Takeover - Lisa Black [111]
“It’s not worth the rest of our lives!”
Theresa recalled how the dog had barked when Lucas forced Jessica over to the elevators, but not so much, now that she thought about it, when he returned. That was because Jessica was carrying the plastic explosives, or at least part of them. Jessica the artist, who knew where the fancy furnishings from the executive’s redecorated office had been stored and how a tiny amount of explosive would blow the door’s lock, and who returned from that trip with paint flakes on her pants. Jessica, who loved art almost as much as she loved her son, and possibly more than she loved her boyfriend, because she might have ruined their chances for a future together.
This was why Lucas had been so angry when she returned to the lobby with the backpack. Not because she brought less money than he counted on but because he found the painting when he unzipped the bag.
“You had to have the money!” Jessica countered. “Why did we have to hang around for that stupid shipment? We could have lost them in the convention-center traffic if we left earlier!”
“If you hadn’t taken that painting, we could have started over again somewhere. You would be an artist, I’d manage the gallery. But if they figure out we worked together, they’ll never stop looking for us. We’re going to have to stay underground forever now, Jessie, and that’s going to take a lot of money.”
Theresa continued to watch him but hooked her foot underneath the loose part of the lab coat. Slowly she inched the pocket up as she inched her free left hand down. If Cavanaugh felt her movements, he gave no sign.
Lucas calmed his voice but spoke with teeth gritted against each other in a way that would have been comical if they hadn’t been hurtling down a city street in a car carrying $4 million and a bomb. “If it gets destroyed, they’ll assume some other bank worker took advantage of the confusion to sneak it out.”
“If it just disappears, they’ll assume the same thing.”
“If he turns around,” Cavanaugh breathed into her neck, “we’ll strangle him. You may have to grab the gun. Keep the barrel pointed up.”
She moved her head in a nod, tiny enough to be taken as swaying with the vehicle. Her fingers dipped into the pocket. She had always appreciated the deep pouches, but now they made it difficult to reach the scalpel. Her thigh protested as she used her foot to pull the pocket a fraction of an inch higher.
It took only the slightest glance down for Lucas to notice her raised knee. “What are you doing? Stop wriggling.”
She squirmed more, and the plastic weapon slid into her hand. “There’s not a lot of room back here.”
But while Lucas watched her, his mind stayed on his girlfriend. “It’s your fail-safe, Jessie. If they catch us, you can always say you were coerced. But if they catch us with that painting, they’ll know you were in on it with me, and you’ll never see Ethan again. Everything I’ve done has been for you, can’t you see that?”
He did it all for love, Theresa thought. He’s been trying to tell me that all day.
Jessica tapped the brakes, then sped up. “Where are we going?”
“Drive into the bleachers. Just like we talked about.”
Bleachers? Suddenly Theresa realized why they were heading north on East Ninth, when there was nothing at the end of it but Lake Erie. The Hall of Fame induction concert. Those tall scaffolds covered in rock-and-roll-black cloth on the East Ninth pier, where she and Paul had scouted out the reception facilities on the Goodtime II.
“What if I get the wrong spot and hit a pole?”
“Just drive where I point. Brian told me exactly where to go.”
“What about them?”
“Keep throwing the money, especially the closer we get.” Lucas peered over the headrest. “I’ll take care of them.”
Theresa’s heart sank. Cavanaugh’s arm tightened around her waist.
Jessica remained silent, apparently mulling this over. Theresa heard sirens behind them, but not nearly close enough. In Lucas’s sideview mirror, she could glimpse pedestrians milling in the street, stopping cars to pick up the scattered bills.
Could she stab