Judith McNaught (16 page)

"Hadley sent word he wants to leave for Amarillo at three o'clock! This is it!"

Tension and impatience had been eating Zack alive for so long that he could hardly adjust to the fact that the payoff was actually here: Two long years of pretending to go along with the system, of becoming a

model prisoner so they'd make him a trustee with all the attendant freedoms—all the months of planning and scheming—they were finally coming to fruition.

In a few hours, if the delay hadn't caused irreparable damage to his arrangements, he'd be on the road in a rented car with a new identity, a minutely planned itinerary, and plane tickets that would lead the authorities on a wild-goose chase.

At the sink beside him, Sandini said, "Jesus, I wish I could go with you. I'd sure like to be at Gina's wedding!"

Zack bent down and splashed water on his face, but he heard the suppressed excitement in Sandini's voice and it scared the hell out of him. "Don't even consider it! You'll be out of here in four weeks," he added, yanking a towel off the rack.

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. Here, take this," he added, holding out his hand.

"What is it?" Zack asked, wiping his face. He tossed the towel down and looked at the piece of paper in Sandini's outstretched hand.

"This is Mama's address and phone number. If things don't work out like they should, you get your ass to Mama, and she'll get you to my uncle. He has connections everywhere," he boasted. "I know you've

had your doubts about whether he'll come through for you, but in a few hours, you'll see that everything's

waiting in Amarillo, just like you want. He's a great guy," Sandini added proudly.

Zack absently rolled down the sleeves of his rough white cotton prison shirt, trying not to think about anything now except each moment as it happened, but his hands were unsteady when he tried to button his shirt cuffs. He warned himself to calm down and concentrate on the conversation. "There's something I've wanted to ask you for a long time, Dom," Zack said cautiously. "If he's such a 'great guy' and he's got so many 'connections,' why the hell didn't he pull some strings to keep you from doing hard time in here?"

"Oh. That. I made an innocent mistake, and Uncle Enrico thought I needed to learn a lesson."

Sandini sounded so chagrined that Zack glanced up at him. "Why?"

"Because one of the cars I stole the last time belonged to him."

"Then you're lucky you're still alive."

"That's what
he
said."

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Tension strangled Zack's laugh.

"He'll be at Gina's wedding. I sure hate to miss that."

Changing the subject, he said, "It's a good thing Hadley likes people to recognize you when you drive him around. If you had to keep your hair as short

as the rest of the cons, you'd be a lot more conspicuous when you're outside. That little bit of extra hair

you've got is gonna—"

Both men started as another trustee walked into the showers and jerked his thumb to the door. "Get a move on, Sandini," he snapped. "You, too, Benedict.

The warden wants his car in five minutes."

"
G
ood morning, Benedict," Hadley said when Zack knocked on the door of the warden's residence, near the gates of the prison compound. "You're looking as grim and unpleasant as usual, I see.

Before we

go," he added, "take Hitler for his walk around the yard." As he spoke, he handed Zack a leash that was attached to a large Doberman.

"I'm not your damned butler," Zack snapped, and a slow, gratified grin spread across Hadley's smooth face. "You tired of enjoying my beneficence and the freedom of a trustee? Are you getting an itch to spend some time in my conference room, Benedict?"

Mentally cursing himself for letting his hatred show on a day when he had so much to lose, Zack shrugged and took the leash. "Not particularly."

Although Hadley was only 5'6" tall, he had a giant-size

ego and an urbane manner that disguised a streak of sadistic, psychopathic viciousness that was known to everyone except, apparently, the State Board of Corrections, who either didn't know or didn't care about the high mortality rate attributed to "prisoner fights" and "attempted escapes" at his facility. The

"conference room" was the prison acronym for the soundproof room that adjoined Hadley's office.

Prisoners who displeased him were brought there kicking and sweating in real terror, when they left, they

were carried out either to solitary, the infirmary, or the morgue. He got a sadistic thrill from making men squirm and grovel; in fact, it wasn't Zack's good behavior that caused Hadley to make him a trustee, it was Hadley's ego. The little warden got a big kick out of having Zachary Benedict at his beck and call, waiting on him. Zack thought it pleasantly ironic that it was Hadley's ego that was finally providing him the

means for his escape.

He'd started around the corner of the house when Hadley called, "Benedict, don't forget to clean up after Hitler."

Zack retraced his steps, jerking the snarling dog with him and got the miniature shovel Hadley kept beside the front door. He buttoned his jacket and looked up at the sky; it was cold and the sky looked leaden. It was going to snow.

Seated in the back seat of the car, Wayne Hadley tucked his lecture notes into his briefcase, then he
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loosened his tie, stretched his legs out, and exhaled a satisfied sigh as he looked at the two trustees in the front seat. Sandini was a petty crook, a skinny wop, a nothing; the only reason he was a trustee was because one of his crooked relatives had clout with somebody in the system, and that somebody sent word down that Dominic Sandini should be a trustee. Sandini provided no amusement, no diversion, no

prestige for Hadley at all; there was no pleasure in baiting him. Ah, but Benedict was another story.

Benedict the movie star, the sex symbol, the rich tycoon who used to have planes and chauffeur-driven

limos. Benedict had been a world-class big shot, and now he waited on Wayne Hadley hand and foot.

There was justice in the world, Hadley thought. Real justice. More importantly, even though Benedict tried to hide it, there were times when Hadley could pierce his thick skin and make him squirm and yearn for what he couldn't have, but it wasn't easy. Even when he made Benedict watch the newest movies on videotape and the Academy Awards on television, Hadley couldn't be sure that he'd hit a nerve. With that pleasant goal in mind, Hadley cast around for the right topic and randomly decided on sex. As his car braked to a stop at a traffic light near his destination, he said in a tone of pleasant inquiry, "I'll bet the

women begged to get into bed with you when you were rich and famous, didn't they, Benedict? Do you ever think about women, about how they used to feel and smell and taste? You probably didn't like sex that much. If you'd been any good in the sack, that beautiful blond bitch you were married to wouldn't have been getting it on with that guy, Austin, would she?"

In the rearview mirror, he watched with satisfaction as Benedict's jaw tensed slightly and he erroneously assumed it was the sex talk that got to him, not Austin's name. "If you ever get paroled—and I wouldn't

count on my recommendation if I were you—you'll have to settle for hookers when you get out. Women are all whores, but even whores have some scruples, and they don't like dirty ex-cons in their beds, did you know that?" Despite his desire to maintain a facade of smooth urbanity at all times around the scum

who were his prisoners, Hadley perpetually found it difficult to restrain his temper, and he felt it begin to erupt. "Answer my questions, you son of a bitch, or you'll spend the next month in solitary." Realizing his

control had slipped, he said almost pleasantly, "I'll bet you had your own chauffeur in the good old days,

didn't you? And now, look at you—you're my chauffeur. There
is
a God." The glass midrise building

came into view, and Hadley sat up taller, straightening his tie. "Do you ever wonder what happened to all

your money—whatever was left after you paid your lawyers, I mean?"

In answer, Benedict slammed his foot on the brake and brought the car to a teeth-jarring stop in front of the building. Swearing under his breath, Hadley collected the papers that had slid onto the floor and waited in vain for Zack to get out. "You insolent son of a bitch! I don't know what's gotten into you today, but I'll deal with you when we get back. Now get your ass out of the car and open my door!"

Zack got out, oblivious to the biting wind that whipped his thin white jacket off his shoulder but concerned about the snow that was falling in earnest.

Five more minutes and he'd be on the run. With a mocking flourish, he jerked open the back door of the car and gestured wide with his arm. "Can you get out on your own, or shall I carry you?"

"You've pushed me for the last time," Hadley warned, getting out and yanking his briefcase off the seat.

"You need to learn a few lessons when we get back."

Reining in his temper, Hadley glanced at Sandini, who was staring off into space, trying to look docile and deaf. "You have your list of errands, Sandini.

Get them done and get back here. You," he ordered Zack, "get your ass over to that grocery store across the street and find me some nice imported cheese and some fresh fruit, then stay in the car. I'll be

finished in an hour and a half. Have the car warm and running!"

Without waiting for a reply, Hadley started up the sidewalk. Behind him, the two men stood watching his

back, waiting for him to enter the building. "What a prick," Sandini said under his breath, then he turned to Zack. "This is it. Good luck." He glanced up at the dark, snow-filled clouds. "This has all the makings of a real blizzard."

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Ignoring the weather problem, Zack said quickly,

"You know what to do. Don't deviate from the plan and don't, for God's sake, change your story. If you play it exactly the way I told you, you'll come off like

a hero instead of an accomplice."

Something about Sandini's lazy grin and

preoccupied, restless stance alarmed the hell out of Zack.

Clearly and succinctly he repeated the plan that they'd only been able to whisper about before now.

"Dom, just do it the way we decided. Leave Hadley's shopping list on the floor of the car. Do your errands for an hour, then tell the clerk in the store that you left your list in the car and can't be sure you got everything. Tell her you have to get it, and come back here. The car will be locked." As he spoke, Zack took the list from Sandini's hand, tossed it on the floor on the passenger side, then he locked and closed the door. With an inner calm he didn't feel, he took Sandini's arm and propelled him firmly toward the corner.

Pickup trucks sped by as they waited for the light to turn green, then they crossed the street

unhurriedly—two men who looked like ordinary Texans casually discussing the state of the economy or

the next pro football game—except that they wore white pants and white jackets with the initials TDC

stenciled in black across the backs. As they neared the curb, Zack continued under his breath, "When you get to the car and discover the door is locked, go across the street to the grocery store, look around a minute, then ask the clerks if they've seen anyone who looks like me. When they tell you they haven't, go to the drugstore and the bookstore and ask if they've seen me. When they tell you no, head straight

into that building and start opening doors, asking where the warden's meeting is. Tell everyone you need

to report a possible escape. The clerks in all the stores you went to earlier will verify your whole story,

and since you're going to alert the warden that I'm missing a half hour before he'd have come out here and discovered it himself, he'll be convinced you're as innocent as a baby. He'll probably let you out early

to attend Gina's wedding."

Sandini grinned and gave Zack a jaunty thumbs up instead of a more conspicuous solemn handshake.

"Stop worrying about me and get going."

Zack nodded, turned, then turned back. "Sandini?"

he said solemnly.

"Yeah, Zack?"

"I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah, I know."

"Give Mama my love. Tell your sisters they'll always be my favorite leading ladies," Zack added, then he turned and walked quickly away.

The grocery store was on the corner with a recessed entrance on the street facing the building Hadley was in and another one facing a side street. Forcing himself not to deviate from the plan, Zack walked into the main entrance. In case Hadley should be watching from the building, which he occasionally did,

he lingered just inside the doors, unnoticed, and counted slowly to thirty.

Five minutes later, he was several blocks away, his prison jacket tucked under his arm, walking swiftly toward his first destination—the men's room in the Phillips 66 Station on Court Street. His heart beating with suspense and dread, he crossed Court Street on a red light, dashing between a taxi and tow truck that had slowed to make a right turn, then he saw what he was looking for—a nondescript black coupe parked halfway down the block, with Illinois license plates. The car was still there, even though he was
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two days late getting to it.

With his head bent and his hands in his pockets, he slowed his pace to normal. The snow was beginning to fall in earnest as he strode past the red Corvette pulled up at the gas pumps, heading directly for the men's room at the side of the station. He grasped the door knob and twisted it. It was locked! Resisting the urge to ram his shoulder into the door and try to break it down, he grabbed the knob and rattled it hard. An angry male voice shouted from inside,

"Keep your pants on, buster. I'll be out in a minute."

The occupant of the men's room finally emerged several minutes later, yanked open the door, looked around at the empty area outside the building, and then headed for the red Corvette at the pumps.