Eleven
Five minutes earlier
Cole’s eyes were locked on his rearview mirror. He’d had to wait inside his truck for only two minutes before he’d noticed the same black Ford Taurus from the grocery store pull onto his street and settle along the curb a few houses down. Then Cole had calmly driven off, making sure he was followed. He had to do whatever it took to get Lisa and Jade away from the house—even if it meant risking his own freedom. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Did the FBI agent suspect Cole had intentionally flattened his back tire? If so, would the guy immediately pull him over? Or was the agent still in watch mode only?
Cole was ready to punch down the gas pedal and go on a high-speed chase. But nothing happened. The agent trailed at a safe distance. Cole exhaled. It appeared he was still only under surveillance. Which was good. He desperately wanted Lisa and Jade to have a drama-free getaway. Of course, he knew a lot of the drama would depend on how his daughter handled the shocking news they were leaving town—forever.
Cole drove the speed limit down Main Street, which was lined with various restaurants, retail stores, shopping centers, and ski- and bike-rental establishments. It was a summer Saturday night, so Winter Park was still hopping with energy. As he got closer to the center of town, he noticed cars parked up and down both sides of the street in every available parking spot. He remembered there was a concert going on at the outdoor amphitheater in Hideaway Park. He rolled down his window and could hear the music pumping. Old-school classic rock. People were out on the sidewalks in droves, carrying camping chairs and packing beer coolers. Cole hadn’t been sure up to this point how he was going to evade the FBI agent, but seeing the concert crowd gave him an idea. He pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant called Volario’s and parked his truck. A quick peek over his shoulder showed the black Taurus also entering the parking lot behind him.
Cole checked his watch. If all went well at home, Lisa and Jade should be leaving the house soon. He kept hoping to get the text from her that they were in the clear. But nothing yet. He got out of his truck and began casually walking with another group of people toward Hideaway Park. The music was really jamming now. He paused with the rest of the group to allow traffic to clear on Main Street. As he did, he cast another quick glance behind him. The FBI agent was also out of his car, on the move, and headed in his direction. Perfect. Cole walked across the street with the other concertgoers, hopped up on a park path, and navigated his way through a playground and skate park area until he reached the hillside amphitheater on the other side. The crowd grew thick. Probably more than a thousand people.
It was time to get himself lost. He began to briskly weave in and out of the crowd, ducking low at times, zigzagging back and forth. He snagged a black baseball cap he spotted sitting in someone’s unattended camping chair, tugged it on his head, and pulled it down low. Cole was halfway through the concertgoers when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. A uniformed police officer stood just ahead of him at twenty feet, arms crossed, monitoring the people and not the stage. Maybe thirty years old. Tall and muscular. Mustache. Cole quickly spun around when the officer glanced over in his direction. The sight of a cop jarred him. While the officer was likely simply working security for the concert, Cole didn’t want to be anywhere near the police right now. He quickly cut a different path away from the officer and walked even faster, threading the crowd.
The summer concert series was a popular event in these parts. People drove in from all the neighboring towns. His own family had been regular attendees over the years. The band members up on the stage looked to all be in their fifties. But they were rocking out like they were still in their twenties. And people in the crowd were hooting, hollering, drinking heavily, and singing along. Cole hurried around them, making his way across the grass hill, before stopping and looking back. His eyes bounced across the hundreds of faces directly behind him. He didn’t spot the FBI agent anywhere. Had he already lost him?
He kept going, pushing all the way through the remainder of the crowd, until he reached a sidewalk on the amphitheater’s other side. Then he began circling the sidewalk around the outside of the park, trying to quickly make his way back to his truck before the FBI agent decided to return to his own vehicle. If Cole got there first, he’d have a clean getaway. Hands in pockets, he tried to walk as casually as possible along the crowded sidewalk, even though everything inside him wanted to make a dead sprint for it. But that would only draw unwanted attention. The band finished a song, everyone cheered, and then the lead singer started talking to the crowd about something silly, when a sudden loud wailing noise off to the left made everyone turn and stare back toward Main Street.
Cole stopped, stiffened. Police sirens. Several of them, all going off at once, as if the police were beginning to put on their own special concert. Cole knew the Fraser Winter Park Police Station was only a couple of blocks up the road from the city park. The sirens were now drawing closer. Could they possibly be coming for him? Had the FBI agent called for reinforcements? Was the whole block about to be surrounded by police?
He started to frantically look around for his best escape. But then the police vehicles—all black-and-white four-wheel-drive Tahoes—raced past the park without stopping. He counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five of them. Probably the entire police force. He cursed. They clearly weren’t coming for him. Which meant they were headed somewhere else. That thought sent panic straight through him. He had to presume the worst. He pulled out his burner phone. Still no text from his wife. He quickly typed out his own message: Get out now! Police are coming! He stared at his phone screen, hoping to get an immediate reply from Lisa. But nothing. Then his focus was drawn away from the phone by someone shouting his name directly up the sidewalk ahead of him. And it wasn’t a friendly shout.
“Stop right there, Mr. Shipley! Don’t move!”
Cole looked up, froze. Thirty feet ahead of him was the same uniformed police officer he’d spotted earlier. In one hand, the cop held his phone, and his eyes bounced back and forth between Cole and the device. Was he looking at a photo of Cole? In his other hand, the officer held out his gun and pointed it in his direction. Other startled people walking next to Cole also froze on the sidewalk. The cop had called him directly by name. Which meant the FBI must’ve sent something out to local enforcement. Every police officer in the area probably had his photo right now. Things had just escalated. The officer, now talking into his shoulder radio, began a slow walk toward him. Cole was at a decision point. Did he stay put and deal with the ramifications? Or did he risk being shot and run like hell? He doubted the officer would pull the trigger with so many people around. And staying put pretty much guaranteed he’d never see his family again.
Cole chose the latter, spun around, and took off running.
He ducked his head low, just in case. As expected, he heard no gunfire. But he did hear the cop cursing loudly for him to stop while chasing after him. Cole raced across a side street, up onto another sidewalk, and began to cut a path behind the Winter Park Visitor Center and other adjacent buildings. Spotting a narrow alley between two buildings up ahead, Cole took a right at full speed. When he did, his running shoe caught a serious pothole and sent him flying face-first onto the pavement. His ball cap flew off, and he felt his chin hit the surface as he skidded to a stop. He quickly pushed himself up, took a big step forward, and then his left knee buckled on him. This sent him straight to the ground again, where he landed hard on both knees. He’d suffered a knee injury on the soccer team back in high school, and every once in a while, it still randomly acted up on him.
But this was the absolute worst timing possible.
He again pushed himself up and tried to take off running, but it was too late. The cop tackled him from behind. Cole went down with the officer on top of him. He tried to fight back, but the cop was stronger. He stopped resisting altogether when the officer stuck his gun so forcefully into Cole’s back he thought it might puncture the skin beneath his T-shirt.
“Don’t move, or I will be forced to fire my weapon,” the cop said, panting. “This is my final warning to you. Do you understand?”
Cole nodded, grunted. “I understand.”
He again thought about Lisa and Jade. Had they made it out? Were they gone from the house by the time the police arrived? Or had they also been apprehended? Would he and Lisa be separated from Jade and never even get the opportunity to tell her the truth? Would their daughter grow up from here actually believing her parents had murdered her biological mother to take her for their own? That was the story that had been perpetuated in the national media for all these years. Cole felt despair push in on him like a devastating avalanche. It was over. At least, for him. Cole heard the officer call in the arrest on his radio.
“Suspect in custody ... requesting immediate backup ... alley next to Deno’s—”
Then Cole heard a sudden loud thump! The officer made a deathly gasp, then immediately went silent and collapsed right on top of him. What had just happened? Cole pivoted on the pavement, looked back, and spotted a stocky guy with a full beard standing over him with his own gun in his hand. It looked like there was a gunfire suppressor of some sort attached to his weapon. He was probably in his early forties. Blue jeans, cowboy boots, brown trucker jacket. Cole squinted and noticed a small black symbol tattooed on the back of the guy’s gun hand. He stared at his face and couldn’t believe his own eyes. Although it had been thirteen years, he clearly recognized him. How could he not? The very same face had haunted his dreams for more than a decade.
The bearded guy flipped the limp officer over with the toe of his boot. Then he aimed his gun directly at the cop’s forehead and fired another muffled round. Thump! Cole winced at the horrific sight and felt blood and other tissue splatter across his face. Something told Cole he would be the next victim if he didn’t react immediately. So when the bearded guy turned to take aim at him, Cole kicked his right foot up as suddenly and forcefully as he possibly could, like he was doing a scissor-kick with a soccer ball. His shoe hit squarely on the guy’s gun hand, dislodging the weapon and sending it flying across the alley.
The killer cursed, spun around, went after his gun. When he did, Cole got up and began wildly scrambling out of the short alley, keeping his head low. Although his knee still hurt, he had no choice but to push through the pain. He heard another thump! and felt his left arm jerk forward, like someone had just punched him as hard as they could in his tricep. Had he been shot? There was no time to stop and check. He heard yet another thump! as he hit the sidewalk out in front of Deno’s Mountain Bistro and slid around the corner. This time, he didn’t feel anything. There were groups of people out on the sidewalk. Cole swerved back and forth, hoping to avoid more gunfire. While he’d doubted the police officer would risk shooting into a crowd, Cole didn’t think this guy played by the same rules. As fast as he could, Cole hobbled back toward the concert venue and quickly got himself lost inside the massive crowd again. He circled back and forth for several minutes before finally making his way out the back and pressing himself up against the brick wall of a restroom facility.
He was out of breath and sweating profusely. He looked down at his left arm and could see blood dripping from his elbow. He examined the spot more closely and found a bloody gash on the outer part of his tricep. He had definitely been shot, which was surreal. But it looked like the bullet had just grazed the outside of his arm, and while his arm stung, it didn’t hurt too badly. Maybe his adrenaline was numbing the pain. Cole peeked around the corner, searched the faces. Had the stocky guy pursued him all the way into the crowd? He didn’t currently spot him anywhere. And he certainly wasn’t going to wait around long enough to find out. He thought about his truck. He couldn’t go back to it. The FBI agent or the police would be camped there. He couldn’t even risk a taxi right now.
He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, quickly pulled it out. Lisa. Finally.
We’re safe and waiting. Where are you?
Cole felt relief pour through him. Rendezvous, a community of mountainside homes and cabins, was only a mile away. He wondered if he could do the climb on foot considering his wobbly knee. But he had no other choice right now.
He quickly typed a reply.
Be there in ten minutes.
And then he took off running again.