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Authors: Lisa Jackson, Nancy Bush
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Justice said quietly, though his nerves were jumping. “I’ll pump it up again.”
“Might as well get out and pump it up now.”
“No.”
“What’s up, man?” Cosmo gave him a searching look.
Justice wondered if maybe he wasn’t quite as stoned as he’d made out. Either way, it sealed his fate. “Go on down the road,” he said again, and after a moment, and with a shrug, Cosmo pulled onto Highway 101 south and the dark road that cut through the farmland. There were plenty of little nothing roads both east and west of the main highway, lanes really, that wound through fields and brush and the Coast Range foothills, scarcely traveled byways where a vehicle could be hidden indefinitely.
Perfect.
“Just keep driving.” Almost reverently, he fingered the box cutter he’d slipped into his pocket.
“It’s your funeral,” Cosmo said, unaware of the irony in his words.
CHAPTER 5
H arrison drove into the parking lot of Ocean Park Hospital with a sinking heart. The Channel Seven van was parked outside, and Pauline Kirby and her gophers were already setting up for a report on the escapee. He had remembered the psycho’s name—Justice Turnbull—on the drive over and had double-checked with Geena Cho to make sure he was right and she’d reluctantly confirmed.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” she’d said over the wireless connection, “but now you owe me two.”
Bingo. Justice Turnbull was the lunatic who had escaped.
The wind had kicked up and Pauline’s perfectly coiffed hair was trying desperately to escape, but under the security lights for the parking lot a hairstylist was spraying something at her head that worked like industrial glue, as the dark tresses were slicked to her scalp and stayed there.
Harrison had no interest in dealing with Pauline. He wasn’t sure she would recognize him. He would have been safe except for the brouhaha that had developed after he accused Manny’s business partner of being involved in his death. Then the news vultures had descended on one of their own. Him. And Pauline had been in the forefront. Microphones had been thrust at him, and he could recall the way her lips pulled back from her perfectly capped snow-white teeth and the sneer that seemed a brush away from the smile.
Did anyone like her? he wondered as he got out of the Chevy. Maybe you didn’t have to be liked as long as you got ratings. She sure as hell was anywhere there was any kind of story, and she usurped the competition by virtue of being overbearing, in his biased opinion.
The warmth he’d felt earlier at the café table had disappeared completely. He hadn’t bothered with a coat, a mistake at the coast, and now he shivered as he walked, head bent, eyes on the asphalt in front of him as he skirted her entourage.
Her bright eyes spotted him. He could feel it rather than see it. He hoped he looked like a visitor to the hospital, but it was getting later by the minute. Visiting hours were long over.
“Hey,” she called.
Harrison picked up his pace. If he could get inside, he could escape. She didn’t want him for this assignment, anyway. He wasn’t part of it.
But she had a nose for a story, and she was sniffing at him. He might not be part of the Justice Turnbull saga yet, but Pauline wasn’t one to let anything get by her.
She actually took a couple of steps his way as he passed; he could see her in his peripheral vision. But then he was walking through the opening sliding glass doors that led into Ocean Park’s reception area and continuing blindly straight ahead as if he knew where he was going. Normally he wasn’t quite so seat of the pants, but he did not want to deal with Pauline Kirby, who could splash his face across the eleven o’clock news and destroy current and future investigations. He was sick to the back teeth of his own notoriety.
He found himself in a hospital hallway like a thousand other hospital hallways: shining linoleum beneath his feet, fluorescent
“Might as well get out and pump it up now.”
“No.”
“What’s up, man?” Cosmo gave him a searching look.
Justice wondered if maybe he wasn’t quite as stoned as he’d made out. Either way, it sealed his fate. “Go on down the road,” he said again, and after a moment, and with a shrug, Cosmo pulled onto Highway 101 south and the dark road that cut through the farmland. There were plenty of little nothing roads both east and west of the main highway, lanes really, that wound through fields and brush and the Coast Range foothills, scarcely traveled byways where a vehicle could be hidden indefinitely.
Perfect.
“Just keep driving.” Almost reverently, he fingered the box cutter he’d slipped into his pocket.
“It’s your funeral,” Cosmo said, unaware of the irony in his words.
CHAPTER 5
H arrison drove into the parking lot of Ocean Park Hospital with a sinking heart. The Channel Seven van was parked outside, and Pauline Kirby and her gophers were already setting up for a report on the escapee. He had remembered the psycho’s name—Justice Turnbull—on the drive over and had double-checked with Geena Cho to make sure he was right and she’d reluctantly confirmed.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” she’d said over the wireless connection, “but now you owe me two.”
Bingo. Justice Turnbull was the lunatic who had escaped.
The wind had kicked up and Pauline’s perfectly coiffed hair was trying desperately to escape, but under the security lights for the parking lot a hairstylist was spraying something at her head that worked like industrial glue, as the dark tresses were slicked to her scalp and stayed there.
Harrison had no interest in dealing with Pauline. He wasn’t sure she would recognize him. He would have been safe except for the brouhaha that had developed after he accused Manny’s business partner of being involved in his death. Then the news vultures had descended on one of their own. Him. And Pauline had been in the forefront. Microphones had been thrust at him, and he could recall the way her lips pulled back from her perfectly capped snow-white teeth and the sneer that seemed a brush away from the smile.
Did anyone like her? he wondered as he got out of the Chevy. Maybe you didn’t have to be liked as long as you got ratings. She sure as hell was anywhere there was any kind of story, and she usurped the competition by virtue of being overbearing, in his biased opinion.
The warmth he’d felt earlier at the café table had disappeared completely. He hadn’t bothered with a coat, a mistake at the coast, and now he shivered as he walked, head bent, eyes on the asphalt in front of him as he skirted her entourage.
Her bright eyes spotted him. He could feel it rather than see it. He hoped he looked like a visitor to the hospital, but it was getting later by the minute. Visiting hours were long over.
“Hey,” she called.
Harrison picked up his pace. If he could get inside, he could escape. She didn’t want him for this assignment, anyway. He wasn’t part of it.
But she had a nose for a story, and she was sniffing at him. He might not be part of the Justice Turnbull saga yet, but Pauline wasn’t one to let anything get by her.
She actually took a couple of steps his way as he passed; he could see her in his peripheral vision. But then he was walking through the opening sliding glass doors that led into Ocean Park’s reception area and continuing blindly straight ahead as if he knew where he was going. Normally he wasn’t quite so seat of the pants, but he did not want to deal with Pauline Kirby, who could splash his face across the eleven o’clock news and destroy current and future investigations. He was sick to the back teeth of his own notoriety.
He found himself in a hospital hallway like a thousand other hospital hallways: shining linoleum beneath his feet, fluorescent
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