Love on the Run

By Dean C. Moore

Husband and wife thieves are on a mission. Just not the same one. He's out to pay for her cancer therapy—at any cost. She's out to make a romantic of the pragmatist that is him.

The fast-talking, fast-acting, adrenaline seeking duo pick up a few on-again off-again sidekicks along their way. But with all they're up against—not the least of which being one ultra-smart female FBI profiler—the question is: Can love conquer all?

***

Love on the Run is a Hollywood-style rom-com, action-thriller, and heist story all in one. If it reminds you of The Thomas Crown Affair with Pierce Brosnan, and screwball comedies of old, you're not wrong. The only thing flying faster than their one-liners are the bullets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean C. Moore
• Release date: Mar 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9798215881651

Book preview

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Phantom Menace

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Escape to Creeporia

Elektra

Printed People

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Printed People - Part 2

Printed People - Part 3

Frankenstein

Reborn

Reviled

Reawakened

Futurescape

Terraforming Earth - Phase 1: The Plagues Era

Terraforming Earth - Phase 2: Humanoids in Sealed Habitats

Terraforming Earth - Phase 3: Out of the Darkness

Renaissance 2.0

The Entire Series

Sentience

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Space Cowboys

The Star Gate

Moving Earth

Spy, Inc.

Born F.R.E.E.

The Futurist

Unkillable

The Magnificent Seven

Endgame - Episode 1 - Inciting Incident

Endgame - Episode 2 - The Quickening

The Mind of God

The Mind of God

Episode 2

The Warlock's Friend

The Crystal Spears

Standalone

Escape From the Future

Love on the Run

Time Bandits

Sentient Serpents

The God Gene

Time Weavers

Android Assassins

Mind Bender

Nano Man 2

Dueling Timelines

Nano Man

LOVE ON THE RUN

By

Dean C. Moore

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Dean C. Moore.  All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ONE

"Someone want to tell me why we’re chasing this broad?  Our perp is a guy.  I just think it would be nice to chase him.  Or am I being unduly old-fashioned with the whole investigative thing?"

Kerry bit her lip.  Carter wasn’t much on brains, but he did exasperated like a fish did water.  His scant build meant his physical presence wasn’t any more imposing than his mental presence.  The pale skin and lackluster eyes, the inability to control his own vocal cords when excited, all attested to runt-of-the-litter genes he’d inherited from people who’d been swimming in the shallow end of the gene pool for far too long.  Hand it to him, he was as determined to claw his way out of mediocrity as their perp was to claw his way into infamy.  After all was said and done, Carter wasn’t without a certain sex appeal.  Chief among his positives were handsome facial features that would stand up to time and lean, sinewy muscles.

She shifted her attention to the giant flat-screen wall monitor, on which was pictured the live helicopter chase footage.  The control room she had set up at the NYPD precinct, while she was on loan to them, wasn’t all that big, so in an uncharacteristic effort to play nice with the locals, she decided to keep her voice low so as not to embarrass Carter.  Moreover, as, being the person in charge, all ears had a habit of being on her even when her mouth wasn’t flapping particularly for their benefit.  Our perp’s a man, alright.  And so is that lady you’re ogling.

No way, Carter blurted, staring at the monitor and pointing.  Look, lady, I’m a red blooded American male.  That means I can spot real pussy from the fake stuff at a hundred yards—well, at any distance, really.  The picture can be smudged worse than this.  It’s a psychic thing that I wouldn’t have to explain to you if you were a red-blooded American male.

It was Sam’s turn to stifle a smile; Sam was technically Carter’s superior, but he’d long ago given up fighting her.  Carter was admittedly the more intellectually challenged of the two, explaining why he hadn’t yet caved.  Sam’s bald head and paunch made him look like a black Buddha in his early years—well, prior to enlightenment.  Although Sam himself was closer to retirement age. 

I’m telling you, your she is a he, Kerry said to Carter.

And I’m telling you…  I mean, maybe if she wasn’t such a dish.  But my dish radar is even better than my female radar.  Take you, for instance, he said, gesturing by running his hand up and down her.  You’re a dish and a half.  That there, on screen, he said pointing, is a dish and three-quarters.  No offense.

None taken, she said smiling.  How much you want to bet on it?

My next paycheck.  How’s that for confidence?

Ouch.  I don’t want to hurt you that much, not on a first date.  I’ll settle for half your paycheck.

Ma’am, Milo, one of the FBI agents said, coming up to her.  We’re not going to be able to continue to follow her where she’s going.  The chopper is risking getting entangled in all those low-hanging city wires as it is.

Not a problem.

Not a problem, she says, Carter mumbled, crossing his arms defensively.  So now you don’t just have superior pussy sense, you can see through walls too.

The fire escape he just ran up to the third story of that brownstone… Kerry explained, It leads to a theatrical supply outlet.  He’s looking for his next disguise.  So the next time you see him he’ll be… well, something other than a hound-dog-attracting female, anyway.  Since he’s probably figuring he was a little too successful at getting and holding your attention, Carter.

Once again Sam smiled warily and lowered his eyes.

You want to defend me here? Carter said, directing his attention at Sam.

Actually, Sam said, putting the deep baritone of his voice behind his next statement aimed at Kerry, I would like to know how it is you know that particular suite he slipped into is a theatrical supply outlet.  I have the diagrams in front of me, and the specs don’t even show that.  Sam had earlier pulled the blueprints for the buildings in the vicinity, once her agents had the perp contained to a one block radius and began closing the net. 

I have every room in every building across Manhattan that could relate in any way to our Mr. Carl Felton memorized; their exact locations, as well as what support he could get from them.  Come on, Sam, this is America’s most wanted.  Now, maybe if he was second on the list I might have cut him some slack.  But he’s killed more people than all the agents and cops in this building, and that’s saying a lot, considering the trigger happy jokers surrounding me now.

Sam sighed mightily.  And how is it you trust your knowledge above and beyond my computer copies, which I just printed out five minutes ago, he said, waving the sheets at her.

Because, Sam, not every business in New York registers what they’re doing.  Some are looking for a lower tax bracket, some just to get around zoning ordinances, others because their clients would just as soon not show up on anyone’s radar, let alone ours.  In the case of our Neal Waterford…

Christ, she has the business owners’ names memorized too! Carter cut in.  He threw his cup of coffee against the wall screen to punctuate his frustration, as well, of losing sight of the hot tamale.  Their femme fatale was now fully ensconced in the building, which no helicopter angle appeared able to penetrate no matter how the birds maneuvered around the edifice.  The projection on the stone wall didn’t seem to mind the rude assault any more than Kerry did.

Our Neal Waterford, she said, smiling, is hoping for a lower tax bracket, as his margins are rather thin, being as most of his clients are actor wannabes, as opposed to the real thing.

Ma’am? Milo said, still afraid to leave her side.

Let’s get the cameras on all doors and fire escapes leading out of that building, she said, returning her attention to him.  He’ll have to emerge as something sooner or later.

Should we send in some people? asked the Italian Milo, with thick black hair and an even thicker mentality.  He had the lock-jaw determination to never let go of a pit bull, but first he had to get his teeth on the perp, something he hadn’t been able to do for some time.  That was why in fact he’d lost the case to Kerry Pierce.  It had to be riding him to be taking orders from a female to boot; he was quite old school about these things, coming from a class of Italian family which still believed in arranged weddings to wives who had no say in the matter.

You can, if you want.  But he’ll be gone before you’re even up to the third floor.

She returned her eyes to the screen to take in the new camera angles.  Her second in command at the bureau didn’t even have to relay the orders.  Looking around, he could see as much, further pissing him off.  Milo didn’t like that all ears were on her and not on him; though that part she could empathize with.  Nothing like a botched chain of command to screw the pooch when it came to government intervention in anything.

There he is, Kerry said.  The old lady with the seeing eye dog.  She was pointing to the figure exiting the front of the brownstone.

Sam threw his papers in the air as if it were New Years.  Carter slipped into a familiar slouch in his swivel chair, not familiar to him, just to every other beaten man in the bureau in her wake in the last few years.  Not for nothing, lady, he pointed adamantly at the screen, gesturing, though his body language already belied his surrender, but I know an eighty year old when I see one.  You can’t fake arthritis and a curved spine like that.  And you can’t fake blindness.  Not to a trained eye like mine.  Hell, even a professional actor would need time to get into character and perfect a role.  Time he sure as hell didn’t have.

How do you know he didn’t play this role before?  Kerry said gesturing to her second in command.  Now’s the time to move in, Milo.

Milo adjusted his face into a mask that showed a lot less frustration than he was feeling, nodded stiffly, and grabbed a couple pin-stripe-suited agents.  You two are coming with me.  I want to see this for myself.  Kerry realized right away that Milo wanted his two most loyal lapdogs at his side as witnesses when he finally showed her up.  He relayed the order to the ones manning the electronic surveillance equipment for them in turn to signal the agents on location to close in on their new mark.  But that order had already been given because, once again, no one was listening to Milo so much as to Kerry.

There was nothing to do now but wait for the agents on the street to descend on their prey. 

Well, if you’re right, Sam said, it’s the first mistake he’s made, choosing a character that can’t exactly run fast without giving himself away.

"You’re right, Sam.  That is the first mistake he’s made.  Getting cocky.  It’s a lethal mistake around me."

Sam sat up straighter on his stool.  You hear that, he said, picking the papers off the floor and smacking them against Carter.  Twenty years on the force, and I finally guessed something right on this case.  Don’t I feel special?

Well, I’m still batting a hundred, so I’d appreciate it if you gloat over in the corner by yourself and not interrupt my depression.

You giving up on your longshot play already? Kerry said.  The horses aren’t across the finish line yet.

Yeah, well, when Milo looked every bit as surprised as me, heading out the door, I figured that couldn’t be good.  We never disagree on this case, and we’re both always wrong.

Kerry smiled kindheartedly, despite herself.  I suppose it does matter who your friends are, she said.  More so, if you’re forging an ad-hoc family around yourself, which I guess is the game we’re all in, running from one assignment to another.

Does that mean we made the cut? Sam said.

You two make a great pair of sidekicks.  Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Suddenly Carter wasn’t slouching so much anymore.  Well, I guess if we get to tag along after you in that tight-ass man-dress, which doesn’t de-feminize you in the least, by the way—still trying to figure that one out—all is not a total loss.

Translation: so long as they had to stomach her presence around here, better to be her two favorite lap dogs than one of the ones that were out of favor with her. Stop making me smile on command, Carter.  It’s not befitting a woman of my station. They must have had some genuine affection for one another that both parties sensed, Kerry thought, despite all the posturing; otherwise these two wouldn’t have risked the sexual harassment charges in the workplace.

Carter shouted, God damn it! as his eyes went to the wall screen.  Sam handed Carter his coffee mug so he’d have something to throw.  Carter promptly hurtled the coffee mug against the wall with the backstabbing image on it.  The agents had surrounded the old lady and were rudely ripping off her counterfeit hair, breasts, face, and hunch back.  Even the dog barking at them was all too happy to be released from bondage, clearly having never seen the blind woman in his life before today.  The pooch immediately ran away to get as far as possible from the rest of them.  The cameras zoomed in to confirm that not only was this a man, and not a woman, it was Carl Felton.  Well, I’ll be….

Don’t say it, Kerry warned.

…a monkey’s uncle, Carter said, deflating again, and slouching into his chair.  Only this time, he shook his head, as his eyes went to the ground.  How did you know?  What gave him away?

Kerry smiled, more ruefully this time, and averted her eyes from Carter and his personal pain.  The dog.  It was pulling on its harness hesitantly, like it didn’t know what to do with it, or with her.  He was wrestling to keep the dog in check too much, which was noticeable even from here, and it was requiring more strength than any eighty-year old woman was capable of just to keep that dog from bolting. 

Sam nodded for one of the agents to show a replay of the footage.  The agent, just as curious himself, had already cued up and zoomed the footage without being told.  Carter still hadn’t summoned the will to look up.  Is she lying or is she lying? was all he said.

Sam, seeing the zoomed footage on replay for himself, said, Nope, she’s not lying.

Well, boys, I guess you’re finally rid of me, Kerry said.

You mean it? Sam and Carter said at once, springing out of their chairs and rushing to shake her hand at the same time.  It’ll be a shame to see you go, Sam said, being as we both enjoy checking out your ass so much.  But as you can see, he said, pulling his Playboy magazine out of his outside suit jacket pocket and unfolding it, I’ve been getting ready for this moment for some time.

Kerry had to smile at the image of Miss July, which really did look like a pinup version of her, down to the blond hair falling just at the shoulder, and the piercing blue eyes.

I just want to thank you for saying I really was part of the family all along, Carter said.  But, you know what they say about empty nest syndrome?  It’s just something we all have to face sooner or later.

Her lips curved upwards.  She didn’t mind admitting she’d grown fond of these two bozos.  They at least put some character on the faces of otherwise dull minds.  Something that wasn’t so easy to do, as her years with the bureau would attest to.  That’s it, boys.  Wrap it up, she said to her team.  The twelve plus agents in the room were just a small fraction of the ones at her disposal.  Many were on location rounding up America’s most wanted right now.

Not so fast, ma’am, Overeager said, rushing up to her.  He’d earned the nickname by not exactly keeping it a secret that he’d do anything to bump Milo out of the way so he could assume his position. 

Rather than ask him what was up, Kerry just grabbed the paper out of his bony hand.  If Carter looked anemic, he was Dead Man Walking, Overeager’s other nickname.  She would get a quicker response reading between the lines for herself.  Looks like you’re stuck with me a while longer, boys.  A husband and wife combo of bank-robbers just moved into the America’s most wanted slot.

Oh yeah? Sam said skeptically, grabbing the sheet out of her hand and checking out the photos.  How is it I never heard of them?

Because they just hit the bank of the man who’s the primary funder of the president’s re-election campaign. 

That would do it, Sam mumbled, his eyes still on the paper. 

Carter grabbed the sheet away from Sam.  These are just bank security camera photos.  There aren’t even any names to go with them.  I’ve never seen a file so incomplete.

Kerry smiled.  Is that cool or what?  This one’s gonna be fun, boys, she said, taking the sheet back from Carter.

Excuse us, Carter said, taking Sam by the arm.  We just have to find a roof to jump off of.

Take your time, Kerry said absently, returning her eyes to the photos of their two latest marks.  The case is just getting started.

A FEW HOURS EARLIER

TWO

While Delaney kept an eye out, Zinio finished setting the timer on the bomb stuck to the front door.

With the last of the wires in place, there was just the matter of deciding on the timeframe.  He checked a cable trailing under the door, then studied his watch’s display.

Delaney’s attention shifted to the unshaven guy in the upstairs window across the street.  He was rubbing his pot belly under a greasy teal tank top two sizes too small as if to confirm his due date.  His eyes landing on her and Zinio, his mouth went wide and the Havana hanging off his bottom lip fell, igniting the cloth canopy over the bookshop one floor below as if it had been doused in gasoline.  The fire quickly burned through to the racks of books beneath.  The store was well on its way to setting the entire block ablaze.

With a push of a button, the digital red L.E.D. readout on the explosive was set to ten seconds.  The loud beeps made it easier to coordinate the rest of their movements, but weren’t exactly the incognito solution to middle-of-the-business day bank robberies.  We should probably have thought of some diversion. 

Not a problem, she said, eying the conflagration in progress across the street.  She stepped to the side, moving in sync with him.

What makes you think we can’t make this relationship work?

They both slipped on their airport-grade ear protection.

The door blew—all the way into the street.

As they removed the headsets, Delaney eyed the holocaust they had just caused.  If I had to hazard a guess—I’d say you lack subtlety.

They stormed the building.

In fluid, rehearsed motions, they made their way through the chaos and confusion.  She grabbed the elderly guard by the entrance who was going into cardiac arrest from all the excitement, sat him down, found the pillbox he was reaching for, and slipped a couple nitrate tabs under his tongue.  She pulled his gun, emptied the bullets, and tossed the pistol into the street, under the car parked just out front.

Zinio employed the same wire cutters he used on the bomb to sever the central line connecting the panic buttons.

Delaney exploited her echo location to maneuver through the smoke to find the source of the beached whale sounds.  The woman doing the gasping was closer in size to a beached walrus, as it turned out.  She had her back pressed against the room divider separating her from the new account representatives.  Delaney found the inhaler in her purse that had dropped at her feet, and got a couple of squirts into her lungs to settle her down.

When the other security guard came to his senses enough to unclip his gun, Zinio reached it faster, pulling the weapon, dismantling it on the fly, and sending the pieces flying to the far corners of the floor.  It would take a CSI team a week to find every piece under all the debris.  When the tall forty-some black security attendant started shadow boxing, still unclear as to the whereabouts of his opponent in the soot and smoke, Zinio grabbed his hands and secured him to a marble pillar near the entrance using the guard’s own handcuffs lifted off his belt.

The dust finally settling, the roof started to give.  Zinio glanced up at the beam coming loose overhead, then at the single customer waiting in front of each teller.  If you could all just please step away from the counter, please, he said, gesturing with the gun.  That’s it.  One more small step.  Perfect.  The overhead beam crashed right behind the customers on top of where they had been standing just seconds ago.

Christ, we blew the door, not the building, Delaney said, surveying the wreckage.

It’s an old building. Zinio took her by the arm, and steered her to the other bank of tellers to the other side of him, some of whom also had a customer they were serving.  You have all these unrealistic notions about relationships.

Delaney ignored him.

Zinio held the gun to the teller’s face, a dowdy woman in her forties.  Your money or your panty hose.

Dowdy froze in shock.  Her eyes kept bouncing between the muzzle of the gun and Zinio’s handsome face, trying to determine which one she was going to be more taken by. 

"Okay, your money and your panty hose."

Never mind him.  He thinks he’s funny.  Keys, please?  Delaney’s hand wavered under the weight of the .44 magnum pointed at the teller’s head.  Convinced she was in fact mixing a martini, Dowdy shakily handed over her keys. 

What happened to that little Walther PPK I got you?

I find nothing says hand over your keys like a .44.  Most times I don’t even have to say anything.

I just don’t think it’s very feminine.

You see the two guns?

Zinio did a quick check of the customers with concealed weapons.  They both belonged to the row of tellers he had his back to.  Marvelous.

You notice no one can be bothered to pull them?  Try that with a Walther PPK! 

We did just save their lives.  Maybe they’re still feeling more appreciative than put out.  And it’s not like it’s their money.  He did another read of the gun-toters and decided those pistols were for surviving the city streets, not for playing undercover cop.  They had too little cool under fire and too much perspiration under their hairlines.  They weren’t about to pull the weapons anytime soon, so long as they knew there was a chance of getting out