Time to Hide by John Gilstrap Page B

direction did not betray him, the skyway to the mall was past the main entrance, on the other side of the hotel. It occurred to Carter as he ran up the hill that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a quick step. Not exactly out of shape, he wasn’t exactly in shape, either, and as sweat soaked his clothes, he could feel every one of his forty-five years.
    Two uniformed police officers stood sentry at the front doors of the hotel, clearly stationed to watch anyone who might try to leave. The sight of a middle-aged man running straight at them put them on edge. In unison, their hands moved from behind their backs to rest on their Sam Browne belts.
    â€œCome with me!” Carter yelled. “I know where they are!”
    The cops exchanged glances that betrayed their assessment of Carter’s mental stability. When Carter closed to within a few yards, the cop on the right shifted his hand from his belt to his weapon, holding the other hand out in a gesture that stopped Carter in his tracks. “Okay, mister,” said the cop on the right. “Don’t be stupid.”
    Carter knew what they must be thinking. “My name’s Carter Janssen,” he said breathlessly. “My daughter is with the man you’re looking for—Brad Ward. They’re not in the hotel anymore. They’ve fled to the mall over there. If we move fast, I think we can catch them.”
    The cop scowled. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”
    â€œOf course you haven’t. They don’t know in there. But I’m telling you now.”
    The cop shook his head. “Sorry, sir, but I’ve got orders. If the lieutenant thought—”
    Carter didn’t wait for the rest. This was a waste of time. The officers did in fact have their orders, and they were not going to violate them on the whim of a complete stranger. His guys back in Pitcairn County, New York, would have done the same thing.
    Without another word, he spun away from the cops and headed for the Galleria parking garage. The two minutes it took for him to run the distance made his legs feel as if they’d hammered out a marathon.
    He surveyed the layout of the garage with a single glance. It had been built into the side of a hill, with the mall itself blocking a second side. Nicki and Brad would face two options for escape: they could exit from the bottom level of the four-story parking structure, thus bringing them straight at him, or they could exit from the top level, which, thanks to the rolling hills of the surrounding countryside, was actually at ground level, with easiest access to the freeway.
    Upstairs was it. The humidity pressed in on him as he paused to look up the seemingly endless flights, and then got down to business, taking them two at a time.
    He was nearly to the third level when he skidded to a stop so abruptly that his momentum pitched him forward on the steps.
    Off to his left, from somewhere in the middle of the dimly lit expanse of concrete, a starter switch ground, and an engine caught. From where he stood at the landing between parking levels, he couldn’t tell if it came from the second floor or the third.
    Then, from the floor above—the third—headlight beams swept the walls of the stairwell.
    Carter dashed up the half-flight to the next level in time to see taillights disappearing up the ramp to the fourth floor.
    * * *
    This time, it was a Honda Accord.
    Nicki stood as she saw the headlights painting the far wall, shocked at how much the effort took out of her.
    The engine roared as Brad piloted the car around the curve, through a stop sign without slowing, finally skidding to a stop with the front passenger door positioned three feet in front of her. The window lowered itself, revealing a beaming Brad on the far side of the center console, leaning low over the steering wheel to make eye contact.
    â€œHey, good-lookin’, want a ride?” he asked.
    Nicki smiled in