Fugitive Family. Pamela Tracy
and work alongside the authorities. But every single newscast has declared me guilty. What about innocent until proven guilty? Burt, during the time it would take to clear me, Amber would be in foster care. I won’t allow that.”
“I, more than anyone, understand. And if I wasn’t already a person of interest—they’ve stopped me for questioning twice—I’d take her. Greg, man, you have to find someone you trust. Someone who will disappear with Amber until you clear yourself and we find the real culprit.”
“There is no one. Give me another suggestion,” Greg said, gritting his teeth. Burt knew there was no one to leave Amber with, but he kept asking. Greg and Burt both had been raised in the foster-care system, which is why he’d do anything, be anything, to keep Amber out of it. Rachel’s parents and younger brother had died in an automobile accident when Rachel was a freshman in college. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask a church friend to watch Amber, because all it would do is pull one more soul into this wretched game.
Besides, he couldn’t imagine any of the good souls at Sherman’s Main Street Church willing to disappear, to run, should the need arise. Amber’s safety was up to him. Now it was Greg and Amber and God against the world.
“Okay, stay in Nebraska,” Burt relented. “But, remember, go out in the evenings. The more people who see you the better. Somehow our killer’s going to stumble, and I want you to have alibis for every minute of the day. Remember, act normal.”
Greg hung up the phone and stared at it for a few minutes before going to check on Amber. Act normal. Rachel was the actor in the family. It wasn’t fair that Greg had the job now.
The last thing Greg wanted to do on Friday was return to work. He really wanted to stay glued to the Internet, typing in keywords, and looking for newly released footage. But he knew Burt was right about being seen in public. The discovery of Rachel’s body meant the FBI was back to making Alexander Cooke a top priority—again. They’d be looking for him.
Only three people knew that Alexander Cooke had dyed his brown hair black, started wearing blue contacts to hide brown eyes, worked with tools instead of numbers and drove a Ford truck instead of a BMW. Alex, aka Greg Bond; Amber, whose real name was Amy; and Burt.
Act normal. There was nothing normal about living under an assumed name, dying your hair and your daughter’s hair every few weeks, and jumping at shadows. But Greg had done it for months now. If it kept Amber safe, he’d do it for the rest of his life.
“Hey, Greg!” Vince pulled up next to him in the elementary school parking lot. “Surprised you’re back. Dizziness gone?”
“Yes.”
Unfortunately, short answers had never deterred Vince.
“I spoke with my brother yesterday. You did over $2,000 in damage to Lisa’s car. She doesn’t seem too mad. Her and Gillian sure had a lot of questions about you.”
For a moment, fear threatened to spill over. The urge to run surfaced. Greg reined in both emotions. “What kind of questions?”
“What do you do for fun? What happened to your wife? Why you’re still wearing your wedding ring.”
The typical questions single women always asked. Keeping the wedding ring was probably a mistake. It was the ring Rachel had slipped on his finger nine years ago. It was the only visible link to his past. He’d taken it off right after he’d snatched Amy from her friend Molly Turner’s house. He’d put it back on a month later. Sometimes he felt it was all he had left of Rachel.
“Why do you think she had all those questions?” Greg asked, although he knew. He was a single man in a town of single women.
“It wasn’t Lisa so much—more Gillian. Let me tell you, she talked her way through school the first time and, boy, she’s still talking.”
Amber’s former kindergarten teacher was outgoing. Greg had two-stepped around many a question during the last month of school. Then, wouldn’t you know it, when he decided to try his neighborhood church—something to do and a way to get Amber socializing—there was Gillian, introducing him to people he didn’t want to meet and asking even more questions he couldn’t really answer.
Thank goodness Gillian was engaged. It meant she wasn’t looking at him as a potential suitor. Unfortunately, Greg knew the fiancé, even played ball with the man, and didn’t much care for him. Maybe because Perry Jenson reminded Greg too much of ol’ Alexander Cooke, climbing the corporate ladder and spending more time at work than with the people who loved him.
Greg followed Vince to the job trailer. It only took a few minutes to get his assignment and then he was doing cleanup. It took Vince another half hour before he joined Greg, turned on his radio and began life as usual. Where Vince had been for thirty minutes, Greg didn’t want to know.
Vince put on his gloves and looked at Greg. He started the conversation right where they had left off. “I told them you needed to take off your wedding ring because it’s dangerous to wear. I told them that you don’t socialize much. Really, Gillian seemed to know more about you than I do.”
Greg had been paired up with Vince plenty of times. Vince knew that last year Miss Magee had been Amber’s teacher. You’d think he’d have mentioned knowing her.
When Greg didn’t respond, Vince said, “Gillian happened to be there when I stopped by to tell Lisa about my brother’s estimate.”
“The one that’s going to cost me an arm and a leg.”
Vince nodded. “That one.”
“What did Miss Jacoby say?” Greg had a hard time keeping his mind on cleaning up. Today he and Vince were the only ones doing all the odds and ends that came with completing a job. The work was virtually done. Almost everyone else had been sent other places.
“Lisa didn’t say nothing. Until my brother gets the fender, there’s nothing to say. She’s been bumming rides with Gillian.”
As if beckoned by Vince’s words, Gillian pulled into the parking lot. Both men stopped, walked to the edge, and watched. Gillian moved quickly. She was out of the car and unloading stuff from her backseat before Lisa had the passenger-side door opened. Both women wore those jeans that didn’t quite reach their ankles. Lisa also had a pink short-sleeved shirt, and her red hair was in a ponytail, reminding Greg how young she was.
“Yowza,” Vince said.
Greg could only nod. School started on Monday and all the teachers and staff were arriving. A typical day, for them. He needed to do the right thing and take care of her car. After all, he might not be here in another twenty-four hours, depending on what Burt found out.
He hated not knowing the future. Hated living someone else’s life. He wasn’t a laborer; he was a banker. Greg wasn’t wealthy, like the real Greg Bond, the man whose identity he’d stolen—well, borrowed. Alex Cooke was an upwardly mobile young man with a wife and child.
He had to remind himself that he no longer had a wife.
Vince’s radio, newly turned on and blaring before the start of the morning duties, reiterated that fact.
Authorities had just determined that the gun used in the bank robbery—the gun that killed the security guard—was the same gun used approximately six months ago to kill Rachel Cooke.
FOUR
Since she didn’t have a ladder, Lisa used one of the children’s desks to help her get to the out-of-reach places where she wanted to put “Welcome Back” posters.
Right before lunch, Vince meandered in. Greg, looking as if he’d rather be anyplace but here, and as if he hadn’t slept a wink, was right behind him.
Haunted. Yup. Distracted, too, but not unfriendly.
Vince didn’t waste any time. “My brother says it’s going to be a few days before you get your car back.”