Maggie Croft, Run Read online

  MAGGIE CROFT, RUN

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by M. L. Harris

  All rights reserved.

  eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com

  Prologue

  The man sat in his sedan at a hip nightclub in the heart of San Francisco, waiting anxiously as Dylan Hunter, a twenty-eight year old internet billionaire, disappeared inside a limousine.

  He watched as the limo driver pulled away from the curb and drove in the direction of an onramp to the freeway. The driver entered a speed-dial number on his cell, then spoke with a person he knew.

  Following at a distance, the man following the limo talked into his cell phone. “He’s on the move.” Then he relayed the license plate number on the limousine.

  “Right,” a second man replied.

  Continuing south of the city, the limo merged into traffic on the Skyline Parkway.

  Not far behind, the man driving the sedan spoke again into his cell phone. “Go!”

  A second car came alongside him, and together they slowed down, creating a rolling blockade and a gap between motorists on the parkway and the limo ahead.

  Unaware of the maneuvering behind him, the limo driver continued on.

  Below a night sky, a third man stood beside the parkway, near the edge of the woods.

  Waiting.

  He was covered in black clothing, his silhouette blending into the darkness around him. Tall and tattooed, his hair was coarse, eyes black as coal.

  Removing a metal box from a duffel bag, he lashed it to a rope before slinging it over the limb of an oak tree, hanging over the parkway.

  Turning his attention to oncoming traffic, he peered through night-vision binoculars and watched vehicles as they approached.

  A few minutes later, he had a confirmation: The license plate number on the approaching vehicle was a match.

  The prey has entered the trap, he thought.

  He slipped back into the woods, and as the limo passed by, he flipped a switch and from the box came a sudden pulse of energy, radiating outward.

  Suddenly, the limo’s steering and brakes went out, and the parkway began to curve, though the limo continued ahead in a straight line, toward a ravine.

  Panic struck as the dashboard and headlights went black, tires crunching against gravel as the limo crossed the edge of the pavement.

  The driver attempted frantically to turn the steering wheel.

  Nothing.

  Hysterical, Dylan Hunter shouted jumbles of words from the backseat.

  The driver smashed an elbow through his side window, glass shattering everywhere. Narrowly escaping through the opening, his body tumbled through the woods.

  As the limo plunged into the ravine, a front wheel hit a tree stump and a jagged boulder tore open the gas tank, a violent explosion preceding a fiery blaze.

  Tumbling over the edge of a cliff, the burning wreck plummeted eighty feet and crashed into the rocky shoreline of San Francisco Bay.

  Up on the parkway, rope and box in hand, the man scrambled down to the bay on a route mapped out earlier.

  A small dinghy awaited him along the shore, and he pushed it into the water, the low humming of an electric motor the only sound as he advanced to the other side of the bay. Carrying the dinghy and his gear to a ridge, he stowed them in the rear compartment of a panel van.

  Giving in to temptation, he looked out across the bay, stealing a glance at the mangled and scorched limousine.

  Then he disappeared into the night.

  Chapter

  1

  The doorbell is ringing and I slowly open my eyes.

  At first I think it is part of a dream, but the ringing persists. I look at the clock by my bedside: a few minutes past midnight.

  I’ve been asleep for less than two hours.

  The cobwebs begin to clear.

  I grab my 9mm from under the mattress and slip on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt. I tuck the gun in my belt, moving in the dark along the staircase, then down to the main level of my townhouse. Cautiously I advance toward the front door.

  Peering through a curtained window, I see an intense woman, pacing impatiently. She appears to be in her thirties with a serious expression on her face.

  In a swift motion, I swing the door open and hold the gun behind my back, ready to fire.

  “Who the hell are you?” I demand.

  “Detective Emily Gower, San Jose Police.”

  Detective?

  She pulls back the lapel of her jacket, revealing a badge hanging from a pocket.

  “You must be Maggie Croft,” she says.

  “Sorry, can’t be too careful these days. What brings you here at this hour?”

  “Jack Fisher.”

  I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

  This can’t be good, I’m thinking.

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “When did you last speak to him?”

  “Earlier this evening… a little after nine.”

  “What did the two of you talk about?”

  “It was a short conversation. He thought somebody might be following him.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “Jack has a part-time job driving a limo.”

  “Not anymore. He was in a car accident an hour ago. His passenger was pronounced dead at the site.”

  I’m completely speechless.

  Finally I manage to say, “How about Jack?”

  “He was thrown free from the limo and airlifted to San Jose General.”

  I gasp. “How badly is he hurt?”

  “As you can imagine he’s pretty banged up.”

  “I have to see him.”

  “I’m sorry, that isn’t possible. He’s heavily sedated and his hospital room is under armed guard.”

  My head slumps to my chest. “Where did it happen?”

  “Skyline Parkway.” She pauses for a moment. “Would you mind riding with me to the crash site?”

  I hesitate. “Now? It’s after midnight.”

  Impatiently, she taps a notepad against her jacket and waits.

  “Okay.” I close the door and follow her.

  Detective Gower looks up at the townhouse where I live. It’s located four blocks from the UC Berkeley campus where Jack and I are students. The place isn’t exactly plush, but who cares? Convenience and cost are what really matter, right?

  Gower is silent until we come to a ramp entering the Skyline Parkway. I break the silence by asking, “Who was he?”

  “The deceased?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Some big shot from the Valley. Name’s Dylan Hunter. One of DynaTech’s founders.”

  Gower is talking about Silicon Valley, a cluster of affluent towns just south of San Francisco where most of the high-tech companies are located.

  “That’s a real shame. I barely knew Dylan but I know all about DynaTech because Jack works there.”

  “I understand the company has given a lot of money to the university.”

  “Tons. DynaTech was hatched in a lab at Berkeley.”

  She clears her throat. “Um… Ms. Croft…”

  “Call me Maggie.”

  “Okay. We know Jack called you on his cell a few minutes before the crash. You said he thought someone was following them. Did he tell you anything else?”

  I feel like I’m balancing on a tightrope. I’m obliged to tell her about the license plate number on the sedan Jack gave me when he called earlier.

  Only thing is, if the crash turns
out to be foul play, I don’t know about depending completely on the police. I mean, after all, it isn’t every day that a billionaire gets killed. Given the enormous amounts of money involved, this might be serious. I’d just feel comfortable knowing more first.

  “No. Jack didn’t say anything else,” I tell her.

  Up ahead a cluster of flashing blue and red lights catch our attention, and in the darkness of the parkway, she points her finger at the windshield.

  “This is the crash site.”

  Making a brief stop at a barricade, she drives on for another hundred yards before pulling to the shoulder.

  Getting out of the car, Gower leads me to a gap in the brush alongside the parkway.

  “This is where the limo went off the road.”

  I glance down at the asphalt. “No skid marks.”

  “Strange, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  I step a few yards into the woods, Gower a pace or two behind as floodlights glare into a blackened abyss.

  An ugly gash of flattened brush and snapped tree limbs cut a swath through a steep ravine.

  She points to a spot nearby.

  “This is where they found Jack in an open area,” she says, shaking her head. “A very fortunate turn of events. He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Detective Gower chooses her next words carefully.

  “Look, Maggie, we know Jack called you right before the crash. And this was no accident.”

  “Murder?”

  “I’m afraid so. And your life’s in danger.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yep. Jack’s too.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve learned that Jack’s cell was being tapped, which means the perpetrator knows about the call he made to you and what the two of you discussed.”

  Suddenly I feel sick to my stomach.

  “What now?”

  “We have a witness who can’t talk. And you and Jack need police protection until we can sort this out.”

  Gower reaches in her jacket pocket, removing her cell which is ringing. She speaks briefly, then ends the call.

  “Your security detail is set up. I’ll drop you in Berkeley.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Detective Gower pulls to the curb outside my townhouse. As we emerge from her car she introduces me to a police officer who’s leaning against the fender of his patrol car.

  This is totally surreal. Hunted by a killer? I’m thinking.

  Gower gestures with her hand, and we step beyond earshot of the police officer.

  “Listen Maggie, I have a daughter and she’s close to your age. I hope you take this the right way, but I feel protective toward you, given the situation I mean.”

  “Oh, I understand completely,” I tell her as I look down at the sidewalk. “Mom passed when I was real young. Then it was my grandma… but she’s gone too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You remind me a lot of her.”

  “Who? Mom or Grandma?”

  “Grandma, definitely.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It’s a nurturing thing, I guess.”

  She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Call me Emily. I won’t mind.”

  “Okay.”

  I watch as she climbs into her car and drives away.

  Then I begin thinking about the license plate number on that sedan.

  My mind stirs.

  Jack is in danger.

  Chapter

  2

  In a seedy area of town the person who caused the crash on the parkway, a killer named Ivan, sat on the sofa in a rundown apartment house. His eyes were fixed on the TV as a reporter talked into the camera.

  “The site of the car accident has taken on a circus-like atmosphere. The location of the scorched limo along the shoreline of San Francisco Bay has become a nightmare for law enforcement. People hoping to get a closer look at the wreck are coming on foot and in a variety of watercraft. What we can report at this time is that a single passenger in the limousine, Dylan Hunter, a founding partner of DynaTech, a hugely successful internet start-up in San Jose, was pronounced dead at the scene. The driver, Jack Fisher, a student at UC Berkeley, was apparently thrown clear of the wreck . . .”

  Ivan flipped to another channel and the host opened with a loaded question.

  “Does the absence of any skid marks on the pavement raise questions?”

  “Not necessarily,” the guest replied. “The driver may have simply been stricken by some kind of a medical condition.”

  Turning from the TV, Ivan walked into the bedroom and lay sprawled out on the bed.

  An hour later his phone began to ring.

  “Yeah?”

  A male voice.

  “Nice work. Well done.”

  Ivan gave no response.

  “Have you seen the news broadcasts?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you know your work isn’t finished.”

  “Fisher?”

  “Right. San Jose General. He’s in the Intensive Care Unit.”

  “Got it.”

  “Hurry.”

  And the line went dead.

  Ivan’s spine tingled with anticipation. Covered in jailhouse tattoos and released from San Quentin State Prison only six weeks ago, he was feeling that adrenaline rush he so craved. He was on the outside again, and free.

  To kill.

  Chapter

  3

  Moments after Detective Gower’s car disappears from sight I head inside and stuff my gear into a shoulder bag, including the gun Daddy used to teach me how to shoot.

  I go down the back staircase and into the cellar.

  This townhouse I’m renting has an interesting history.

  Among the oldest buildings in Berkeley, it once was a speakeasy: a saloon where people gathered to drink in the 1920s when Prohibition was law.

  Anyway, there’s a secret passage which the saloon owner built to get his customers out safely when the police raided his saloon.

  The passage leads to the side yard of my neighbor.

  She lives two doors down and her townhouse faces the next street over. A hip lady in her seventies, she’s cool about the passage, and in return I look out for her.

  Crouching through the narrow passage I start feeling guilty about ditching my police protection. But my instincts keep telling me to learn more.

  Coming up into the side yard I take my Yamaha from her shed, fire the engine and take off down her street.

  I pull back on the throttle and feel the crisp night air against my face. The traffic is light and the powerful bike whips along smoothly. I’ve never told Jack but I love rocketing down the freeway late in the evening at high speeds.

  They say youth is wasted on the young. I believe it.

  I roll up to the hospital in San Jose, parking the motorcycle in the lot and stashing my shoulder bag under some shrubbery.

  Moving through the main entrance I approach the reception desk where a cute guy is working the night shift. As I get closer he looks up and smiles, meeting my eyes.

  “Hi there! Are you lost?”

  I smile back.

  “Maybe.”

  “I can help. I’m a real pushover for brunettes and big brown eyes.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. Hey, you seem like the outdoor type…”

  “Good guess.”

  “You know, sometime we should…”

  “I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “But I’m really in a hurry to get to the Intensive Care Unit.”

  He smiles.

  “It’s on the third floor, rear wing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I show you the way?”

  “That’s nice. I think I’ll find it.”

  “It’s easy. Just follow the yellow line on the floor.”

  “Got it.”

  I walk to the elevators and enter one.

  On
the third floor I step off and move toward the back of the building and stop near a hallway to the rear wing. I peek around the door jamb and see two policemen standing by a sign.

  INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

  Returning to the parking lot I collect my bag and change into an all-black outfit. Moving in the shadows, I circle around to the rear wing. I dash between the parking lot’s overhead lights, thinking about Jack and his safety.

  What if somebody makes a move on him?

  I come around a corner and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  On the second floor of the building’s dimly-lit facade a figure is clinging to a window ledge.

  The silhouette is clear.

  It’s the shape of a man.

  Incredible! I’m too late.

  I grab a pair of binoculars from my bag and adjust the focus dial. I see the guy as he places a glass cutter against the window.

  Pulling my 9mm handgun from my belt my eyes cut back and forth across the parking lot.

  I level the gun.

  Suddenly a car comes around the building and enters the lot. Its headlights shine directly on me.

  The man on the ledge has seen me and he leaps to the ground and scrambles around a corner, disappearing from sight.

  Damn it! This doesn’t end here.

  Chapter

  4

  The headlight on my motorcycle pierces the darkness as I weave through traffic at three in the morning. The city’s heartbeat has slowed and I cover the distance from the hospital to Berkeley in no time.

  I put the Yamaha away and move through the passage. Emerging from the cellar I head for the hardwood stairs and they creak under my feet as I climb them to the upper floor.

  I reach the landing at the top.

  In my bedroom the TV flickers in the darkness.

  Images but no sound.

  I step to a chair by the bed and sink into it. In the quietude I begin reminiscing. My thoughts are reflective.

  Jack and I have been together now for five months, seven days and twelve hours. I’ve really fallen hard for him. I know the feeling is mutual because he’s told me so. Our connection is growing stronger every day. Jack is an awesome guy and I know that I am lucky to be with him. Not only is he cool and funny and sexy, he’s also kind and thoughtful, a real gentleman in an old-fashioned kind of way—like treating a girl with respect which is what really attracted me to him in the first place.