No Way Back. Andrew Gross

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       CHAPTER SIX

      “Dave, we have to leave,” I said, urgency crackling in my voice.

      “We will. I just want to see if it’s public yet. Then I’ll call Harvey—”

      “Dave, you don’t understand. I think they know who I am. We have to get out of here now!”

      That was the moment the news came on. The lead-in sent a shiver down me: “A shooting in a room at a posh midtown hotel, and two people are dead.”

      I watched in horror.

      The reporter came on and described how an unspecified victim had been shot in his room at the “posh” Hotel Kitano, along with a second victim—details still unclear—“who was rumored to be a possible government agent.”

      She said that a third person was being sought. A woman, who might have been in that room when it all happened, and who had fled the scene.

      My stomach wound into a knot. I was that third person.

      The person they were looking for was me!

      The newscast went on. By this time they’d have found the tote bag. So they had to know who that third person was. More than three hours had passed. If the police knew, why weren’t they already here?

      The only possible answer hit me. And it didn’t make me feel any better. If the NYPD had it, they’d have been here by now. The neighborhood would be lit up with flashing lights. They wouldn’t have even mentioned a third person on the news …

       They would already have me in custody.

      But if the people who had killed Curtis had found it first, they’d want to keep the whole thing quiet. They might not hand it over so quickly. They’d be just as scared that I’d be in the hands of the police and divulge what I had seen, which they’d want to cover up. Which meant …

      I felt my throat go dry.

      Which meant they might be heading here themselves, at that very second. To finish the job.

      Their role in all this could remain secret as long as I stayed away from the police.

       Or was dead.

      Suddenly I became encased in sweat. We weren’t safe here. We had to get out of here now.

      “Dave, I’m going to get dressed. It’s not safe to be here. You wanted to go to the police. So let’s go! Let’s just get out of here now!”

      I ran to the bedroom and threw on some jeans and a fleece pullover. Back in the kitchen I grabbed my bag and Curtis’s phone. We headed into the garage and climbed into Dave’s Range Rover, me behind the wheel.

      I opened the garage door and turned on the ignition.

      Dave put his hand on my arm. “We’ll make this all work out, Wendy …”

      “I know,” I said. “Thanks.” I started to back out.

      Suddenly a bright light enveloped us from behind. Headlights from a vehicle at the end of our driveway.

      “Hands in the air!” someone yelled. “Out of the car! Now!”

      I spun around in fear.

      It was over. The police were here. I let out a deep breath, ready to comply. Thinking what I was going to say.

      Then I saw that the light was from a black SUV. A single SUV.

      “It’s them,” I said. I grabbed my husband’s arm, terror running through me. “Oh, Jesus, Dave, they’re here.”