Chasing Faith

  In the hallway, he said, “We need to talk.”

  “Please, I’m so through with you.” I walked straight to the parking lot, feeling Max right behind me.

  Finally he caught up with me and tugged at my arm. “Come on, Chris, where are you going?”

  “To my apartment—leave me alone. I said this earlier but I guess you didn’t hear me, I’m through with you.”

  “I didn’t try to set you up with Stokes,” he said, looking me squarely in the eyes. “You’ve got to believe me. Somebody’s framing both of us.”

  When he kept persisting, I capitulated. I really did need to get to the bottom of this, and Max had information I needed. He followed me home, then began to tell me all he knew.

  “There’s been a lot of heat on me lately. I’ve found notes in my apartment warning me to keep my mouth closed or I’d have an accident. My stuff gets moved around when I’m not there. I think my phone’s bugged. And I got fired last week,” he told me, clearly shaken.

  “Why would someone be harassing you?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s all political. Someone high up wants to control Stokes. And whoever it is wants the allegations against you to stick.”

  My phone rang, and Max jumped. When I answered, I heard the voice of my apartment manager.

  “Hey, Jose, thank you so much for fixing up my place.”

  “Oh, no problem, no problem,” he said in his thick Latino accent. “I got a package for you. You want me to bring it up?”

  “I can come down and get it.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Someone brought a package for me to the manager,” I explained to Max after I hung up.

  “Are you expecting something?” he asked, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

  “I did leave some things in Atlanta. Maybe the bureau is sending them to me here.” I touched his hand. “I believe you didn’t set me up.”

  He stood up and rubbed my shoulder. “Thanks, Chris, I don’t want you mad at me. I didn’t know things were going to turn so crazy. But I’m real scared.”

  “We’ll figure a way out of this,” I said, lightly pushing him down. “Relax. I’ll be right back.”

  I ran down to Jose’s apartment. As I walked back up, I looked at the box. There was no return address. I put my ear to it, praying it wasn’t a bomb. Thankfully, I didn’t hear any ticking.

  When I opened my door, I didn’t see Max. I called his name, figuring he must be in the bathroom.

  I put the package down on my dining room table. Then I noticed a .357 magnum sitting on my couch.

  I picked it up and headed down the hall toward the bathroom. “Max, why did you bring a gun into my house? You know how I—”

  I opened the bathroom door, but Max wasn’t there.

  I went to my bedroom. There was Max, lying on the bed, his back to me. “What are you doing in here?” I complained, strutting up to him. “I have no intention of—” As I got closer I saw a dark red liquid on my bedspread. I rounded the foot of the bed and had to stifle a scream. Max was lying in a pool of blood. I dropped the gun.

  I almost blacked out. I wanted to scream but no sound came from my throat. Though this was what I was trained for, this guy was my friend. We were just talking, and now he was dead. I was terrified.

  Who could have done this? Was the perpetrator still somewhere in my apartment? Or in my room, even closer?

  I stood beside the bed, frozen in place. Was someone trying to frame me for murder? How was I ever going to get out of this?

  Chapter 13

  Slope

  I should have listened to Max. Someone really was following us, and now Max was dead. But who, and where, was the murderer?

  I knew I should call the police, but there was an awful lot of evidence that would point to me as the killer. I had touched the murder weapon. I had motive: everyone knew I was angry about being put on suspension. Witnesses had seen me leave the hospital with Max hot on my tail. And he died in my apartment.

  I had been framed, but had no idea by whom. And I didn’t know who I could trust. There was no way that I was going to trust the local police to find out who framed me. I made a decision then and there that I had to remain free to find out who was behind this, and why.

  I called the apartment manager. Just as Jose answered the phone, my guest bedroom door opened slowly.

  “Is anybody there?” Jose asked. I couldn’t answer him. I didn’t even want to move.

  “Hold on,” I finally whispered.

  I saw a black shadow inching slowly against the wall. Though I’d been trained to protect myself and others, I wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest. For all I knew, this lunatic might decide to shoot me and then put the gun in Max’s hand so it would look like we’d killed each other.

  Instead of trying to confront the intruder, I quickly screamed into the phone, “Jose, help me!”

  The guy stepped out of the shadows and I held the phone as he started toward me. He wore a black ski mask, so I couldn’t see his face. But his physique was muscular. He didn’t say anything. We stared at each other for a moment, then he tried to grab the phone. I jumped on the bed with the cordless and ran to the other side of the room, screaming, “Jose! Call—”

  The guy pulled a knife out of his boot and charged at me. I dropped the phone and picked up the gun that I had dropped on the floor. Though he kept swinging his long blade at me, I aimed it at his heart. I pulled the trigger and heard the shot echo.

  The guy hollered, dropped the knife, and grabbed his shoulder. Then he glared at me and pulled a two-foot length of rope out of his pants pocket.

  “What did I do?” I asked as he stalked toward me. “If you’re gonna kill me, at least tell me why.”

  He ignored my request and continued toward me.

  “Stay back or I’ll shoot,” I screamed. He kept coming.

  I grazed the top of the black ski mask to scare him. It worked. He stopped. When the blaring sirens grew louder, he quickly opened the front door of my apartment and dashed out, leaving a trail of blood. I dropped the gun and fell to the floor.

  I knelt there, trembling with fear. Not only had I almost been killed, but my friend was dead. Who was behind this? Would he be back?

  In my emotional state I started scanning the room for more trouble, and my eyes rested on the package I’d picked up from Jose. When I opened it, there was nothing in it. It must have been a diversion sent by the murderer.

  Lord, I prayed, I need You to help me out here. Whatshould I do? If I stay and try to explain what happened, will the cops believe me?

  The sirens were getting louder. I had to make a decision quickly.

  With a murderer on the loose, maybe jail was the safest place I could be. Then again, I’d be there for the rest of my life if I was convicted of murder.

  My eyes landed on my suitcase—it was still packed. I grabbed it and flew out the door. I bumped into Jose on my way down the stairs.

  “I heard shots,” he said.

  “I didn’t do it, Jose.” I shoved past him and continued down the steps.

  “Señorita, wait! The police will be here soon.”

  I suddenly noticed the sirens had stopped. I heard quick, heavy footsteps on the stairs below me.

  Turning back to Jose, I whispered, “I need your help. You’ve got to stall them.”

  He frowned at me for a moment.

  “Please,” I begged.

  “Follow me,” he mouthed. He led me to the fourth floor and unlocked the first apartment on the right. “Go in here and escape through the window,” he said. Then he handed me a set of keys. “You can take my truck.”

  I wanted to grab him and hug him. Instead I pulled my keys out of my pants pocket and handed them to Jose. It probably wasn’t safe for me to drive my own car, anyway.

  I ran through the apartment, fear pulsing through my veins. What was I going to do? Where could I run? I didn’t have time to think it all through. I’d have to discover a solution along
the way. The murderer was still out there and my friend was dead. I wasn’t safe.

  I grabbed my purse and the suitcase that I hadn’t unpacked and climbed out the window onto the fire escape.

  As I ran through the security gate I could see police cars heading toward me. I prayed they wouldn’t see me as I scanned the parking area, looking for Jose’s green pickup truck. When I found it, my shaky hands unlocked the doors. To my surprise, it started right up.

  The stench of Jose’s truck made my stomach queasy because it smelled like he had been smoking in the truck for years without ever cleaning it, so I rolled down my windows. Loud sirens reminded me of the danger I was in.

  I drove the speed limit through the city, my heart pounding. I turned on the truck’s air conditioner, but it only blew warm air at me. Jose’s dirty truck was littered with empty soda cans, cigarette packs, fast-food containers, and old clothes. It smelled like a locker room, but I was grateful for the means of escape.

  Before I could get to the interstate, a gray van appeared behind me, driving a bit too fast. Before I knew it, its front bumper hit me from behind. I sped up but he bumped me again, harder.

  I sped up more. The van kept up with me. I jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, making the tires screech. I crossed the center divider and moved into the path of oncoming traffic. The cars swerved and honked, trying to avoid hitting me head-on.

  The van pulled up beside me. I glanced at the driver. It was that same horrifying man in the black ski mask!

  We raced down the wrong side of the road. Three or four cars at a time were appearing every few seconds, barely missing my truck, the van, and each other.

  Figuring there was a good possibility that I was going to die, I started praying out loud. “Lord, please help me find a way out of this. Help me survive somehow and not hurt anyone else. Give me the strength to find my way.”

  The van rammed the side of Jose’s truck, knocking me over half a lane. I turned the steering wheel sharply, digging my right fender into the van’s driver’s-side door. He hit me again and I hit him back. The sound of metal crunching, the squealing of tires, and the smell of gas and burning rubber heightened my fear.

  We rounded a bend in the road and I saw a black Honda coming straight toward us. There was no place for me to go. I was blocked between the van and the Honda.

  I glanced at the driver of the van, trying to plead with him to get out of the way of the oncoming car. He lifted his ski mask. It was Rudy Roberts. He sneered at me as my heart raced with fear. Even more questions came to my terrified brain. Who hired Roberts, a known hit man? Or was he working independently. Whatever his motives, I had to remember all I’d been taught and somehow get myself out of this.

  I pressed the gas harder and turned the steering wheel left. When the van turned toward me, I jerked the steering wheel right so hard I sent the van careening off the road. It screeched over the concrete blocks of a small parking lot and rammed into an office building. The van flipped over, slid across the asphalt, then crashed into a wall of glass.

  I slammed both feet onto the brakes. The truck must have skidded for half a mile before it stopped. The black Honda swerved a little but was unharmed.

  I sat in the car on the shoulder of the road, staring back at the overturned van. Roberts wanted me dead! I watched the van for several moments, wondering if Roberts was dead. When no one climbed out, I thought, I’ve got to go back. I have to make sure.

  I put the truck into reverse, and the motor died. I turned the key in the ignition but couldn’t get the engine to turn over. I hit the steering wheel. “Don’t quit on me now.”

  I turned the key again and heard nothing but a long, low rumble.

  “I’m losing it here, God,” I said aloud. “You’ve got to help me get this stupid truck started. I have to get out of here before that guy crawls out of the van and comes after me!”

  I tried once more to start the truck. It sprang to roaring life.

  “Finally,” I cried out. “Thank You, Lord!”

  I looked back at the van. Still no movement. I put the truck into reverse, but before I could move, the van burst into flames.

  I put the car in drive and sped off. Cars on both sides of the road came down the street, slowing down when their drivers saw the fire.

  I couldn’t think about what was going to happen next. I simply put as much distance between me and that van as I could, thankful that I was alive.

  I suddenly realized that God had delayed the starting of the truck so I would not be in harm’s way when the van exploded. Thank You, Lord!

  I looked at my watch to check the time and saw blood all over it. I didn’t know where it was coming from, but I knew I had to find its origin so I could stop the bleeding.

  A neon sign along the side of the road flashed into view, indicating a gas station. I checked the gauge—it was just above the Empty mark.

  I went into the rest room to wash off the blood and saw that a piece of glass from the truck window had cut my hand. I applied pressure on the wound with paper towels and it stopped bleeding.

  I went back to the truck and filled the gas tank, then found a pay phone. In my rush to leave the apartment, I had neglected to pick up my cell phone.

  With trembling fingers, I tried calling Troy’s house, but he didn’t answer. I dialed his cell phone number. When I heard his voice, I was so elated I almost dropped the receiver.

  Troy told me to take a few deep breaths. When I calmed down enough to speak, I told him everything. He didn’t seem very surprised to know that Roberts had come after me. “I don’t think he was working on his own, either. Your friend lives in New York. That’s where we’ve tracked Roberts to. This was a setup.”

  “But why? Who’s behind all this? I can’t believe Stokes wants me dead.”

  “Whoever it is, has connections on the inside. Turn off your headlights and stay put. I’ll be there in forty minutes.” He gave me a secret headlight code so I wouldn’t get out of the car for the wrong person.

  Twenty-nine minutes later, Troy’s black Montero Sport zoomed into the gas station parking lot.

  “The cops are going to arrest you for reckless driving,” I teased him as we got out of our cars and hugged. “And I don’t have the clout to get you out of jail.”

  “Here’s some money.” Troy handed me what looked like around five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.

  Not touching the cash, I said, “I can’t take this. You can’t help me this way. You’ll lose your job.”

  “You saved my life, remember? I owe you. Shoot, I wouldn’t have a job if I was dead.”

  Trying to hand me the money again, he said, “Plus, you’ll need it to get somewhere safe and stay there till I can find out what happened and figure out how to get you out of this mess.”

  I took the money.

  He asked me to give him my credit cards and checks so I wouldn’t use them. “Too easy to trace,” he explained as I handed them over.

  “Every law-enforcement agency in the country is looking for this truck,” he said. “Give me the keys.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “I know. It belongs to your apartment manager.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Your apartment manager told the police. They put out an APB on the truck.”

  We traded keys. “If you get caught driving this truck, you’ll be in trouble. Or if I get caught with your car, you could go down, too.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m gonna take this truck to an informant friend of mine who owns a place where they chop cars up and sell them. No one will find it.” He gazed at the dilapidated truck. “And it looks like I’ll be doing Jose a big favor.”

  “Come on, let’s sit over here on this bench and talk. Chris, I want you to tell me everything. Don’t leave out any detail.”

  I told him all I could think of.

  “You’re being set up,” he said.

  “I agree. But how can I prove it?” br />
  “We’ve got to find out who sent Roberts to kill you.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  “I can still find out who he was working for. We tracked his movements off and on. We thought he was lying low. I’ll just have to relook at those tapes to find the connection between him and Max.”

  “All this started after I introduced Max to Reverend Stokes, and word got out about the money for the campaign. Maybe the bank where he worked is involved.”

  Troy handed me a cell phone and a gun.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I want you to be able to get in touch with me, and you need to be able to protect yourself if the people who are setting you up locate you,” he said. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe that’s best.”

  We sat there on the bench in silence for several moments, lost in our thoughts, neither of us wanting to separate any sooner than we had to. “So, when is the FBI gonna promote you?”

  I remembered that he had been waiting on a promotion in the FBI.

  “I don’t know. Maybe if I crack this case—”

  “Oh, so you have an ulterior motive for helping me,” I said with a smile.

  “Yeah, Roberts has been a thorn in all our sides for far too long. Something good needs to come out of my dealings with that bastard.”

  I joked, “You’re right, and I agree—if you solve this, you should be the highest-ranking officer in the FBI.”

  “Get on the road,” he smirked, “and stay alert.”

  “Thank you.”

  I kissed him on the cheek. Then I headed to the black Montero Sport as he walked toward Jose’s truck.

  I drove down the road without even looking at the signs to see what direction I was headed. When the interstate ran out, I hopped onto another one.

  I drove aimlessly for hours, stopping only when I needed gas, food, or the bathroom.

  When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I found a rest station, locked the doors, reclined my seat, and closed my eyes. I desperately needed to get some sleep, but my nerves were too on edge. Everything around me was pitch-black and spooky-looking.