No Place to Hide (6 page)

“It does. I’ve never liked being in trouble by myself.” She snorted and he shrugged. “Sorry. When I get scared, I crack stupid jokes.”

She softened. “Yeah, I seem to remember that about you.” She gave him a small smile. “I suppose that’s better than freaking out.”

“Don’t worry. I’m doing that on the inside.”

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23
6:45 A.M.
MOONACHIE, NJ
FLOAT DECORATING WAREHOUSE

Maria Fox stood on the float platform and ran her hands over the belly of the framed-out and burlap-covered dragon. One of the five first-year clients for Hands Down Parade Company, Manguson’s Toy Factory had chosen a dinosaur toy–themed float for the upcoming parade.

The fire-breathing dragon attached to the belly stood twelve feet tall. His jaw was permanently open and his jagged teeth were fearsome. She smiled. The kids would love him. Bubbles would spill from his mouth, taking the place of flames. Maria could already envision the children’s delight in popping them as they drifted over their heads. “Looks great.”

“All that’s left is the painting,” Henry Franklin said. “You’ll work your magic and make it come alive.”

Maria smiled. She took great pleasure in her job. Painting floats for parades was a dream come true. She’d gotten her degree in portraiture from Pacific Northwest College of Art. She had the responsibility for the details such as carving heads,
painting faces, and making signs. Henry was the organizer. He handled the larger aspects of the floats, like overseeing the initial decoration that included covering the structure with burlap and constructing decorative pieces. All of which Maria would paint. “The countdown is on.”

“It’s going to be long days and nights.”

A flicker of apprehension darted through her. “I know.”

“Leo’s been working quite a bit too, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. A lot.” She frowned. They’d argued about that just a few days ago. She knew she shouldn’t badger him about staying home more, but when poor Lewis constantly nagged her about why his father had to be gone so much, she almost couldn’t help it.

“You have someone to watch Lewis?”

Lewis, her five-year-old son. A little boy who needed his parents to be there for him. “My mother’s moved in with us for the next few weeks.”

“You’re fortunate to have her.”

“I know.” Maria’s heart ached at the schedule she and her husband were required to keep. He worked for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms as an explosives expert and had just been assigned an extremely complex case. Unfortunately, his hours were even worse than hers lately.

And all they seemed to do was argue when they were together. It was killing her. Killing their marriage.

But he’d promised to try harder and she wanted to give him the opportunity to do so.

“What about your father? Is he still living?”

“No.” She breathed in. “He died when I was twelve. He was murdered, actually. Along with my brother and younger sister.”

Henry’s jaw dropped and he gaped at her. “I—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“Yes. Me too. We were living in Russia at the time. Thieves broke into our house and I’m sure my father fought back. My brother was sixteen, my sister was seven.” Maria had escaped because she and her mother had decided to go shopping at the last minute. When her mother had gotten a phone call from her father, they rushed home to find the carnage. The police tried to keep them from entering, but her mother pushed her way through and Maria had followed. She blinked against the memories and blew out a slow breath. It had been almost fifteen years ago, but she could still see her father, brother, and sister lying on the floor, their blood black beneath them. Nausea swirled. Why had she told him all of that?

The door to the studio opened and Maria turned to see three men enter. Grateful for the distraction, she studied them, curious. She glanced at Henry, who caught her silent question. He shrugged.

She walked toward the visitors. “Hello.” She held out a hand. “I’m Maria Fox. May I help you?”

The older, gray-headed man stepped forward and grasped her fingers. “Drew Manguson. We’re here to see the progress on the float.”

“Of course. Mr. Manguson of Manguson Toys, I presume.” She turned to look at the float, and as always, pride and awe filled her that she had a hand in creating it. “This is a magnificent piece. I’m looking forward to getting it finished.”

“Excellent.” Maria noted the other two men flanking the gentleman she’d spoken with. For some reason, an icy warning slithered up her spine and she shivered. She frowned at her reaction and told herself not to be silly. Mr. Manguson approached the masterpiece he’d paid well over a hundred thousand dollars for.

The man examined every inch, including the platform the
float was built on. He turned to his two associates and nodded. To Maria, he said, “Everything looks great. You’re doing a wonderful job.”

She flushed. “Well, thank you, Mr. Manguson. I appreciate that.”

“We’ll be by early the morning of the parade to examine it one more time.”

“Of course. We’ll have a full house that day and it will seem very chaotic.”

“Organized chaos, I’m sure.”

“Exactly. Yes sir.”

He tilted his head and gave a small smile. “Until then.” He turned on his heel and nodded once more. His friends fell into step beside him and followed him from the building. Maria frowned. Something—

“What is it, Maria?”

“Something about him bothered me.”

“What?”

“Well, for one thing, why bring two other men with you when all they’re going to do is stand around and watch? What was their purpose?”

“He’s rich, right?”

“Of course.”

“Bodyguards.”

Maria shrugged, but couldn’t stop frowning. “I guess.”

“What else is bothering you?”

“His eyes.”

“His eyes?” Henry frowned at her.

“Didn’t you notice?”

“Notice what?”

She heard his exasperation and sighed. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. While Mr. Manguson had smiled
and seemed kind enough, his eyes had been empty pools of black tar.

And that sent more uncomfortable shivers dancing up her spine.

7:00 A.M.
VIRGINIA

By seven o’clock, Ian had let Gus out and proceeded to raid the pantry. He’d managed to find several bags of chips, every kind of canned bean known to man, a tin of crackers, a jar of Cheez Whiz, and a box of chocolate Pop-Tarts still within the expiration date.

Jackie emerged from the back bedroom, freshly showered, dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday—and looking entirely
not
like herself. He blinked. “Wow.” Jet black hair cut about three inches shorter had turned her into another person. “You did a good job.”

“Your turn.” She handed him a box of hair dye.

He grimaced. “Gray?”

“The older you look, the better off you are. If you could develop a few wrinkles and lose
a lot
of muscles over the next little bit, we’d be in good shape.”

A grin tugged the corners of his lips. “I’ll do my best.” She’d noticed his muscles. He felt downright silly at the pleasure he took in that. He gripped the box. “I was thinking.”

“About?” She grabbed a Pop-Tart and took a bite of it. Cold.

He grimaced. “Don’t you want to toast that?”

She stopped chewing and looked at the pastry, then back at him. “And ruin a perfectly good Pop-Tart? Are you nuts?”

“Definitely.” He sighed and dropped his chocolate rectangle into the toaster. Then he let Gus in and fed the dog the leftover
meat from the night before. With a full tummy, the animal seemed content and stretched out on the kitchen floor to watch them.

“He’s really smart, isn’t he?” Jackie asked.

“Scary smart.”

Jackie leaned over and scratched Gus’s ears. The dog’s eyes dropped to half-mast. “So what were you thinking about?” she asked.

“New York. And not just because I’m worried about Holly and Lucy, although they’re the top priority.”

“Okay.” She finished the first pastry, grabbed a bag of chips, and hoisted herself up onto the counter. “And?”

“Cedric Wainwright is in New York where his father started the company. But, Wainwright Labs has facilities in South Carolina, Atlanta, Chicago, Los Angeles, Montana, and Honolulu too.”

She crunched a handful of chips. “But that might mean something. It might be a place to start.”

“Maybe. Or NY could stand for nuclear yield or . . . or—”

She held up a hand. “I get it. But unless you’re willing to take this to the cops, we’re kind of on our own here.”

He stiffened. “No. No cops. I just can’t take that chance yet.” He hefted the box of hair color and nodded to her handful of chips. “Since when did you become such a junk foodie?”

She frowned. “How dare you insult such yumminess?” He rolled his eyes and she smirked, then shrugged. “I’m not usually into junk food, just when I’m super stressed.” Her hand went back in the bag. “And if this situation lasts for more than a day or two, I’ll have to find something else to battle the stress.” She held up a chip and studied it. “Like running marathons.” She sighed and munched the chip, then closed the bag and brushed her hands on her jeans. “It’s all about control. I can quit any time.”

“Promises the addict,” he said.

She slid from the counter and made a shooing motion. “Go. I don’t know how much time we have before we’ll have to bolt. I don’t know how they would track us here, but we’re going to assume they can and be ready.”

He shook his head, took the box of hair color, and slipped into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, when he came out, Jackie gave a nod of approval. She had two bags packed and Gus’s leash snapped to his collar. The dog looked at him with mournful eyes. “He hates the leash.”

Jackie reached down and scratched Gus’s ears. Ian interpreted the sudden blissful expression on the dog’s face to mean as long as Jackie kept scratching, the leash could stay on.

“He’ll be all right,” she said, then frowned. “You know, we may have to leave him somewhere. He stands out in a big way.”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t want to do that if I can help it.”

“There hasn’t been anything on the news yet about him traveling with us, so we may be all right for a bit.”

Ian rubbed Gus’s head. His hand collided with Jackie’s and he let his fingers wrap around hers. Their eyes met. “I promised my sister I’d take care of him.”

She breathed in and he appreciated the fact that she didn’t pull away. “Well, at least it won’t be a problem getting him on the bus.”

“No, it won’t be a problem, not if he has his service animal vest on.” He released her fingers and mourned the loss.

A light went on in her eyes. She stared at the dog, then him. “He’s a service animal. Then his disguise will be . . . a service animal. Let me rummage in my grandfather’s shed for just a minute, then we’ll go.”

7:30 A.M.
ATLANTA

“Can you picture the widespread panic that’s going to happen if this gets out?” Center for Disease Control director Tobias Freeman ran a hand through his short-cropped Afro, then tightened his tie and studied his face in his bathroom mirror. His dark eyes reflected his keen intelligence—and infinite worry. Stress had pressed new lines alongside his mouth and he thought he might have developed a few more gray hairs. He could only pray that by the time this was over he wasn’t completely white-headed.

Kara, his wife of twenty-two years, lifted herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Now, Toby, you’ll get this settled today and all will be fine.”

He shook his head and pulled her close, burying his face for one brief moment of comfort in her silky black strands. “They’re going to blame me, you know,” he murmured against her neck.

She pushed him back and cupped his chin. “It’s not your fault, Tobias. I’ll be praying.”

He kissed her and breathed his own prayer. One of thanks for his wife, one for wisdom for the moments to come, and one of pleading for the Lord to intervene and keep innocent people safe. “I’ve got to go. They’re waiting on me. Just pray. Pray like you’ve never prayed before.”

Thirty minutes later, he stepped into the CDC conference room and took in the solemn faces seated at the long table. Faces that consisted of FBI, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, the Georgia Highway Patrol representative, the mayor, and Chief of Police Harvey Parker.

Tobias loosened his tie and cleared his throat. “Folks, we
have a potential disaster on our hands. Let’s make some wise decisions.”