No Safe Place

by Sherri Shackelford

  The lot sat on a corner between a Mexican restaurant and an abandoned gas station. Thirty or so vehicles in various stages of rusty, dented disrepair were neatly parked in diagonal slots. Most of them featured enormous balloons attached to the hoods, and several sported signs declaring the slogans: Runs Great! Low Miles! Automatic Transmission!

  Corbin tented his hand and peered through a windshield. “I wanted someone who doesn’t mind dealing in cash, and who doesn’t feel the need to ask a lot of probing questions.”

  “Someone who advertises an automatic transmission?” Beth tugged on a balloon string. She pictured Sam Cross’s smiling face, his son in his arms, and her smile faded. “They must be using the advertising signs from the eighties.”

  “I guess there was nothing else good to say.”

  “Now I’m worried.” She let go of the string, and the balloon bobbed back into place. “That was nice what you did, for the clerk back there.”

  The hotel clerk’s quick thinking had saved them a lot of time and trouble. Corbin’s superior had run the car plates through the system. The security camera from the train station and the parking garage had revealed the same sedan.

  Same plates. Same car. Same men.

  The police had found the car almost immediately, though not the two men. They were on alert, but confident they’d be captured soon. Discovering the abandoned car had narrowed the search parameters. Either way, the loss of the car was bound to slow down the men. With the threat mitigated, they’d decided to purchase transportation. Corbin had chosen to keep their names off the radar. While she appreciated his caution, all the extra safeguards felt redundant.

  “Nothing nice about it,” Corbin said. He felt beneath the fender of the nearest car and retracted his hand. Rust flakes coated his fingertips. “The kid has good instincts. He was reading a spy novel while I was doing the crossword puzzle this morning. Figured he was wasted in the hotel business.”

  “It’s freezing.” Beth blew a puff of warm air into her cupped hands. “I should have waited for the California Zephyr and gone south.”

  “We’ll buy you a new coat as soon as I finish here.” He crouched and touched the dented fender of a Runs Great! Ford Eclipse. “Why’d you change your mind about going south in the first place?”

  “The parking garage. After those men found me, I decided to change course.”

  He stood and dusted his hands. “Thought it was me.”

  “That, too.”

  Corbin’s expression grew intense. He was studying her, as though trying to divine her thoughts. He needn’t have bothered. Her thoughts were simple. She wanted this over. She wanted to go back to work at another company where nobody remembered her name.

  Her heart sank. No. That wasn’t true, either. She was tired of being anonymous. She wanted to feel as though she was a part of something bigger. While she enjoyed her work, moving from company to company had left her feeling empty. If only Timothy was here. He’d have some words or wisdom or some excellent advice. He’d known everything there was to know about the business of forensic accounting.

  What she really wanted was to feel as though something she did made a difference to the greater good. That her work mattered.

  Shivering, she blew another puff of air into her hands. “I’m buying a pair of gloves, too.”

  Corbin slipped out of his jacket and wrapped the material around her shoulders.

  The lingering heat from his body immediately cocooned her in comforting warmth.

  She attempted to shrug away. “I can’t.”

  “I insist.”

  Too cold to argue, she merely nodded. If he didn’t mind freezing, she didn’t mind sharing his coat. She inhaled, and his comforting masculine scent filled her senses.

  While she hopped from foot to foot to keep warm, he wove through the parked cars, his breath blowing clouds into the chill morning air. Though his bandage showed through the tear in his sleeve, the stains were gone. She pictured him rinsing out his shirt in the cramped hotel sink, and her stomach did an odd little flip.

  The time and temperature scrolled past on the bank display across the street. “I thought this dealership was supposed to open at eight?”

  “Let’s give them another fifteen minutes.”

  Though the cars might not be in very good repair, someone cared enough to attach balloons and slogans. Five minutes passed before a tall, thin man wearing a tight, shiny suit appeared.

  He caught sight of them and started. “What a lovely beginning to the day.” He clapped his hands together and threaded his fingers. “I’m Frank. What can I do for you, folks?”

  Corbin gestured toward the third car in the line nearest to him. “I’d like to look at that one.”

  “Let me get the keys.”

  After a quick test drive and inspection, Corbin offered a clipped, “We’ll take it.”

  The 1994 Honda Prelude had a rusted fender, nearly two-hundred-thousand miles on the speedometer and a five-speed transmission. The gray interior matched the gray exterior, and the upholstery smelled slightly stale with an overlay of linen air freshener.

  Beth whispered near his ear. “Can we afford that?”

  “It’s less than two tickets to Brussels.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means I’ll be reimbursed for what I withdrew from the ATM this morning.”

  “All right,” the dealer said, naming a price. “You’re getting a great deal.”

  Corbin shook his head. “That’s not what your advertisement said.”

  “Well, that was before. Turns out, I got another buyer on the line for that price.” The dealer splayed his hands. “But I like you. So if you want to pay a little extra, I’m willing to let it go to you. That’s a good car. Solid. It’s still a fair price.”

  Corbin braced his legs apart and crossed his arms. Beth cast an uneasy glance between the two men. They’d discussed their financial situation on the way over. They were sticking to cash as much as possible to avoid leaving a cyber trail. They didn’t have enough for sticker price, but the amount Corbin had offered seemed reasonable, given the car’s condition.

  They also didn’t have a lot of time to waste.

  “Let the other guy have the car.” Thinking quickly, Beth threaded her hand through the crook of Corbin’s elbow and batted her eyelashes. “I don’t like it, anyway, honey. It’s too boring.” She rubbed her hand up his arm, careful to glide over the bandaged area. “I liked the red one from the other dealership better. It’s cute. And red.”

  Though she’d done plenty of public speaking in her career, the idea of pretending to be someone else had never held much appeal. Wearing Corbin’s suit jacket, her freezing toes becoming tiny blocks of ice and the tip of her nose going numb, she warmed right up to the new role.

  Corbin startled before a hint of a grin appeared. He wrapped his arm around her waist and stared into her eyes. “You know I can’t deny you anything, Snickerdoodle. If you want the red car, we’ll get the red car.”

  He was playing along, which helped, but she was really going to have to sell the ruse for this to work. Assuming a flirtatious smile, she walked her fingers across Corbin’s chest. “You know red is my favorite color, darling.”

  Beth capped the declaration with a slight pout.

  Corbin caught her fingers and pressed them against his lips. “How could I forget, sugar?”

  The dealer was watching them with a deepening frown, the heel of his shiny shoe tapping, as though trying to decide if they were sincere or not. Beth gauged his response. Might as well lay it on a bit thicker. Not like they had anything to lose. She was freezing, and the sooner they bought a car, the sooner they could be on their way.

  Nothing to be embarrassed about. After all, this wasn’t Beth Greenwood behaving in such a ridiculous fashion, this was her alter ego.

 
Holding Corbin’s arm for balance, she rose on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Except he turned. She hadn’t been expecting him to turn. Their lips met, and her eyes flew open. A flock of butterflies took flight in her stomach. The kiss was quick.

  The next instant he set her away from him. He stared at her, his expression one of brooding intensity, as though he was puzzling out a riddle. Her hand remained pressed against his chest, against the rapid beating of his heart. The rhythm matched her own.

  “Wait.” The dealer held up his hands. “You’re killing me, but I’ll take the hit. Let me get the paperwork.”

  Beth stifled a gasp. Oh, dear. She’d gotten a bit lost in the role.

  “Nah.” Corbin tightened the arm holding her waist and backed them away. “The lady likes red. Could you deny her anything?”

  He gazed at her again, the mask firmly back in place. With a light, flirtatious smile on his lips and amusement shimmering in his blue eyes, he winked.

  “No. I mean, uh, yes,” the dealer stuttered. “I have a red Pontiac Vibe.”

  He gestured vaguely in the direction of a car with a bobbing yellow balloon and an Automatic Transmission! sign.

  “I don’t think so,” Corbin guided her toward the street. “Not even the color red can make a Vibe cool.”

  “Um.” The dealer snapped his fingers. “How about I knock something off the price of the Honda? You know, to make up for the color.”

  She held her breath for Corbin’s reply. They didn’t exactly have the upper hand. She widened her eyes at Corbin, willing him to relent.

  “I don’t know.” Corbin shook his head. “What do you think, Snickerdoodle?”

  “Hmm.” To put some space between them, she strolled to the car and peered in the window, then made a show of slowly circling around the front. “The Honda does have a cup holder armrest.”

  “That’s mighty compelling.” Corbin splayed his arms. “It’s up to you, darling.”

  He winked again. He was giving her a signal. She sensed he was willing her to capitulate. Though no words were spoken between them, she’d become attuned to his moods. To his facial expressions. Never before had she been this instantly in sync with someone else. The feeling was heady. As though there was an invisible connection between them.

  While her brain knew they were only playacting, her pulse thrummed. “Then let’s buy the Honda.”

  “Absolutely, ma’am.” The dealer grinned and hightailed it to the office before they changed their minds. He paused on the threshold. “I’ll even throw in a balloon with the deal. Let me just get the paperwork started. I’ll put on a pot of coffee, too.”

  Once he was out of earshot, Beth gave Corbin the side eye. “Snickerdoodle?”

  “It was either that or Pop-Tart.”

  “You’re right.” She laughed. “I much prefer Snickerdoodle.”

  “At least we got a balloon out of the deal.” Her expression fell, and Corbin grasped her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  “Every time I see a balloon, I think of Sam’s son holding that balloon in the picture.”

  She’d been playacting. Enjoying herself when others were in mourning. Sam’s family was devastated. They’d be calling his son at UCLA to break the news. There’d be tears. Policemen. Confusion. A family had been destroyed, and here she was, behaving as though nothing had changed.

  Everything had changed. She could never go back to the person she was before this all started.

  “I’m going to find out who killed Sam.” Corbin gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Someone will pay. I promise you that.”

  “I know you will.”

  She didn’t doubt his word. That wasn’t the problem. She questioned her responsibility in Sam’s death. If she’d asked for help earlier, would he still be alive? In her quest to save herself, had she caused the death of another?

  “No,” Corbin’s voice interrupted her troubled thoughts. “Don’t think like that.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “Even if you’d gone to the FBI immediately, there was nothing linking Sam to the money laundering. He’d have been vulnerable even if you had come to me sooner.”

  Astonished, she stared at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Maybe you do know what I’m thinking.”

  “Once the FBI tracks the information you discovered at Quetech, we’ll find the people who killed Sam. No matter what happens, his death had nothing to do with the choices you made. For all we know, he interrupted a burglar.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  The eyes behind his glasses grew hooded. “No.”

  “Me, neither.”

  He might have said something more, but the dealer returned, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. She remained silent, caught in her troubled thoughts, while Corbin signed for the car.

  No matter what Corbin said, she’d never know whether or not her choices had set off the chain of events that had led to Sam’s murder.

  Whatever happened, she was done running. She was done hiding. No one else was going to be hurt because of the choices she’d made. Least of all Corbin. She’d started this process alone, and that’s how she’d end things.

  Her stomach pitched. Even if that meant running again.

  EIGHT

  An hour later, Corbin was driving the slightly musty-smelling Honda through the light weekend traffic. They’d stopped to buy a couple of burner phones and memorized each other’s numbers.

  Corbin glanced at a sign visible from the interstate. “Let’s pull over and get some new clothes. I don’t feel like washing these out in the sink again tonight.”

  “Agreed,” Beth said immediately.

  He drummed his finger on the steering wheel and considered his apology. The show of acting at the car dealership had gotten a little too personal. He couldn’t read Beth’s thoughts well enough to guess if she was angry, embarrassed, or scared of him—and he wasn’t quite certain how to put her at ease.

  “Hey, um,” he began, “about what happened back there—”

  “I am so sorry,” she rushed ahead over his words. “That was all my fault. I only meant to kiss your cheek. I figured if that guy looked too close, he’d realize we didn’t belong together.”

  Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that hadn’t topped his list. “Why not?”

  “Why not what?”

  He thought they were just fine together. “Why don’t we belong together?”

  “Well, uh, you know. People in relationships tend to match each other. You know, they wear similar styles of clothing. You were dressed in work clothes. Good quality. I had on jeans and a hoodie. Even if they don’t realize it, most people take note of those things on some level. I could tell he was suspicious of us.”

  That made sense. No reason to get his back up. “You have good instincts.”

  “That’s why I was exaggerating the role. I figured if he was uncomfortable with our public affection, he’d be less likely to notice we didn’t belong together.”

  “Your plan worked.” Corbin had certainly been distracted. “We got a good price on the car.”

  “I’m sorry, though, about, well, you know. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable.”

  The heater in the Honda really worked well. He turned down the temperature. “Not uncomfortable. Don’t worry. I, uh, meant to apologize, as well. I was, uh, trying to cover my surprise and may have reacted with a little too much enthusiasm.”

  The enthusiasm had less to do with his surprise, and more to do with his emotions taking over his good sense. Something that seemed to be happening far too often these days.

  “Then we’re good?” she asked with an overly chipper grin.

  He’d been so uncomfortable with his part in the conversation, he hadn’t realized she was suffering from her own embarr
assment. “We’re good. No worries.”

  To his immense relief, navigating the busy parking lot gave him a much-needed distraction. The large discount store featured clothing and home goods on one side, and groceries on the other. They could get everything they needed in one place.

  Inside, he paused before the men’s clothing section and stared at the rack. A sudden exhaustion overwhelmed him. He loathed shopping. All he needed was a quick change of clothing, but even that seemed troublesome. He rubbed his temple.

  Beth tilted her head. “What?”

  “I don’t like shopping.” He liked it even less when he considered that Beth was staring at him. “That’s the nice thing about being in the military. The uniforms. You don’t have to decide what to wear.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that the man who took a bullet yesterday is balking at the thought of picking out clothes?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” He lifted a shirt from the rack and set it back down again. “Maybe I’ll look at jeans first.” He turned toward the display and groaned. “When I was a kid, there were three choices of jeans. They didn’t figure men needed any more than three choices. What changed? Why did it change?”

  Beth covered her eyes and shook her head. “All right, tough guy, I’ll tell you what—why don’t you let me pick out a few things for you?”

  “All right.” A vague, annoying sense of unease skittered through him. He didn’t know if that was better or worse than picking things out for himself. Probably worse. He’d never been particularly fond of his mom’s choice of clothing, and she was the last person who’d ever bought him anything to wear. “But nothing too colorful. Or tight, or—”

  Beth held up a hand. “Just relax. We’ll get through this together.” She reached for a neon-orange hoodie. “Too much?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’m joking. Did your mom force you to wear Toughskins when you were growing up?”

  The tips of his ears heated. “Something like that.”

  She’d made him and Evan wear matching outfits on Christmas Eve until they’d gotten old enough to rebel.