Sherri Shackelford - No Safe Place

Her heels sank in the rain-soaked grass. At least she’d had the presence of mind to grab her shoe in the parking garage. She spotted the glowing lights of a gas station in the distance and traversed a low retaining wall into an alley behind a row of houses. She dodged between garbage cans and detached garages, making her way toward the streetlights at the far end of the block.

Who was Corbin Ross?

One thing was obvious—he was no financial consultant. He’d handled the terrifying situation in the parking garage with far too much aplomb. He’d also known she lived in an apartment. A lucky guess? Maybe. He’d said he’d served in the military, but he hadn’t elaborated. Had he been with Special Forces? Was he a mercenary?

He could be working for the Feds, for Quetech Industries or for Cayman Holdings Limited. None of which boded well for her.

Huddled beneath the awning of the nearby gas station and tucked in the shadows, she ordered an Uber. For the next fifteen minutes, she danced from foot to foot and rubbed her hands together in an awkward dance to keep warm.

She’d collided with Corbin moments after hitting Send. What had he seen? At the very least, he’d lied to her. He certainly wasn’t a financial officer living in the suburbs. Corbin might have saved her life, but he hadn’t earned her trust. Whatever his loyalties, he was hiding something.

With each passing set of headlights, she searched for his car. Would he try and follow her? If he was with the Feds, would he call the police?

From what she’d learned from her dad, the Feds didn’t call in the local police unless they were desperate. They thought cops leaked information like sieves, and they were overly cautious with their loyalties. A fact that might work to her advantage depending on Corbin’s true identity. She didn’t want the world; she only wanted to survive until tomorrow.

Keeping out of sight, she followed the driver’s progress on her phone app and only stepped from her cover when the car pulled beneath the lighted awning.

The Uber driver barely blinked at her unkempt state. Beth mumbled “Union Station” and collapsed on to the worn upholstery.

Once at the train station, she hunched her shoulders and ducked her head, keeping her gaze averted from the ever-present cameras. An overweight security guard wearing an ill-fitting uniform gazed at her from his post. She flashed a smile, and her stomach clenched. How did criminals manage? Appearing innocent while terrified was harder than it seemed and infinitely more exhausting.

She checked the time on her phone, and her pulse picked up rhythm. She’d left Corbin’s house forty-five minutes ago. Time was ticking away. Earlier that week, she’d made a shorter trip from this same station, and had purposefully left her luggage behind on the train. Ensuring the porter found it before a thief had been tricky, but not impossible. She retrieved her backpack from the unclaimed luggage department and ducked into the bathroom.

A harried mother ushered a crying toddler into the stall beside her. As Beth changed, the hassled mother spoke with false cheerfulness to the sobbing child about their impending vacation. An announcement for the next train came over the PA system.

The mother breathed a sigh. “See? That’s our train. An hour late for delays and repairs. If you’re good on the trip, I’ll let you play Super Why on the iPad.”

The allure of digital distraction appeased the toddler more than the promise of a lengthy, dull train ride. Beth waited until they left the restroom before she exited the stall.

She stuffed her clothing in the trash and stared into the mirror. The face looking back at her was pale and drawn, a fitting match for the ball cap, hoodie and jeans she’d donned.

The PA announced the imminent departure of the next train once more, and she tugged her lower lip between her teeth.

For the past month, she’d been in training for her new identity. The instructions from her dad’s former informants when she’d arranged for her false identity had been specific and succinct: Think about your disappearance at least as much as you thought about what put you on the run in the first place.

She crossed the vaulted lobby and froze. A man in a suit was speaking with the uniformed security guard. He flashed identification.

Pivoting on her heel, she ducked behind an automated kiosk, then peered around the edge. The man tucked his badge into his breast pocket, and she sucked in a breath. There was no reason to assume the man was here for her. Corbin didn’t know how she was escaping the city. She tamped down her twinge of guilt. Even if he was with the Feds, she’d turned over all the evidence she had.

She shouldn’t have to die, as well.

The security guard motioned the suited man toward the restroom, and she spun around. They passed beside her, and she carefully circled the kiosk. Once both men were out of sight, she approached the counter and exchanged her ticket. She’d initially planned on heading south on the California Zephyr in the morning, but the unexpected attack in the garage had forced a change in her itinerary. If someone had been keeping a watch on her, she’d best alter her original route. The attendant grumbled but eventually agreed if she paid an extra fee.

Fifteen minutes later she took her seat in a roomette on the Empire Builder train. Her heel tapped against the floor, and she glanced over her shoulder. Loading the train took an eternity, and she peered out the window on to the platform. The excursion was crowded, filled with families and vacationers, but nothing suspicious caught her attention.

The harried family with the upset toddler struggled their way down the narrow aisle in a squall of luggage, cheerful promises of the fabulous trip ahead, and the faint odor of apple juice.

Beth shut the door and tugged the curtains over the square window of her private roomette—a tiny space featuring two facing seats and an overhead bunk that pulled down. The wheels finally chugged, and the train lurched. She exhaled her pent-up breath. As the station faded into the distance, her pulse gradually slowed to a normal rhythm.

An hour into the trip, she almost felt as though she could breathe normally again.

A knock on the door sent her heart leaping into her throat.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice strangled.

“Complimentary beverage and snack service.”

She hesitated, then realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her stomach rumbled. She stood and opened the door.

Corbin Ross stared back at her. “Going someplace?”

She attempted to slam the door, and he blocked the move with his foot. “We need to talk.”

Corbin crowded into the tiny room and closed the pocket door. “Your destination is Portland, I believe. Plenty of time to tell me everything you know about Quetech Industries.”

He’d sat in the lounge car for the past hour sipping water and gathering information as the scenery chugged by the window. Beth had the means and opportunity for the money laundering, but the motive remained frustratingly elusive. People did not operate randomly. Greed and revenge covered most crimes. Though some criminals merely liked to watch the world burn, she didn’t seem the type.

She glanced behind him. “Does this mean I don’t get a snack?”

At the defeated look on her face, he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Not complimentary.”

Beth slumped on to a chair, and he took the opposite seat. He’d never seen the accountant dressed casually. Wearing a ball cap and jeans with her face scrubbed of makeup, she appeared younger and more vulnerable. His focus slipped, and he steeled his resolve. This wasn’t personal. This was the job. Losing his concentration had the potential to cost lives.