Free What You See by Hank Phillippi Ryan Page A

something.
    “Freeze!” DeLuca yelled. “Police!”
    “What’s going on?” Hewlitt backed against the wall, lowered himself to a crouch.
    “Police!” Jake drew his Glock. Pointed it at the shadow. “Drop it!”

 
    12
    Jane steadied herself, trailing her fingers against the brick wall as she rounded what she figured must be the last curve in the alley. Whose idea was this? Hers, she had to admit. Bobby was already out of sight. If anyone were back in the dead end, waiting, she’d see them in about two seconds.
    Voices. Yelling. Police? Someone yelled “Police!” Jake? Sounded— did it?— like Jake. Or was someone calling for the police? Calling for help?
    She skidded to a stop, tucked her body behind a chugging black air-conditioning unit. One heel twisted in the rock shards between the bumpy cobbles, and she fell hard, yanked off balance, landing on her bare knee. Camera still rolling.
    “Jane!” Bobby’s voice. Calling for her.
    Or warning her? She felt her stomach clench, felt the tension of the decision she needed to make, and make right now. Should she turn, run, get help? Or at least get away? Bobby had told her two plainclothes cops were down here, so it must be safe. Right? Unless he’d been wrong and they weren’t two plainclothes cops, they were simply two guys. And with who knew what agenda.
    She stared across the empty alley, trying to assess. A man had been stabbed to death not a block from here. The cops were clearly looking for the bad guy. But what if the cops had followed the bad guy down this alley, and now they were also dead, and Bobby had run right into their—
    Go. She turned away, ready to head for the safety of the park and the multitude of police. But wait—leave Bobby? Who the hell was he, anyway? A street kid she’d instantly believed?
    The yelling had stopped, but still there were voices, only lower. The air-conditioning unit kicked on, vibrating against her shoulder, making it impossible to make out words. Her scraped knee was bleeding, lovely, and she couldn’t quiet her pounding heart.
    “Jane! It’s okay!” Bobby’s voice again.
    Footsteps. Coming toward her. They crunched in the gravel of the cobblestones, walking deliberately. Not running.
    She closed her eyes. Just two choices now. She could run. Or she could wait. But she could no longer hide. She opened her eyes.
    “Jane!”
    Jake.
    *   *   *
    Jane?
    Jane. In high heels and a black suit, hiding behind a rusting air conditioner in a filthy back alley a block away from a murder.
    Jake attempted to keep the top of his head from blowing off. He’d left a still-complaining Hewlitt in the care of DeLuca. They ordered the paparazzi kid with the camera—what if they’d shot him?—to stay put. The kid had insisted that Jane Ryland, the reporter for Channel 2, was following him down the alley. But Jake knew Jane wasn’t a reporter anymore, for Channel 2 or anyone else. So this kid was full of crap.
    “Holy shit, Jane, what the hell’re you doing?”
    “Getting up,” she said. “What’re you doing?”
    She hauled herself to her feet, one hand clutching a metal handle on the side of the air conditioner, the other holding some device. Her suit jacket flapped open, T-shirt grubby with dust and smeared with black stuff, her hair half out of its ponytail, her tote bag strapped across her body. One knee was bleeding, Jake saw, making a narrow red trickle down her bare leg.
    “You okay?” He gestured toward her knee.
    She looked down, licked a finger, and wiped away the blood. “Just a flesh wound,” she said. “Cobblestone attack.”
    “Jane?”
    “Yeah?” She was smiling as if this wasn’t absurd.
    “You realize this is ridiculous? Having this conversation? There’s a paparazzi kid, showed up with a camera, insisted he’s with you. I almost shot him, for God’s sake. What the holy hell are you doing back here?”
    Uh-oh. He knew that expression. Jane had something to tell him, and he wasn’t going