He crabbed along the two-by-four until he could grasp the object inside the duct. The attic space was as hot as an oven. Keeping his balance while reaching into the duct was an extreme effort. His knees were screaming. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting. The policeman’s shirt was too damn small. It was confining his shoulders, limiting his reach. He strained against it, ripping the shoulder seams but gaining a longer reach.

Finally he got two fingers on the object, clamped them shut, and pulled the object far enough forward for him to grab hold. He gave it a hard yank, ripping the skin of the duct as he pulled it out. It was a black duffel bag.

He stood up quickly and, with the deft steps of a tightrope walker, made his way back to the door at the staircase landing. “I’ve got it!” But he was talking to empty darkness. Laura had vanished.

CHAPTER 32

THE HOUSE WAS STILL ABLAZE, LIGHTS ON IN EVERY ROOM. Through windows where the drapes were open, Laura could see uniformed policemen searching the rooms for her and Griff.

She was halfway across the motor court when her elbow was hooked from behind. “This way,” Griff said.

She tried to throw off his hand, but his hold was tenacious and she had to run to keep up with him. “Griff, this is insanity. Turn yourself in. Talk to Rodarte. Tell him what you told me about Manuelo.”

By now they were on the far side of the garage, out of sight of the house, away from the landscape lighting, running pell-mell through the darkness. They went around the pond and then plunged down a natural berm. She lost her footing and would have fallen if he hadn’t kept his tight grip on her. She stumbled along after him.

The ground leveled off at the estate wall. It didn’t appear this tall from a distance. Now its twelve feet seemed awfully high. The vines and shrubbery covering it were dense but well maintained. Incongruously, there was a cold drink can standing upright at the twisted root system of a wisteria that was in full leaf and completely covering a section of the wall.

“Griff!” She pulled hard on his hand.

He turned to her. “Listen and believe, Laura. Rodarte is convinced that I killed Bill Bandy five years ago. Now he’s convinced that I killed your husband. If I turn myself in, I’ll be at the mercy of a legal system I no longer trust. Especially since Rodarte’s on the case.”

“Then turn yourself in to someone else.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Not until I can take Manuelo Ruiz in with me, ready and willing to corroborate my story. I’ve got to find him.”

“Okay, I can see that,” she said, breathless from their run. “But let me go back. Let me tell your side of it and explain why you’re reluctant to surrender.”

“No.”

“If I say-”

“Why did Rodarte have you under lock and key?”

“To protect me from you.”

“Right. So if I get backed into a corner, as long as I’ve got you as my hostage, I’ve got something to bargain with.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You know that. Rodarte doesn’t. Now come on.” He dragged her forward, toward the wisteria.

“Do you expect me to climb that?”

“Don’t have to.” Still keeping hold of her with one hand, he used the other to clear away some offshoots of the vine, revealing a metal grate at the base of the wall. He shoved it aside with the toe of his shoe. “Drainage,” he said.

“How did you find this?”

“I came looking.” He put his hand on her shoulder, forced her down. “Crawl through. I’m right behind you.”

Lying down on her stomach, she wiggled through the opening. The ground was damp, but because of the drought, it wasn’t muddy. The wall was about a foot thick. On the other side was a twenty-acre greenbelt that served as a buffer between the elite private properties that backed up to it, like the Speakmans’, and the commercial district on the far side.

By the time she was on her feet, Griff had pushed the duffel bag through the opening. It was a squeeze to get his shoulders through, but he did and sprang up on the other side. Taking her hand, he guided her across a rough and rocky creek bed. It was dry now, but when it rained, the runoff from the Speakman property would drain into it through the grate by which they’d made their escape.

Once across the creek bed, Griff took off running through the greenbelt. But as they approached the boulevard on the far side, he slowed to a walk. Across the wide street was a row of boutique shops and two popular restaurants. The shops were closed, but the restaurants were busy with the dinner crowd.

Pausing in the shadows of the park, he released her hand long enough to take off the uniform shirt, leaving him in a white T-shirt. He removed the pistol from the policeman’s holster, then tossed the gun belt, shirt, hat, and cold drink can into the nearest trash receptacle. He zipped the pistol into Manuelo Ruiz’s duffel bag.

Taking her hand again, he waited until the traffic thinned, then struck off across the divided street. He didn’t run, which would have attracted attention, but walked swiftly toward the parking lot of the Indian restaurant. He wove them through the rows of cars until they reached the back of the lot, where it was dark.

He fished a remote key from his pants pocket and used it to unlock a car. He opened the passenger door and motioned her in. He walked around and got behind the wheel, closed the door, and tossed the duffel bag onto the backseat. The dome light dimmed and then went out, leaving them in darkness.

They sat still and silent, trying to catch their breath.

Not until now that they’d stopped did Laura realize how breathless she was, and how fast her heart was pounding, as much from adrenaline as from physical exertion. The palms of her hands were dirty. The front of her tracksuit was streaked with loose soil.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, when he noticed her palms.

“I’m a fugitive, too. I’m not worried about a little dirt.”

“You’re not the fugitive, I am. You’re my hostage, remember.”

She smiled ruefully. “You asked why Rodarte had placed me under lock and key? He claimed it was for my protection.”

“But?”

“He was afraid I would help you escape.” His gaze remained steady, but she could read the unasked questions in it. “He never said that, but I sensed that was why he put me in the hotel, under guard. And I suppose I have helped you escape, haven’t I?”

“Does that mean you believe I’m innocent?”

Before she could answer, a police car screamed down the boulevard, its lights a wild kaleidoscope. Griff turned on the car’s ignition. Grinning, he said, “Rough neighborhood. We’d better move to a safer one.”

He had to wait for another oncoming police car to roar past before pulling out into the street. “You’re thumbing your nose at them,” she remarked.

“Nothing that brave. They won’t be looking for this car.”

“Whose is it?”

He drove, saying nothing.

“The visit to your lawyer’s house made the news.”

“Yeah, I saw. The media failed to mention what an untrustworthy son of a bitch my former attorney is.”

“He said by turning you in he was trying to help.”

“Bullshit. He was trying to cover his own ass.”

“They searched for you for hours.”

“I got lucky.”

“How did you get away?”

He gave her a wry grin. “It wasn’t easy. Sometime, when you’ve got a lot of time, maybe I’ll tell you all the adventures I encountered that night.”

She gave his clothing a once-over. “The police were looking for a man in running shorts and sneakers.”

“Which were barely holding together by daylight the next day. I was traveling light, but luckily, before going to Turner’s house, I’d put some cash in my sock. I used it the next day to buy some clothes at a big flea market.” He glanced down at the T-shirt and work pants. “Selection was limited. I’m sure some of the goods were hot, so no one questioned the customer who looked like he’d been dunked in a polluted river and then run through a shredder.”