. The officer hedged, startled from recognition, and flicked a look at the shank in Shan’s grip.

Though it was likely mere seconds, it felt far longer before Chandler lunged. All at once they were struggling for the weapon. Shan battled to hold on as he was slammed against the wall. The back of his skull met rock and his hat toppled forward. Chandler hammered at Shan’s hand until the shank broke free. On reflex Shan reached out, but the blade disappeared with a splash.

He caught a glow in the water, from the flashlight now on the ground, before a fist struck his face. He’d barely registered the hit when another came to his gut. Trapped against the wall, he had to break loose.

Shan used every bit of his strength to push the guy back. He’d managed a few feet when Chandler lost his footing, taking them both to the slippery ground. The icy water stunned Shan momentarily; he recovered only to find Chandler scrambling for the shank.

In that instant, focused only on survival, Shan snatched the flashlight and swung it toward the guard, connecting with his head. The man collapsed.

Despite Shan’s adrenaline, he registered fear about what he had done. But a quick check confirmed that Chandler was simply knocked out. With little time for relief, Shan heaved the guard to the side, enough to clear him from the water.

Shan was going to retrieve Sadie, but she was already at his side. He signaled for her to stay quiet. Then he snagged his hat, lifted her up, and carried her to the mouth of the cave. The searchlight was slanted away from the area. There were maybe five minutes to spare—their chances were minuscule. But at this point, hell, why not?

He untied the rope as Sadie climbed into the rowboat, and he after her. “Down on the floor,” he told her. She obeyed without hesitation as he grabbed hold of the oars. Seated backward, he started rowing against the rain, the currents. Over his shoulder there was no destination to see, only a wall of fog.

The searchlight slid closer, closer. It moved over the black waves like an electric eel at the surface. Shan held his breath, clutching the oars, and the beam brushed right past them. After all, he was a guard. Or invisible.

That was certainly how he felt when the mist swallowed them up. He kept an ear out for proof that an inmate search had been launched. But due to the weather or a delay of discovery—the count perhaps disturbed by the hunt for Sadie—he heard no siren.

The boat picked up speed in the shipping channel, the outgoing tide sending them toward the Golden Gate. Southwest of the island, the red suspension bridge that he’d eyed for months, and with purposeful interest this past week, now lay in hiding.

Panic simmered in his gut as he recalled Father Anthony’s words. Stray off course and they’d be swept off to sea. In this fog, they could very well be headed to Alaska.

Where was the damn bridge? Where was the mainland?

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. He continued to row, scanning over his shoulder, his muscles burning. His damp body trembled from cold and adrenaline. “After all this, we can’t even find the stupid landing?”

Sadie’s face eased upward. Though there was probably little harm in her sitting now, he preferred to be careful, and to focus. He started to tell her to stay low when she interjected.

“Would this help?” She drew a necklace from under her coat collar. It was the compass, stored around her neck. The shock of it halted Shan.

“Actually, yeah.” A laugh tumbled from his mouth. “It would.”

Sadie grinned.

He directed her in holding the compass as he rowed. She displayed the wiggling needle, keeping as steady as possible.

The rain lightened to a sprinkle along the way, and thinning fog bettered visibility, but only in patches. At this speed, it couldn’t be much farther. If they hadn’t passed it already.

Maybe a large vessel in the Pacific would be willing to bring them aboard. Shan looked harmless, still in a uniform. Although why would he be out in this weather? It would be wise to create a plausible story just in case.

“There! There!” Sadie pointed.

Shan twisted around and spied a red tower of the monstrous bridge reaching for the sky, fading into the clouds. High above, haloed headlights projected from vehicles moving in both directions. Soft twinkling lights to his right marked the city. They were on the south side of the Golden Gate!

“Keep low,” he told her.

Pulling back hard on the left oar, he cut the boat at an angle. Through the shadows came the outline of a sandy strip. He’d rejoice if not for fear of gliding right by.

As he neared the shore, a man emerged from the darkness. He rushed into the water and grabbed the bow. When he glanced up, Shan recognized his face beneath the rim of his hat. The musician from the party.

“It’s you,” Shan said, relieved.

The man scowled in return. “The plan,” he said, “was to pop the raft, stuff it in the trunk. What am I supposed to do with this goddamn thing?”

Before Shan could answer, Sadie stood up in the boat. The musician snapped his gaze back to Shan, making clear the same question applied to her.

51

T
he only sounds in the Fordor Sedan came from the rumbling of its wheels. Even if the driver struck them as a conversationalist—which decidedly he did not—he’d already shared how he felt about their unplanned risks. The expletives he’d muttered while shoving the rowboat off with the tide were followed by several more as he hurled the oars in separately.

With no less warmth, he had hustled Shan and Sadie into the backseat. They were to remain on the floor, draped with a blanket for fear of roadblocks. Down that low, the air reeked of cigarettes and gasoline.

The drive had just begun when a police siren whizzed by. Sadie reached over to squeeze Shan’s hand. Her palm was wrapped in a small bandage he hadn’t noticed earlier. His thoughts shot to her son-of-a-bitch father, but this time, she said, the fault was hers. “I did it when I cut my hair,” she whispered.

The guy was still a son of a bitch.

Soon their unseen surroundings quieted, and Sadie didn’t look nearly as nervous as she should. Then again, she had endured much worse.

Shan ventured to ask the driver, “Where we headed?” They had been traveling for the better part of an hour. A peek through the back windows revealed little in the darkness.

“Away,” the guy replied, and proceeded to smoke with the window barely cracked. “Keep covered.”

Reluctant, Shan pulled the blanket back over, sensing even more familiarity. How did he know the guy?

He considered the man’s bearing, hat pulled low, driving while puffing on a cigarette. And the image jogged a memory. Now Shan remembered. Without the toothbrush mustache, he was the getaway driver from the bank job. One of the robbers who’d left Nick to rot.

Shan feared what this could mean, especially for Sadie. There was no question how bastards like this treated liabilities.

A sharp turn changed the sound of the drive. The wheels were bumping over a dirt road. It then dawned on Shan how the blanket could have served another purpose: to keep him unaware of the destination. If so, it had worked. Shan had no inkling where they were.

 

The sedan stopped and the driver got out.

Sadie whispered, “Now what?”

Shan shook his head that he didn’t know. He shoved his rain hood all the way down, straining to listen. From another peek, he detected only rural landscape.

Then the footsteps returned and the back door squeaked open. The blanket was yanked away. Shan’s skin, warm and damp from breathing under cover, prickled from the cold.

“They’re waitin’,” the driver said flatly. “In there.”

Shan unfolded from the car, back aching from the cramped quarters, jaw and gut sore from Chandler’s fists. Sadie climbed out after him and adjusted her cap.

A barn lay ahead, outlined by moonlight pushing through the clouds. A crop covered the surrounding hills. Vines, Shan realized. This wasn’t a farm, but a vineyard. The scent of fermenting grapes hung in the air.

Again Sadie held his hand. She knew something was off.

“It’ll be okay.” He forced a partial smile, daunted by the unknown waiting inside. And yet, where else could they go?

He guided her forward. Every few steps he glanced back at the driver, now leaning against the car, keeping lookout. Shan had grown wary of having anyone behind him; even more so when that person was likely armed.

At the solid oak door, he steeled himself and raised his hand to knock. He got no further before the door swung open to a man boasting a wide grin.

“Hell, look at this,” the fellow said. “Two years in the pen, and the place turned you into a copper.” His pencil mustache and light hair, slightly shaggy, didn’t match his voice. A voice Shan knew almost as well as he knew his own.

He peered into the guy’s eyes to confirm the impossible, and what he found nearly buckled his knees. Standing before him, alive and well, was Nick Capello.

The discovery stunned Shan to silence.

With a heavy sigh, Nick put a hand on Shan’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, I was starting to get nervous. Been pacing for hours and …” The rest fell off when Sadie caught his eye.

“Sweetheart, close the door,” a woman called out. Josie’s voice.

Stepping back, Nick ushered them in and locked the door. A lantern glowed yellow on a table in the room. It threw shadows across wine barrels aligned in rows.

Shan struggled to grasp the world he had entered, a place where Nick was walking, talking, and breathing. Nick. The friend he had lost.

“But—you were—I thought—”

Nick smiled at Shan’s battle for words.

Before Shan could try again, Josie appeared and said, “Now, who’ve we got here?” Her attention rested on the child clinging to his side.

Nick, too, looked in want of an explanation.

Shan scrounged for an answer through his tangle of thoughts. “This is … Sadie. She needed to come too.”

“Oh,” Josie said, surprised. “I thought she was a—” She cut herself off, an effort not to offend.

“It’s a disguise,” Sadie volunteered. Her tone was quiet but lined with pride.

“Well, you sure had me fooled,” Josie said. “And trust me, I know my disguises.”

Indeed she did. Josie was barely recognizable, with her platinum curls dyed black, shortened to just below the ears. In place of a sparkly, curve-hugging number, a cream cardigan layered a simple peach housedress. Likewise, Nick sported a workingman’s shirt, brown woolen trousers, and dusty boots. A far cry from the fancy suit he’d been wearing when Shan last saw him.

On the day he’d died.

Shan was still straining to comprehend. “In the bank, I thought you were …”

“Shot to hell and hauled away?” Nick said.

“This,” Josie said, “sounds like boring grownup talk. Sadie, honey, you got a little time to spare. How ’bout we get ourselves a drink. Some grape juice, maybe. You hungry?”

Sadie looked up at Shan, gauging the offer.

“She’s an old friend, Sadie. You’ll be all right.”

Relaxing, Sadie released Shan’s hand and accepted Josie’s. The two trod past the barrels and into another room, with Josie making conversation all the way. The gal always did have a talent for lowering people’s guards.

“Come on and take a load off.” Nick motioned to the right with his chin. “You gotta be beat.”

As though following a ghost, Shan trailed him to the table. Made from the lid of a barrel, the furnishing was flanked by two ladder-back chairs. Beside the lantern waited a bottle of red wine with a pair of long-stemmed glasses.

“Here, have a seat,” Nick said, and worked to remove the cork. But Shan remained standing.

Nick proceeded to pour for them both. “We’ve been hunkered down here all day. Friends said we could help ourselves, but honestly my gut’s been twisted.” He shook his head and let out a breath. “You’re here now, though, ain’t ya,” he said, and raised his glass in a toast.

Part of Shan wanted to jump in and celebrate. But his startle was now morphing into a sense of betrayal. The grief and guilt he had harbored all this time couldn’t be so easily shed.

“You had a funeral.” Not a recollection. An accusation.

Nick’s eyes dimmed, revealing his awareness that he had this coming. He lowered his glass and gave a small shrug. “They switched me for a John Doe. Guy had no one to claim him.” He raised a palm as if swearing in court: “A stroke. I had nothin’ to do with it.”

The alternative hadn’t crossed Shan’s mind, though at this point it should have. “Did Ma and Pop know? And Lina?”

“Nah. Not at first,” Nick said, assuring Shan he wasn’t the only one duped. “The undertaker told them a closed casket was best, ’cause of my wounds. If there’d been another way, trust me I would’ve done it. But first, I was out of sorts, trying to recover. Then with the heat from the feds, I didn’t want to put my family in a tough spot. Not like I did you.” His voice thickened, as if by his own layer of guilt. He cleared his throat, washed it down with wine. “Of course, they were real happy when they found out the truth. And they’ll be even happier when they hear about you now.”

Shan had to remind himself he was free at the moment. He was grateful for that. But then, he never would have been imprisoned if it weren’t for Nick.

He pulled off his guard hat. “What were you thinking, stealing from Max anyway?”

Nick eyed him. “You really thought I was that dumb?” He smiled and reclined on his chair.

Right at that moment, Shan realized he didn’t know a thing. But he did deserve to understand the reason he’d spent two years behind bars. “Why the robbery, then?”

As Nick took a sip of wine, Shan opted to sit after all. He could tell this wasn’t going to be a simple story.

“It was Sal and Vito,” Nick explained. “For years, they were in charge of collecting tax from shopkeepers. Protection, you know, by Max. Come to find out, the two of ’em kept hiking the prices, pocketing the difference. Shopkeepers were afraid to complain, so the tax kept going up.”

It didn’t take much for Shan to imagine the scenario, having survived it firsthand.

“Finally Max hears what’s going on. Along with a rumor that they’re working on some racket with a wiseguy in Jersey. So Max confronts Sal and Vito. They come clean about the shops, full of sor-rys, swearing to repay double, but they deny the rest. Max doesn’t buy it. But he wants proof before doing anything drastic. Also he wants to know who this wiseguy is. So that’s where me and Jimmy—my pal out there—came in.”

Shan glanced toward the door. He had forgotten the driver was outside. Of course, clearer in his mind was watching the “pal” leave Nick at the bank in a pool of blood. “And then?”

“And then,” Nick said, “we put out a leak that I’ve been called out for skimming off the back room. Then I go to Sal, tell him I’m desperate for cash and how I’m fed up with Max and his small-time thinkin’. I tell him me and Jimmy got a lead on a hot deal in Pittsburgh, but that Max wasn’t up for the risk.”

Nick rested an elbow on the table and swirled his wine a bit. “Pretty soon, Sal comes back and says he’s got a solid connection who wants to meet. Some banker in Jersey, crooked as a fishhook. So we all drive together. Sal has Jimmy pull over and wait. Says too many people will make the banker jittery.”

“Let me guess,” Shan said. “There was no deal.”

“There was no connection. Not there anyway. They put on scarves, stuff one in my hand, and draw their guns. Sal hollers for everybody to get down. Says he’ll start shooting if anyone trips the alarm. By then, Vito nabbed the guard’s pistol, and Sal’s telling me to put on the mask. What was I supposed to do?”

“How about make a break for it? Get back to the car.”

“Because I was guilty just being there,” Nick said, and Shan had to acknowledge the hard truth in that; the past two years were solid proof. “Anyway, Sal starts stuffing cash in a sack, tells me how he and Vito have alibis in place. That if I don’t want to take the rap for this, I’m gonna convince Max they’re not doing side deals. Make sure they’re back in his good graces before the boss sends a torpedo their way.”

“So … you refused,” Shan guessed, a reason they would have left him behind.

“Nah. I lied and told him I’d do it—if we got right the hell out of there. But Vito doesn’t wanna go without cracking the vault. We start arguing, and shots blast our way. Guard must’ve been packing another gun. He hits me with a slug before Vito takes him out. Then comes the siren, and off they go.”

“Including Jimmy,” Shan reminded him.

Nick raised a shoulder. “They told him I was dead. Can’t blame the guy, what with cops closing in. Even so,” he pointed out, “I’d say he’s made up for it.”

Shan thought of the smuggled raft, the escort here. He supposed he couldn’t disagree. He set his hat on the table and rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “So, how the hell did you make it out alive?”

“I nearly didn’t,” Nick said. “If the coroner hadn’t noticed my pinkie movin’—or didn’t have the smarts to call Max—I’d have been done for. But now look, huh? Just like you, I got another start. And with Josie too.” He gazed across the room where she’d disappeared, and his eyes softened. “We’re living in Wyoming now. Nice small town. Lots of good folks there.”

Shan remembered Nick’s last words at the robbery, his deep regrets over losing Josie. He just hoped that clarity wouldn’t fade. “I assume this means you’ve gone straight.”

Nick just looked at him. “I’m a pipe fitter at an oil refinery. Can’t get much straighter than that.”

Shan noticed a touch of grit under Nick’s nails and felt some pleasure at the irony. Finally he took a drink of his wine, savoring the indulgence he’d missed—a blend of blackberries and pepper—but also listening for wheels on the driveway. He wished there were windows, to keep an eye out for headlights.

“I know what you gotta be thinkin’,” Nick said after a pause. “It’s not fair to her, having to start all over. I realize that. I just … I couldn’t let her go again.” There was a raw sincerity in his tone that Shan found refreshing, even comforting.

“Yeah, well. Doing what’s right and what makes sense aren’t always the same thing.”

Nick smiled a little.

It seemed to Shan that Josie had never loved Nick for all the glitz and glamour; she’d loved him in spite of it. Something Nick, too, appeared to have realized.

About to take another sip, Nick hesitated. “Speaking of girls, what’s the story with the kid?”

Shan didn’t have the time or energy to spin a tale. And since they seemed to be spilling all …

“She’s the daughter of a prison guard.”

In the midst of a swallow, Nick spit part of it out. He set down his glass, wiping his mouth. “Christ.”

“She needed to get away, so she can live with her mom. For good reason.”

“I would hope,” Nick said. “When you meeting this woman?”

“As soon as we can.”