No Safe Place

by Sherri Shackelford

  He urged her to walk faster. Depending on how the next few minutes played out, he might not get another chance to apologize.

  “That’s all right. I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “We’ll get through this.” He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. “Go.”

  They rounded the corner, and she darted for the exit.

  Corbin pressed open the restroom door and stepped back. The fraudulent agent caught up with him as the door swung shut once more. Corbin eyed the exit and assessed the few sleepy civilians populating the lobby.

  “That must have hurt.” Corbin indicated the dark splotch on the man’s cargo pants. “You went down hard back there.”

  “Shut it.”

  “No need to be rude.”

  Corbin checked the enormous restored antique clock at the far end of the vaulted lobby. The minutes ticked by, and the fraudulent agent rocked back on his heels. Beth was gaining a good head start.

  “What’s taking her so long?” Agent Smith muttered.

  “Women,” Corbin replied with a shrug. After making a point of scrolling through the emails on his phone, he pounded on the door. “Hey honey, everything all right in there?”

  The impostor muttered an oath. “Go in and get her.”

  “I can’t go in there,” Corbin dodged.

  “She’s your girlfriend. Get her.”

  Corbin pushed open the door and counted to ten before returning.

  The blow caught him beneath the chin. Stars flared at the edges of his vision and pain exploded through his jaw. He rotated with the punch, making it appear as though he was more stunned than what the jolt had delivered. Bracing one shoulder against the wall, he slid to the floor. His face averted, he angled his foot for traction, one arm flexed.

  “You helped her escape, didn’t you?” The imposter reached into his jacket. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Corbin assessed his options and made a quick decision. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He dove, twisting his body. Using his weight, he slammed into the man. Caught off balance, the two flew backward. Corbin held tight, following the man to the tile floor, his elbow digging into his opponent’s solar plexus. Winded from the blow, the man gasped for breath. Corbin yanked the impostor’s gun from the holster and staggered upright.

  The man pressed his hand against his chest and rolled to his side. “You’re tougher than you look, super boy.”

  Tucking the gun against his side, Corbin bent and reached for his glasses. Super boy? Another reference to mild-mannered reporter, Clark. He really needed to invest in a new pair of frames.

  “On your feet.” Corbin gestured with the man’s gun. “Let’s take this outside.”

  He had control of the situation, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He needed the man away from civilians and potential hostages.

  “Get out of this while you still can,” the man said, lurching upright. “Your girlfriend is going to get you killed.”

  “Not your concern.”

  “What are you? An army boy? I recognize that blow to the solar plexus. It’s dirty, but it gets the job done.”

  “My turn for questions,” Corbin said. “Who do you work for?”

  “Ask your girlfriend,” the man sneered. “You have no idea what she’s gotten you into, do you?”

  “Then tell me.”

  The man chuckled. “Let me go and I’ll think about letting you live. I’m former military myself. It’s tough becoming a civilian, isn’t it? They oughta ween us off adrenaline like we’re junkies, but they don’t. They turn us into killers and then dump us stateside to mow the lawn and take out the trash like every other chump. It’s never enough.”

  That first year behind a desk, Corbin had thought he was going mad. He’d jog the stairs to release the extra energy. Being assigned more fieldwork had taken the edge off. His superiors had been weaning him off the adrenaline.

  “Enough talk,” Corbin replied, his voice gruff.

  “Look, super boy, no woman is worth dying for. Come work for me. I’m always looking for a good man.”

  “Not interested.”

  Corbin grasped a handful of the man’s windbreaker and shoved him forward. He kept the gun pressed tightly against the man’s side, out of view.

  After patting the guy down for additional weapons, Corbin did a quick search of the man’s pockets but only discovered the fraudulent credentials. A decent counterfeit but the identification didn’t stand up to closer inspection. The man’s first name was listed as Van, his surname as Smith. There was a good chance Van was his real name. Corbin stuffed the folded leather case into his pocket for future investigation. Discovering the source of the forgery might lead to more information.

  The commotion was catching the attention of the few people milling around the train station. As they passed an older couple, the middle-aged woman clutched her purse and cringed.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Corbin said with a smile. “Just getting some fresh air.”

  She met his reassuring grin with puzzled confusion. He pushed through the exit doors and searched his surroundings. The platform was deserted. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket for his phone.

  The impostor glanced over his shoulder. “What are you going to do, super boy? Call the police? Your girlfriend is a thief. You’ll both go to jail.”

  A bullet ripped Corbin’s upper arm an instant before he heard the report. Pain seared through his shoulder. His knees gave out, and he collapsed. His gun careened across the pavement.

  The impostor stalked toward the discarded weapon. Light-headed, Corbin reached into his jacket for his Glock. The man stomped painfully on his shoulder, paralyzing his arm.

  Corbin hissed. “Does this mean you’re taking back the job offer?”

  “You didn’t think I was working alone, did you?” The man guffawed. “You should have run while you had a chance, but you had to be a superhero. I’ll ask you one more time, where’s your girlfriend?”

  Corbin’s gut twisted. He should have told Beth to call the police immediately instead of waiting for him. “She’s long gone, Van.”

  The imposter’s eyes flickered before he caught himself.

  “Your accountant won’t get very far.”

  “Far enough.”

  “Raynor!” Van called to someone out of Corbin’s sightline. “Get the car. Check the streets north of here. She’ll go toward the city.” He shook his head. “What are we going to do with you?”

  Pain radiated from Corbin’s arm, and his stomach roiled. He had to buy Beth more time. “How did you track us, Van?”

  “Who says we tracked you? Maybe your girlfriend set you up. Maybe this is all happening just the way it’s supposed to.”

  “You’re lying. She nearly cleaned your clock in that garage.”

  Van gave a hallow chuckle. “You’re making a lot of trouble for me, super boy. You oughta know that Raynor wants revenge for the pepper spray.” He applied more pressure to Corbin’s shoulder. “Guess that’s a start.”

  As the impostor crouched for his weapon, Corbin lunged. His fingertips closed around the muzzle, but Van got hold of the handle. The mercenary had the leverage, a miscalculation on Corbin’s part, and he jerked the gun free. Corbin dove sideways, bracing for the shot. If he moved fast enough, maybe the bullet would miss hitting anything vital. Blood rushed in his ears. Two tours of Afghanistan and he was going to die stateside at a train station.

  Van’s eyes widened. Arms akimbo, he twitched once, then twice, and tumbled forward. Beth stood behind him, a smashed umbrella with a wooden handle dangling from her clenched hands.

  “Not so tough without your gun,” she declared.

  A bullet shattered the pillar beside Beth, spraying bits of concrete. She shrieked and threw her arms before her face.
/>   “Get down!” Corbin hollered.

  Dizzy with adrenaline, she immediately cowered behind the sheltering pillar.

  The mercenary groaned and stirred. Dragging a hand over the back of his head, he pitched to his knees. The umbrella hadn’t been as sturdy as she’d hoped. He was stunned, but he’d soon recover. Corbin hesitated only a moment before leaping over the man. Beth frantically searched their surroundings. No security guards were running out of the building, no sirens sounded in the distance. No help was coming anytime soon.

  “There are two.” Corbin grasped Van’s gun, pocketing the extra weapon. “We have to get out of here. Quick.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  The street was deserted this time of night. No passing cars to call in the disturbance. The building was old and solid. Maybe the sound hadn’t carried inside.

  “No time,” Corbin said. “We’ll be dead before they get here.”

  Another bullet ricocheted off the pavement, shattering a divot in the concrete. The spray of gravel peppered her legs.

  Beth squeezed tighter to the pillar. Corbin had a point about the time. “I thought the second guy was bringing the car around,” she called.

  They were trapped about ten feet apart. If one of them crossed the distance, they’d be a target.

  “Guess not,” Corbin called back.

  They had at least one advantage. The shooter was aiming at them through a maze of pillars. Corbin kept his weapon arm extended, then dropped the gun to his side. She watched as he calculated his next move. There were too many unknowns in the vicinity to return fire, and they were dealing with a shooter unconcerned with collateral damage.

  Though trying to view the unfolding events with a critical eye, she was still fighting against the shell shock. Crouched by the pillar, she held her palms pressed against her temples, her eyes brimming. Keeping low, Corbin dashed for her.

  He snatched her ice-cold hand and urged her upright. “Stay with me. I’ll let you break down later, all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She glared at him, her eyes clearing. “Just startled, that’s all.”

  Think about the details. That’s what her dad would say. She played the confrontation in the parking garage through her head like a movie reel.

  Details. The assailant had been dressed in black. Cargo pants. Boots. Tactical gear. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver. Two men. A ball cap with lettering. The same men. They’d been tracked from Chicago. How?

  “You up for a run?” Corbin asked.

  “Lead the way,” she replied immediately, only a slight wobble in her voice.

  She wouldn’t break down. Not now. Not in front of him. Later though, when she was alone, she feared the events of the evening were bound to catch up with her.

  Corbin tugged into her into a quick embrace. She didn’t resist. Despite her best intentions, her whole body trembled violently. She sensed he was trying to infuse her with his strength for the coming ordeal. She sagged briefly, then she squeezed his hand and nodded. No more hesitating.

  He peered around the corner and quickly ducked back. She did the same on her side. Neither of the men was anywhere in sight.

  No bullets responded to their furtive movements.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “Let me know if you can’t keep up.”

  She was determined to remain analytical, above the emotion. She’d push everything aside and deal with the feelings later. As long as they kept moving, they had a chance.

  “You, too,” she said with a challenging glare.

  That was good. Her voice had been strong. She wasn’t dead weight. Forcing air into her lungs, she concentrated on her surroundings. Breath. Focus. She was growing accustomed to the heightened level of stress.

  Together they raced toward the street, and she surveyed the scene through her dad’s eyes. That’s how Corbin would be reacting. There wasn’t much traffic, which was both an advantage and a disadvantage. The deserted streets limited civilian encounters but lacked feasible opportunities for cover.

  He glanced up at the street sign and cut north.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” she asked.

  He’d given her pretty specific directions earlier.

  “I worked a case in Minneapolis, St. Paul. I have some knowledge of the area.”

  The night was cold, but she didn’t feel the chill or the wind. Her coat was inadequate for the conditions, but as long as they were running, she’d be fine.

  A garbage truck drove by, and they used the bulk and noise to cover their path to the next corner. The truck flashed its turn signal, and they raced down the street in the opposite direction.

  Her heart hammering, she glanced around. “Where are they?”

  “I’m guessing they circled back to retrieve their car,” Corbin said. “Wheels have the advantage. Which means we’ll need to get some distance in the next few minutes.”

  “Who are they?” Beth tightened her grip on his hand. “How did they find us?”

  “It’s the same two from the parking garage.” Dodging left, he turned down an alley and urged them into the shadows. “The guy you bludgeoned just now, I think his first name is Van. The surname listed on his identity, Smith, is a little too convenient. Probably a cover. They were posing as FBI agents earlier this evening. I’m guessing they planned on picking you up at Quetech. When they caught you alone in the garage, they took the opportunity.”

  Corbin whipped off his coat before hastily wrapping the material around his arm.

  Her chest seized. He was bleeding. In all the commotion, she’d forgotten the initial shot. She’d been crouching behind the shelter of a pillar. Waiting.

  She stared in mute horror at the traces of his blood dripping from his fingertips.

  “You’re hurt!” She gasped.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Headlights trolled past the opposite end of the alley.

  He pressed Beth behind a dumpster overflowing with rancid fruit, out of sight. “Sorry for the smell.”

  “I choose life.” She held her hoodie sleeve over her nose. “I’ll worry about the smell later.”

  Keeping a hair’s breadth between them, he blocked her from the lights and the worst of the wind. Everything else faded into the background. The weather. The temperature. Only the strong feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips remained. She shoved her fear aside and concentrated on the next few minutes. They were on foot. They were in the open. They were vulnerable. Attack each problem in turn.

  “Follow Me. Close,” he ordered gently.

  Her shoes skidded over discarded kitchen scraps, half-frozen to the pavement. “Don’t worry. I’m stuck to you like glue.”

  He had the gun and the training, after all. The next time he needed to audit his accountant, she’d return the favor. For now, she’d follow his lead. He was the expert.

  “How far can you run?” he asked.

  She could jog for miles, but a sustained sprint took more energy. “Full-out? About six blocks.”

  He took her hand once more. “Let’s go.”

  They dashed between the two buildings, then crossed the street and disappeared beneath the trees of an area marked as Mears Park. He cut a diagonal toward the next street. A sign for Lowertown Foods glowed in the darkness. The late hour meant the building was virtually empty. He led her inside. The lights were jarring, and she blinked, adjusting to the glare.

  “Keep your head down,” Corbin whispered.

  Her face angled, she clutched his arm in the role of infatuated girlfriend. Just a couple of people out for a midnight stroll. Nothing to see here, folks.

  The cashier glanced up, but there was no security guard in sight. They wove their way through pallets of shrink-wrapped merchandise blocking the aisles. The double stock doors were propped open, and they slipped thro
ugh unnoticed. Corbin led them out the back exit and into a courtyard.

  The next block over was a well-lit, open parking lot with no cover. She focused on her breathing once more. They were easy targets in the open.

  Corbin paused long enough to study her face. “Holding up?”

  She’d have preferred to be in a hot bath while sipping a cup of tea and reading a novel. She kept that information to herself. Once they stopped moving, they were a bull’s-eye.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice only slightly breathless. She adjusted the straps of her backpack. “Don’t worry about me. Get us out of here.”

  Her breath puffed vapor into the chill night air. She was frightened but determined, and she refused to be the weak link between them. They weren’t getting caught because she couldn’t keep up.

  He led them across the next street and beneath the awning of an office building. A truck whizzed past, and they ducked into the receded entry. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The driver was older. The glow of a streetlight shimmered off the windshield. A gray-haired man hunched over the steering wheel. Not their pursuers.

  The stoplight at the end of the block halted traffic, but the row of cars had a clear sight line of any movement. She caluclated the odds the two men were in the line of cars. Her pulse jumped. The odds were excellent.

  She tugged on Corbin’s sleeve. “We need cover.”

  “Or a distraction.”

  He yanked on the chrome door handle, and a high-pitched alarm screamed into the night. Corbin winced.

  Her hands hovering over her ears, Beth cringed. “Why did you do that?”

  “Like I said. Distraction. Let’s go.”

  They skirted around the building while remaining hidden in the shadows. Even with the alarm blaring in the background, Corbin’s harsh breathing sounded loud beside her. She was reaching the end of her endurance, but she wasn’t about to admit as much. She’d find the reserves of strength somewhere.

  Corbin pointed. “There.”

  A painted sign read Alary’s. The pub was in the middle of a line of attached nondescript turn-of-the-century buildings. Front and back exits. No access from the sides. Sirens sounded in the distance. Corbin’s plan was working.