Josh grabbed the Houston Rockets cap sitting in the back seat, tugged it on so the bill sat low, then stepped out of the car and headed toward the sidewalk. The strip mall—one of thousands across the city—housed the typical eclectic mixture of stores, including a nail salon, an insurance broker, and an Indian restaurant. It also had the pharmacy and secondhand clothing shop he needed.
He headed toward the pharmacy and breathed in the scent of spicy curry takeout, wishing they had time to stop for dinner. As if anything was normal about his life right now. They needed to get out of there as soon as possible, and chicken curry wasn’t exactly on the menu.
Neither was spending a relaxed evening with the beautiful woman sitting in his car with a gunshot wound.
He glanced back at the car before stepping into the pharmacy and letting the reality of what was going on rush to the forefront. Where it should be. Being distracted right now wasn’t an option. Because no matter how he looked at things, being dropped back into Olivia’s murder investigation and then suddenly becoming the main suspect in her murder had sent him reeling. He wasn’t supposed to be running from the law. He was one of the good guys who protected his community from criminals like the thugs who’d killed his wife and the ones who’d been waiting in his living room.
How did this happen, God?
Questioning why, though, wasn’t going to change anything. He’d done the same thing when Olivia had died. Questioned everything from why God had let her be murdered to why he—her husband and a cop— hadn’t been able to stop it. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked the questions about life and death and the evil in this world. His work as a homicide detective had forced him to work through the reality of the fallen world they lived in and to eventually conclude with certainty that Christ’s death was the only way for redemption of this lost world.
But that didn’t make it easier. Especially when the dark realities of his job hit so close to home.
He headed toward the back of the pharmacy, searched through the shelves, and finally found some antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, pain medicine, gauze, and tape. He started to the counter, then stopped at the food aisle and grabbed some trail mix, a box of granola bars, and four waters. It definitely wasn’t going to be as good as the takeout next door, but the fewer places he showed his face, the fewer chances he would have of being recognized.
He grabbed two prepaid cell phones with air time as backup, then headed toward the bored cashier. He just needed to make it seem like he was another customer. Not a fugitive running from the law.
A fugitive.
The whole idea was ridiculous. A year ago, he’d watched his wife’s coffin drop into the ground. There had never been any question at the time about who’d murdered her. He had a perfect record on the force and had received a handful of commendations. No one had even hinted he’d somehow been involved.
Until now.
Now someone had decided he was going down for the death of his wife, and he had no idea how to stop it. Which was why he was buying first-aid supplies and burner phones with cash at a random pharmacy. At least with the phones there would be no personal data logged, making them hard to trace. Which is what a guilty person would be worried about. Someone who’d killed his wife.
He stopped in front of the counter with his purchases, thankful no one else was in the store. Since becoming a homicide detective, he’d worked more cases than he could remember of domestic incidents where husbands murdered their wives. The thought that someone believed he could actually kill his wife made him ill.
He set everything on the counter, keeping his hat pulled low across his forehead and hoping the cameras wouldn’t get a good shot of him. No doubt, if he was still being followed, detectives would be scouring the camera for clues about where he was heading next. He might know how criminals’ minds worked, but it wasn’t an advantage. So did the officers who were after him.
The cashier, who didn’t look like he was a day over sixteen, rang up his bill. “Who are you running from?”
Josh glanced up at the television running behind the counter and felt his stomach sour. Surely there hadn’t been enough time to get his photo out to all the news channels yet.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. “Excuse me?”
“A couple burner phones, medical supplies, and your jaw’s been messed up. Just figured you’d gotten yourself into some kind of trouble. Don’t worry, dude. I see it all the time.”
Josh touched his face, then winced at the stab of pain. “It’s nothing. And these phones might be cheap, but they’re made like tanks. Seemed like a smart thing to have on hand. You know, for emergencies.”
He stopped talking. He was rambling, and that was going to make him memorable.
“You’ve got a point there. I have one, actually. They’re great for online dating. You know. When it’s time to swap numbers. Having a second number allows me to keep my privacy if the woman turns out to be some crazed stalker.”
Josh laid the cash on the counter, not believing he was actually having this conversation. “I can’t say I’ve ever tried online dating, but I’ll remember that if I do.”
“If you’re looking for a good time, you should try it, dude. I’ve met some crazy chicks out there, but I’ve also met some pretty hot ones.”
Josh let out a low laugh, like he understood what the kid was saying, and glanced at his left hand. He’d stopped wearing his wedding band a few months ago.
“Thanks,” he said. “I . . . I’ll keep that in mind.”
He kept his head low as he walked out, so that if the surveillance camera did catch him, it wouldn’t get his face. He should have gone to three separate stores. Now the guy would remember him if anyone came by and asked. How often did someone walk out with a burner phone and first-aid supplies, and hold a conversation on online dating? But he didn’t have a lot of time to worry. He glanced over at his car before walking into the secondhand store that smelled like his grandmother’s musty attic.
He needed to get something for Caitlyn. He had no idea what her taste in clothes was, let alone her size, but at the moment that didn’t matter, considering they were going to have to lay low for a few days. He frowned. She was close to Olivia’s size, so he’d go with that. And something simple. He pulled out a pair of jeans, then grabbed a long-sleeve green shirt, a denim jacket that didn’t look outdated, and a warm scarf. Another couple T-shirts and he called it good. She might not like his taste in fashion, but it was the best he could do at this point.
A nagging thought pressed on him as he started for the counter. They’d been tracked more than once. He had no idea if the people after them were somehow monitoring the car or maybe even their clothes, but they couldn’t afford to take any chances.
Shoving aside his thoughts, he headed straight toward the men’s coats. At the end of the metal rack was a lined bomber jacket. He pulled it off the hanger and held it up. Not exactly fashionable, but not bad either. And he wouldn’t stand out wearing it, like he probably did in his suit jacket. He grabbed a pair of brown casual boots, jeans, a white T-shirt, and a plaid shirt, then headed toward the dressing room.
Inside, Josh pulled off his shirt, stopping when a loose thread got caught on his watch. If someone had bugged it . . . He quickly pulled off his watch and stomped on it, then paused.
He was losing it. Paranoia had taken over, but if there was any chance that Quinton and Caitlyn were right—he didn’t have a choice. He exited the dressing room and dumped his own clothes into the donation bin before heading for the cashier. He was thankful that the woman behind the counter seemed more interested in her phone than making conversation. He paid cash for the clothes and a cheap backpack to keep their things in. If anyone was trying to follow him, he was going to do his best to make sure it wasn’t possible.
He headed back outside, then felt his heart stop. A Houston PD squad car was parked in a spot between him and his car. Adrenaline rushed through him as two officers stepped out of the Indian restaurant and headed his way, carrying bags of takeout.
There was nowhere to go. If he ducked back into the thrift shop, they might notice he was trying to avoid them, but if he went to his car and they recognized him . . .
He tugged again on the brim of his hat, shoved his free hand into his pocket, and started walking in the opposite direction of his car. He was just another shopper, trying to catch up on errands after work. Nothing more.
Or at least that was the act he had to sell.
The officers laughed as they headed toward him. Close enough now he could hear their conversation. Close enough they would be able to recognize him if they were looking for him.
“I can’t believe you’ve never tried this stuff. It’s by far the best Indian takeout around.”
The tall blond officer laughed. “At least it adds something interesting to an otherwise dull shift.”
Josh walked past them, trying not to hold his breath. He didn’t recognize them, but neither did they seem to recognize him. He was simply a customer coming out of the secondhand shop with a bagful of purchases. Another slow night. No mention of a fugitive. He had no idea how public his arrest was going to be. Or how widespread the captain’s search was for him. Until Quinton had more information for him, he was going to assume that they would put out a widespread BOLO for both him and Caitlyn. All of Houston’s finest would be looking for them. But thankfully, it looked like that information was taking its time trickling down the chain of command.
Thirty seconds later, he stopped in front of an insurance office, already closed for the night, and watched them drive away. He waited until they were out of sight, then hurried back to the car.
“Sorry it took so long.” He dumped his purchases, minus the coat, pain meds, and a water, onto the back seat, then switched on the overhead light. “You okay?” He handed Caitlyn a water bottle and a couple pills.
She downed the ibuprofen. “Thanks. A little cold, but yeah.”
Blood had yet to soak completely through the gauze on her arm, which was a good sign. But he was still worried.
He checked her pulse. “Do you feel any nausea or dizziness?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“You were just shot.”
“Seriously, Josh. I’m fine.”
“I got you a couple things to change into. The bleeding seems to be under control, so for now you can put on the jacket. At least it should help warm you up, and no one will notice the gunshot.”
“Thank you.”
He pulled the belted denim jacket out of the bag and held it up, catching her smile. “You might not thank me when you see it.”
“I love it.”
“Right.” He laughed.
“I saw the cops.”
The laughter vanished. “They didn’t seem to be looking for anything, which means that the warrant probably isn’t out yet.” But he knew it was simply a matter of time. “I’d like to change your bandage again, but I think I should wait. We need to get out of here. There’s pain medicine in the bag and a bottle of water. Go ahead and take two of them. It will help.”
She did what he said and swallowed them.
He’d been a cop for fifteen years. Constantly on the trail of a suspect. Hunting down clues. Waiting for the criminals to make a mistake. Gathering evidence that would send them behind bars for their crimes. He never imagined the day would come when he’d be forced to think like one of them.
The phone Eddie had given him rang as he started up the engine, and he grabbed it off the dash where he’d set it.
“Josh?”
It was Quinton. “Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“On our way to dump the car now. I stopped to get some medicine and bandages for Caitlyn, along with some clothes.”
“Good. I’m going to send you a location for a car. You can take a taxi to the address. There’ll be a Honda Civic there with the key in a magnetic box under the bumper. I also found a secure house for you in Galveston. I’ll text you that address as well.”
“You’re sure they can’t trace either back to you?”
“Both should be safe. In the meantime, go through the computer files and see what you can come up with. I’ll keep you updated on my end.”
Josh let out a sharp sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your risking your own neck for us.”
“You’d do the same for me.” There was a pause on the line. “Just be careful. Please.”
“You know I will be.”
“We’ll give us both a couple days to see what we can come up with. If we can find enough proof, we’ll take it to the captain.”
Josh voiced out loud the question he hadn’t been able to shake. The question he needed an answer to. “You think he’s clean?”
“He’s getting pressure from somewhere, but if we come to him with enough evidence, I think he’ll support us.”
He hung up the phone, needing to believe that was true. Needing to believe there really was a way out of this.