Excerpt of Fugitive Escape

FUGITIVE ESCAPE (Emergency Responders #6)

"Make no friendship with an angry man;
and with a furious man thou shalt not go;
lest thou learn his ways, and get a snare to thy soul."

Proverbs 22: 24-25

Chapter One

Rain pelted the van's windshield. Professional dog trainer Hannah Lassiter shivered. Her stomach knotted. Her hands perspired on the steering wheel and she flexed her fingers. This was the first time she'd actually feared volunteering at the maximum security prison in St. Louis and for good reason. Today it began. There was no way to rationalize the plan she was about to set in motion, not now and probably not ever, yet she had to do it. She had to help Deuce Fleming escape. Her grandmother's life literally depended upon it.

An excited yip from the back of her van reminded her how she'd gotten into this mess. Rehabbing criminals and saving misunderstood dogs had seemed like the ideal way to use her unique skills with canines to serve the Lord and her fellow man. For the last year it had been a pleasant addition to her regular dog training business. But no more. By the time this day was over she, too, would be a wanted fugitive. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

She pulled herself together and feigned calm as she eased to a stop at the gates and rolled her window down a few inches to greet the armed guard. The waning storm gave the air a crisp tang and drops of rain pattered, some breaching the narrow opening. "Morning, John."

"Good morning, Ms. Lassiter." He peered into the van as the canine cargo began a frenzy of barking in response to his voice. "Got a new crop for us?"

"Some likely candidates," Hannah said. She knew better than to try to hurry the amiable guard despite the fact her nerves were firing so fast she could barely control movement and her mouth was too dry to swallow.

"It's a fine thing you're doing," the guard said with a smile. "A fine thing."

Her muttered, "Thank you," almost stuck in her throat. "You should get in out of the rain."

He saluted by touching the dripping brim of his cap and backed away.
 
Fine thing, indeed, Hannah thought. To save her beloved grandma she had no choice but to betray friends and colleagues who had trusted her and sacrifice her successful professional career at the same time. There was no other option, no way to win. In the best-case scenario she would succeed in smuggling a dangerous prisoner out of there without any innocent bystanders getting hurt, including herself. Once she was outside the prison walls and far away from any influence from Deuce Fleming she prayed she'd find some way to make amends.

Closing the window she proceeded onto the grounds. It was hard to breathe, hard to keep from shaking all over. She was a law-abiding citizen, not the criminal they were trying to make her into. She wanted to help people, not hurt them and by saving innocent dogs from kill shelters she'd been doing the animals good, too.

Nevertheless, here she was. Caught. Trapped as surely as the guilty men behind bars at the state prison in Lyell, Missouri. They were there for a reason and she was heartsick to have been coerced into helping one of them escape.
Having spent the previous night in prayer, Hannah was positive God understood and would forgive her. It wasn't Him she was going to have to convince of her innocence; it was the new prison warden and the state police. If they failed to see the goodness of her heart and the necessity of today's actions, she was going to end up in big trouble.
 
"Providing I live through the actual jailbreak," she muttered to herself. By afternoon she would know if the bold plan worked.
Smothering in guilt she sniffled. "And everyone else will know what I've done, too."

*

Masquerading as convicted killer Rafe McDowell, state trooper Gavin Arthur stayed in character 24/7. This was the toughest undercover assignment he'd ever accepted but he couldn't turn it down. Not when his partner, Trooper Andy Fellows, lay in the hospital, fighting for his life after a shootout, and the man's abducted teenage daughter was still missing. Because all clues had led to Deuce Fleming's gang being responsible, here he was, sharing space in prison in the hopes of learning enough to rescue the girl and even the score.

Gavin/Rafe had been briefed well enough to know that Fleming had contacts both inside and outside the prison. Part of his task was to get close to Deuce and learn their identities without revealing that he was the source of that information leak. It wasn't going to be easy.

Nothing involving cagey criminals ever was, which explained the need to work undercover. Only two men knew who he really was; his own superintendent and the recently promoted prison warden. Computer files had been created to provide an impressive criminal past and he'd let his beard grow enough to present a scruffy edge. Add to that the tattoos and scars from combat as an Army Ranger and he appeared to be a damaged, world-worn man who perfectly fit the role.

At present he was sitting in a folding chair in a room with seven other men, Deuce included, and waiting for the outsider who was scheduled to teach a dog handling class to selected inmates. While several of the others had brought dogs already being trained and were tending to them, he and Deuce lounged in the chairs as if they had no cares. That, alone, disturbed Rafe. He was aware that Fleming was known as a cool customer but judging by the way the man was behaving, he was more than merely pretending. He truly was at ease.

Rafe crossed one ankle on his knee and folded his arms, making sure his biceps and tattoos were prominently displayed. Fleming met the alpha male challenge in his gaze and returned it with a sneer. "What're you lookin' at?"

Shrugging, Rafe remained nonchalant. "Me? Nothing, man. Just chilling. You got a beef with that?" He saw his quarry open his mouth to reply, then stop when the door swung back. Little wonder. The attractive brunette woman entering the room was impossible to ignore. She was clad in plain denim, boots, and was accompanied by a prison guard escort pushing a cart dolly containing several large kennel boxes and one smaller one. Made of tan plastic, each box had a metal door that was fastened with a small padlock.

Before Rafe could react, Deuce Fleming was on his feet and joining the young woman. He saw her stop dead and flash a tension-riddled smile. The telling reaction was so brief Rafe might have missed it if he hadn't been keeping such a close eye on his quarry. Prison warden Hotchkiss had expressed concern that Fleming had been allowed to join the dog rehab program under his predecessor but with no proof of dishonesty he'd chosen to let the man continue with the classes. The goal was to make as few changes as possible to keep from alerting the convict or any of his allies. So far, nothing had seemed to make a difference.

Rafe leaned forward in his chair and studied the interplay between Fleming and the trainer. Although she did her best to hide her feelings, he wasn't fooled. The woman was a nervous as a kitten surrounded by a pack of slavering coyotes. He supposed some of her unease might be due to the place where she was working but that conclusion didn't fully satisfy. He'd seen enough of her class videos during briefings to know that Hannah Lassiter was normally calm and self-assured while guiding convicts and their assigned dogs through the training process. And she was good at her job. So why the change in demeanor today?

Getting slowly to his feet, Rafe sauntered over to where Fleming was speaking aside to Hannah and offered his right hand to her. "I'm Rafe McDowell. Your new student."

Pausing, poised to be greeted, he was disappointed when the trainer ignored his friendly gesture. Something was definitely wrong. He stepped back several paces to observe her interactions, particularly with Fleming. The con was practically smirking.

Rafe shoved his hands into the pockets of his orange jumpsuit, lounged against the edge of the only table in the room and heard Fleming snort derisively before laughing. The others in the room kept silent as if attempting to keep the peace. A brief glance at the young woman, however, spoke volumes. Her fair skin had paled, her eyes were brimming and there was a tremor in her graceful hands.

Whispering, she said, "I'm ready."

"Shut it," Deuce snapped.

Eyes downcast, Hannah sniffled and swiped at her damp cheeks. Her expression reminded Rafe of a prey animal facing certain capture or death. The poor woman was terrified.

Edging closer by pretending to peer into one of the kennel boxes, Rafe heard the hardened criminal say, "See that you remember your job, Red Riding Hood."

A tear trickled down Hannah's cheek as Rafe made the apparent connection. If Hannah Lassiter was Red Riding Hood, Deuce Fleming was the personification of the Big Bad Wolf and nothing, no one, stood between the two of them but him.

Rafe's main disadvantage, as he saw it, was his place on the side of the criminal element while working undercover. There was no logical way to convince the frightened woman that he was one of the good guys when everything about his persona had been tailored to project the opposite.

Moreover, he reasoned, there was a slight chance the apparently innocent dog trainer was one of Fleming's people. In spite of her uneasiness it was possible she would choose the wrong side if given a chance. He huffed, remembering how close he'd come to making that mistake as a teen and how his friends had rebuffed him after he'd refused to take part in their idea of fun - rampant vandalism and physical violence. Most of them had gone to jail for their crimes.

That memory amused Rafe when he contrasted it to his current assignment. They should see him now.

*

Hannah could taste acrid remnants of the coffee and toast she'd eaten shortly before heading to class.
Nothing but the threat to someone she dearly loved would have made her agree to the plot she was involved in. The sweet face of her grandmother, Lucy, arose in her memory and nearly broke her. Fleming's cohorts on the outside had been stalking the only remaining member of Hannah's family and had sent her photos to prove it while nondescript vehicles had been parking outside the house she shared with Gram and were following them everywhere, even to church.

This morning, Gram was safe in the church fellowship hall making lap quilts for a rest home with members of her sewing club, unaware of what might happen later. If Fleming wasn't delivered to a predetermined rendezvous site, his men were supposed to kidnap Lucy and hold her until he was free. There was no alternative. No failsafe plan. It was all or nothing, success or failure.

Silently, fervently, Hannah reached out to God. There were no flowery words to her prayer, no memorized verses, nothing. It was from her heart to the heart of her Savior and so powerful she couldn't help but be strengthened.

She squared her shoulders, pulled leashes from her tote and began to deliver her well-rehearsed opening speech. "Several of you are getting new assignments this morning. I'm going to demonstrate the proper way to handle a dog without hurting it before we work with the new animals I've brought. Think of them as your canine counterparts. They were jailed and facing execution for simply existing."

"Yeah, they're innocent, like us," Deuce commented, bringing laughter from all the others except Rafe.

"Only one of them has a history of biting and I've been working with him on my own. He was mostly frightened. Back a scared animal into a corner and if he can't run, he'll defend himself in any way he can."

"Humph. I get that, too."

As she bent to unlatch the first of the kennel boxes Hannah whispered, "Understood."

*

Across the room, Rafe raised his eyebrows and gave the outspoken convict a nod. His task was to get closer to Fleming, not alienate him, so he figured it was best to seem to agree. With the exception of Sam Peabody, an older prisoner who was already handling a smaller dog, everyone in the room deferred to Fleming. The older man, however, was giving him smug, knowing looks that bothered Rafe. It was as if Sam and Deuce were working together on something.

That put Sam in Rafe's suspect file. Several prison guards were already listed, including the one at the door right now, but other than a few minor incidents in the exercise yard, Deuce hadn't paid undue attention to anyone else. Oh, he had a group of followers. Most cons chose sides for their own protection. But in Fleming's case the men who supported him by their presence weren't forceful types, they were lackeys.

Close observation revealed a tremor in the trainer's hands as she unlatched the largest cage, reached in to clip on a lead and coaxed a dog to step out. It was the largest German Shepherd Rafe had ever seen but its demeanor was that of a whipped cur.

The moment the trainer touched the coarse fur her own shaking ceased and she spoke gently. "It's okay, boy. You're okay. That's it. Take it easy."

Behind her, Deuce snorted derisively. "I hope you're not planning to give me that coward."
"If you will recall," Hannah said, "the pit bull you worked with the last time was cautious at first, too."
"Yeah, but he was just abused. He wasn't a sniveling mutt like that one is."
Rafe stepped forward. "I'll take him."

"I make those decisions, Mr..." She consulted the forms the guard had handed her. "Mr. McDowell. But I will keep your request in mind."

Hands spread wide, palms up, Rafe shrugged. "Fine. No sweat." As he observed the quaking canine it occurred to him that the behavior of this dog and the pretty trainer were similar and he wondered if their reasons for fear were also alike. Granted, some individuals were born with a shy nature. That was possible for the dog. But the woman was different. He'd studied videos of her previous classes and if he didn't know it was the same trainer he might wonder if she'd been replaced. Not only was her voice different, so was her body language.

His heart went out to her. Scowling, he watched Deuce posturing and bragging while the other cons stood back. One looked pleased, one frowned, and others did their best to fade into the background as though they were afraid to be noticed.

The trainer caught Rafe's glance and he allowed eye contact to continue for long seconds. Of course she'd be sizing him up because they hadn't met before. That made perfect sense. What was disquieting was the unspoken plea for help he thought he detected in her glance.

Then she bent over the paperwork, made a note in a margin and straightened with the shepherd on his leash at her side. "We will be approaching you, Mr. McDowell. I want you to stand still and avoid looking at Thor. Let him sniff you and don't back away but don't reach for him, either. This introduction has to be on his terms. Understand?"

Rafe nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

He did as Hannah had instructed, and more. It wasn't hard to feel empathy for the beautiful, shy animal. When he'd accepted this assignment he'd had no idea it would include a dog training class. Being there was the icing on the cake as far as he was concerned.

Animals had made his troubled teens bearable and he'd always had a special affinity for the downtrodden. Or in this case, the literal underdog.

As soon as he got the chance he intended to ask about Thor's history, assuming Hannah knew it. A large male like this one was unlikely to have been attacked by another canine. Chances were, Thor's fear was due to interactions with humans and Rafe intended to show him that not all men were bad.

Hannah had circled Rafe twice, slowly and purposefully, when she said, "You may sit in that chair over there now, Mr. McDowell. Hands in your lap. Still no eye contact."

Instead of turning toward the chair and therefore taking his eyes off Deuce, Rafe backed up. When his knees touched the edge of the seat he sat down. He didn't like the way the outspoken prisoner was leering at Hannah and he sure didn't like the way he was inching toward Thor. A man like Fleming was unpredictable and purposely cruel whenever he thought he could get away with it.

Air in the training room practically crackled with tension. Thor was panting but seemed a bit more relaxed and Hannah was concentrating so fully on the dog she seemed unaware of the increasing human threat. But Rafe knew. His instincts saw more than his eyes could. And he wasn't the only one. The guard at the door had rested the heel of his hand on his holstered gun and the other convicts, even Sam, were inching away.

Hannah and Thor passed in front of Rafe's chair and began to turn to the left. The moment her back was to him, Deuce lunged for her and the German Shepherd.

Rafe rocketed off the chair, managed to block the attack with his shoulder and both men hit the floor. What he should have done, he realized belatedly, was provide a distraction rather than go head-to-head with Fleming. Instinct had taken over when he'd put himself between the other man and the apparently innocent woman, leaving him wondering how he was going to spin his actions to appear to be in Fleming's favor.

Strength-wise he knew he could flatten anybody in the room, including the crooked guard. Thoughts of his wounded partner and the man's missing daughter, Kristy, tempered his actions enough to cause him to pull his punches when what he wanted to do was hit hard enough to force a confession. Fleming and his group had already been proven guilty of weapons and drug smuggling. It was only a small step from that to human the trafficking they were now suspected of masterminding.

As far as Rafe was concerned, the only crime worse than that was cold-blooded murder. Nevertheless, he shouted, "Hey, cool it. We're both on the same side here."