Disclaimer and acknowledgments in the Prologue.
Alice I gets a virtual cookie for being the first to recognize where Geraldina Javier's first name comes from. Congrats! Cookies to whomever gets the other allusions I've sprinkled throughout the story…
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Friday, January 11, 2008
10:15 A.M.
L.A. FBI Field Office
The computer beeped again for the fifth time in as many minutes. No match. Megan Reeves sighed and looked down at the list in her hand. Considering how boring and soul-sucking as this grunt work was, she would be grateful if once in a while it actually turned up something that was useful to someone else. While all of Don's cases were being reviewed by the special task force that had been convened to look into the corruption investigation, his former teammates were virtually immobilized, unable to investigate new cases until their own involvement had been cleared. But since they couldn't be placed on leave indefinitely, their superiors had found the kind of work to keep them occupied that was normally assigned to the most junior of agents. It had gotten old fairly quickly, and that was months ago.
Behind her, Colby sat at his desk, engaged in similarly dull work. David was somewhere across the bullpen, getting another box's worth of files to go through. The three of them had grown closer over the past six months, watching each others' backs in the office as well as they did in the field, making it clear to everyone that they stood by their accused boss and believed him completely innocent. They had some supporters throughout the office, but Megan got the feeling that most people considered them simply too stubborn or blind to see the truth.
The phone rang, and she reached for it, expecting to hear Sandy Carter, their temporary supervisor, inquiring as to when she could expect the results from the license plate search they were carrying out. "Reeves," she said, still absently looking down at the list of plates she held.
"Megan, don't say my name," came the voice on the other end.
Her head shot up, her nerves instantly coming alert. "How can I help you?" she asked calmly, looking around surreptitiously to see if anyone other than Colby was in hearing range.
He answered, "There was an accident on the 101. The sheriff's bus was hit by a landslide; two deputies and the driver are trapped."
She chose her words carefully. "What about the others?"
He gave a short sigh that came through as a burst of static. "One deputy was killed in the crash; another was killed by one of the escaping prisoners. All three of them got clear."
She closed her eyes and brought a hand to her mouth. When she opened them, Colby was staring at her curiously. She mouthed Don's name at him, and his eyes widened. Then he, too, cast a careful glance around to make sure that no one else was listening in, and gave her a signal to indicate that he'd be keeping watch.
"So you want one of us to come and get you?" she asked. That would be the easiest way for him to turn himself in, or at least the friendliest. It would be awkward to explain, and potentially difficult to get permission from her superiors, but she was sure she could talk her way into it.
There was a long silence. Finally he said, "No, that won't be necessary."
She stared blankly at the cubicle wall, unsure if she had interpreted his words correctly. He couldn't be saying… "What's that supposed to mean?" she hissed.
He hesitated again before saying in a tone of finality, "I'm not coming back in."
"Do—" she started before catching herself and turning the start of his name into a different word. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
The half-laugh that he gave sounded more than a little desperate. "Believe me, I know how it sounds."
"No, I don't think you do." She dropped her voice even lower. "How many years did you work Fugitive Recovery? You know better than anyone else what they'll be sending after you, and that it'll only make things worse in the long run. Look, the appeal process is underway, and we're doing everything we can to make it work. Just let me know where you are."
The harsh tone of his reply startled her. "What, like new evidence is going to fall from the sky while I'm sitting on Death Row, crossing my fingers?" She tried to interrupt, but he went on, "You know how fast things went down, Megan. I know you guys worked your asses off trying to find something to explain away the prosecution's case, and believe me, I appreciate it. But there's nothing that you're going to find to exonerate me in the time you have to work with. I need to find the man who shot Liz. That's the only thing that's going to save me."
She pressed her lips together, not wanting to give him the concession of agreeing with him, even though deep down, she knew he was right. The only way an appeal would be won was by showing incompetence on the part of Don's attorney, which wasn't likely considering how highly recommended he had come, or from the introduction of new evidence. And if dozens of FBI agents hadn't managed to come up with something to clear him before, there was next to no chance that they could do it now.
But what he was suggesting was still crazy. "So you think you can do that on your own better than we can with all of the resources we have?"
"Look, you're not going to get to use those resources. The case is over, shut. They're not looking for Liz's killer anymore, and they're not going to let you use the FBI to do it."
Colby made a hsst sound, and she looked up to see David approaching. She held up a hand to signal him, and quickly wrote on a notepad, "Sheriff's bus accident on 101. Tell Carter." She handed it to him, mouthed, "Later," as a response to his puzzled expression, and waved him off.
"Megan?"
She'd left too long of a pause, and she hurried to fill it. "Listen, I hear what you're saying, but you need to understand something." She looked at the still-empty desk next to hers, picturing the man whom she had trusted with her life on numerous occasions, who had held their team together and whose absence left a gaping hole in all three of them. When she spoke, it was as clearly and carefully as she could. "If you stay on the outside, we can not help you. The appeal process will have been short-circuited, and there will be nothing we can do for you." She bit her lip after she said the harsh words, hoping that he heard the anguish behind them.
"I know that." His voice was low and understanding.
Her brow furrowed as something occurred to her. Don knew that all calls coming into the field office were recorded, if not directly monitored. Her cell phone sat in her bag right underneath her desk, and it was not subject to the same kind of electronic scrutiny. Why would he take such a risk?
He was speaking again. "Listen, you need to get medical help on the way, and you're going to need a full-scale manhunt for the two men who ran. The black guy, Jackson, took off running, but the big one, I think his name was Paul, is armed and definitely dangerous."
She started making notes. "He's the one who—"
He cut her off before she could say the words out loud. "Yeah, he's the one who did the shooting."
The corner of her mouth quirked up at the care he was taking to be sure she wasn't being overheard. Trust Don to be the one trying to protect her when he was the escaped felon. Then the full meaning of those words, "escaped felon," hit her, and she sat back in her chair. Taking a deep breath, she said softly, "You mean for the three men, don't you?"
There was another long silence. Finally he replied, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, "Yeah, I guess I do."
She didn't know what to say. She knew she should be getting someone to start a trace on this call, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Besides, Don would know to get rid of the phone as soon as he hung up, and it was fairly obvious that he was in the immediate vicinity of where the accident had taken place.
Across the bullpen, she could see David coming her way, their supervisor in tow. Damn. "Listen, I'm sorry but I need to get going to act on this information. You, uh…" Her voice dropped as she tried to keep it from breaking. "You take care."
His reply, though terse, sounded equally emotional. "You too, Megan."
There was a click, and he was gone.
She slowly hung up the phone and turned to face Colby. His face was full of questions, but she rose to greet the short blond woman walking with David. "That was an anonymous call," she started. "Apparently a sheriff's bus transporting three prisoners to Lompoc was in an accident on the 101, and they need assistance right away."
Sandy asked, "Are the prisoners secure?"
Megan paused, deciding how to say it. "The caller said none of the three are secure."
Sandy's eyes narrowed at the same time that David's and Colby's widened in understanding. "So in other words, we've got a manhunt on our hands."
"There's more." She looked at her two teammates, knowing that she had to make the full disclosure as soon as possible. "One of those prisoners was our agent. Don Eppes was on that bus."
Sandy took a step back and looked between the three of them suspiciously. "Just how anonymous was that phone call?" she asked slowly.
"The caller didn't give his name," Megan said truthfully. She rushed on, "Right now, we need to get started on finding the three prisoners and making sure the paramedics are on their way to the bus."
"Yes, right now we need to be doing that." The other woman looked pointedly at her. "And if you don't mind, I'll be taking charge of that, including getting another team to find and analyze the recording of that conversation you just had."
Megan struggled to keep her face blank. "If that will help bring them in, then of course."
Sandy pursed her lips. "I'll also be sending someone over to talk with all three of you about where Eppes might be headed. Any information you can provide would be extremely helpful." The sarcasm fairly dripped from her voice on the last sentence.
"Of course." She kept up the façade for another minute, until Sandy had turned around and headed away, already barking orders across the bullpen. Then she made a face at her back that could only be described as childish. But it made her feel a lot better.
"No wonder no one wants to work with us," Colby teased as the three of them sat down. "With an attitude like that, Reeves…"
"Okay, what's going on?" David interrupted. He lowered his voice and asked, "That was Don on the phone? And you're telling us he escaped from custody?" When she nodded, he sat back in his chair and shook his head. "That doesn't sound like him."
Megan let out a sigh. "I think he's had too much and saw this sudden opportunity as a chance to try and get away. Not only from the authorities, but from the whole situation. I think fight-or-flight kicked in with a vengeance, and I think he'll be lucky to last a few days out there." She grimaced at the professional tone of her voice. She didn't like the feeling of profiling her own teammate and friend, nor how she'd slipped into the role so easily.
She leaned back in her chair and looked over at the sudden flurry in one corner of the bullpen. He had to know how difficult it would be to elude the combined power of the agencies who would be out there looking for him: local, state, and federal officers all tasked with hunting him down. If what he had said about one of the deputies being murdered was true, they would probably be treating him as armed and dangerous. What was he thinking?
But then she thought of what he had to face if he surrendered, and she could empathize with his desire to flee. She had very carefully not been looking at the clock this morning, knowing he was on his way to the federal penitentiary where he would likely spend the rest of his life. As difficult as it was for her to think about, she could only imagine what it must be like for him. Put in the same situation, who was to say that she wouldn't have done the same thing?
"Now we're definitely not getting off grunt duty any time soon," Colby grumbled, but his eyes showed the concern he felt. They all knew the odds that Don faced, and that their hands were completely tied with regards to helping him.
"He'll be lucky to last a few days," Megan repeated in a murmur, glancing again at the empty desk. The three shared a look of mixed worry and regret, and then turned their chairs around to get back to work.
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A/N: So whaddya think? Still on board? Leave a review…
