Corbin guided her through a maze of towering pumpkins. There were colorful scarecrows pointing the way to different attractions, along with several wooden cutouts. A laughing couple posed behind a pressboard cutout of a pumpkin carriage complete with gingham curtains on the windows.
“But how’d they know we’d get off in Minneapolis?” Beth asked.
“They probably didn’t. They had to reach each stop ahead of us and wait. At least they don’t know who I am. That works to our advantage. They don’t know you’ve been in contact with Homeland Security.”
A large sign cut in the shape of a hand pointed the way to the Moaning River. Nice touch for a fall-themed festival.
He squinted into the distance. “This way.”
The festival was crowded for the weekend, and people jostled around them. An animatronic band in tattered Old West clothing played a jarring bluegrass tune from a wooden stage. The smell of kettle corn, roasted turkey legs and apple cider combined to form an odor that might have been an air freshener marked “fall festival.”
Despite the events of the past two days, the festive mood of the crowd was contagious.
A dejected-looking preteen scuffed the dirt packed road. “I can’t believe the corn maze isn’t open yet.”
His mother rolled her eyes. “They’re behind schedule. We’ll come back again another time.”
“You always say stuff like that, but you never mean it,” the teenager complained.
The mother’s lips pursed. “I said we’ll come back, and we’ll come back.”
“I didn’t expect it to be this crowded,” Corbin muttered beside her. “Who knew so many people liked pumpkins? Even if someone had followed us this far, they’d never find us.” He paused before a small shack offering fresh mini donuts. “We didn’t get to finish our breakfast this morning. We’ll eat ’em while we walk. Won’t slow us down.”
“All right,” she conceded with a shrug. “Since we’re already here, we might as well.”
The donuts turned out to be as wonderful as the waitress had predicted. They were crisp and sugary on the outside, and warm and soft on the inside. The worker served them a heaping pile in a square paper bowl.
“These are almost worth dying for,” Beth sighed. “Almost.”
They joined the tide of people moving in a general direction of Moaning River. Along the way they passed a pyramid of pumpkins, a pen containing goats, and a large barn-like building called the “pie hut.”
Corbin polished off the last of the donuts, flipped over the square basket, and tapped the remaining sugar into a trash bin. Moaning River wound its way through the festival grounds, passing beneath a picturesque covered bridge.
He fished the makeup compact from his pocket. “We’re going to set this a sail.”
“Is there any chance of removing the tracking device first?” She gazed longingly at the expensive purchase. “I haven’t even used that compact.”
“It’s been glued down. I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”
“Fine,” she grumbled.
That was the least of her worries, after all.
Corbin moved to the water’s edge and crouched. He placed the compact in the donut-bowl-turned-boat and launched them both down the stream. Heavy fall rains had swollen the banks, and the makeshift boat danced merrily along with the current.
“That should throw them off the trail for a little while.” Corbin stuffed his hands back in his pockets and gestured with his bent elbow. “Come along. We’ll get some caramel apples for the road.”
She kept her gaze averted. “What happens next?”
“Everything depends on what information you were able to retrieve from the Quetech computers. Until your email arrives, we’re in a holding pattern.”
“What do we do while we’re waiting?”
“We’ll drive at least as far as Chicago tonight. Farther if I can stay awake.”
“Chicago?” She gaped. “You probably only slept four or five hours last night. And your arm. You were shot. Shouldn’t we stay here another night? Shouldn’t we rest or something?”
“I don’t need much sleep. Besides, Chicago is just the first stop. If nothing has changed by then, we’ll keep going to Virginia. It’s going to be a grueling trip. Homeland Security will need to trace the evidence you discovered.”
“What’s this all about, anyway?” She paused beside a rabbit pen containing a row of miniature wooden buildings marked Bunnyville. “What do you think the terrorist cell is targeting?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll stop them before they can execute the plan. They’ve been getting money to operate. We’ll follow the money. Oldest trick in the book.”
Though the two goons were still out there, discovering the tracking device had released a huge pressure. Between that and knowing the two men had been forced to ditch their car, both of them felt the change. As though a great weight had been lifted. They walked in companionable silence back through the festival grounds. There were loads of families out for the day, and the mood was infectious.
While Corbin laughed at a puppet, his eyes were constantly scanning the crowd. He remained vigilant and watchful.
She turned and collided with a woman holding a cup of cider. The scalding liquid splashed over her coat. Beth shrieked and held the soaked material away from her skin.
“I’m so sorry!” the woman dabbed at the spot with a ridiculously small napkin.
“Don’t worry.” Beth fanned the material. “It was my fault.”
The woman murmured more apologies before scurrying off.
“You all right?” Corbin asked.
“I’ll smell great for the ride,” she offered wryly. “I need to dry off.”
“There’s a bathroom near the exit.”
The scalding liquid quickly cooled, and she was shivering by the time they reached the low building. She ducked into the bathroom and rinsed off the apple cider as best she could, then held her coat under the hand drier. The powerful burst of air sent the material rippling. Ten minutes later, she emerged into the chill, overcast afternoon once more. The coat was stained, but mostly dry.
She took a step, and someone snatched her arm.
The round barrel of a gun pressed into her side. Blood roared in her ears. She jerked away, but the hand wrapped around her upper arm tightened like a steel vice.
“Move,” the fraudulent agent from the train station spoke, his voice low. “Don’t even think about giving me any trouble. If I have to shoot, the bullet is liable to go right through you and hit some poor, innocent bystander. You wouldn’t that now, would you?”
TEN
Corbin caught sight of Van and lunged.
A woman pushing a stroller passed in front of him. He jerked. His knee twisted, and he hopped awkwardly to one side, managing to avoid a collision at the last second. The baby in the stroller grinned at his antics. The mother glared. The delay cost him.
By the time Corbin righted himself, Van had his hand pressed against Beth’s side. Holding a gun, no doubt. A shock of wild anguish roared through Corbin. He’d underestimated their growing desperation. Where were the extra patrols? The security checks at the gate? Someone had failed in their responsibility, and Beth was paying the price.
Corbin ducked behind a rowdy crowd of teenagers. At least he hadn’t blown his cover. Van was focused on navigating the crowd, not looking around for Beth’s “boyfriend.” No second man was visible, either. Raynor and Van must have separated to search the festival.
He wrestled his wayward emotions and rapidly calculated his options. Van couldn’t do anything now. Not with this many witnesses. Which bought Corbin some time. Currently, his only choice was to watch and wait. Though frustrated, he kept his pace measured.
They were near an exit, but Van was urging Beth in the opposite direction. Corbin followed them, keeping close wa
tch, and icy focus took hold of him. Assess. Execute. They weren’t leaving the fairgrounds with Beth.
Thankfully, the crowd of rowdy teenagers cooperated. As long as they were heading in the same direction, he had cover.
Beth’s head swung from side to side, looking for him, no doubt, and his stomach plummeted. There was no way to signal her. Not without giving himself away.
He separated himself from his feelings. Nothing good came of clouded judgment. She wouldn’t risk running. There were too many families. Too many children. If Van started firing in this crowd, he’d kill someone for certain, though he’d never escape. Not through the congested parking lot. Corbin forced a calm he didn’t feel. He’d have to bide his time for a better opportunity.
When the two were forced to stop for a clanging, steam-blowing train full of waving kids, he risked moving closer.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Van demanded.
The man turned, and Corbin easily sidestepped behind a lanky teen.
“He’s, um, gone,” Beth said.
“Gone where?”
Van pulled her near the cheerful red barn of a petting zoo and retrieved his phone.
The teenagers kept walking. Corbin quickly ducked behind the barn door. A goat butted against his pant leg, and he absently scratched the animal behind the ears. He angled his head, and the slots in the door provided a narrow view of the two.
Van typed something on his phone. Alerting his partner, most likely.
“After the train station,” Beth said, “my boyfriend got nervous. We had a fight. He took off.”
Clever ploy. They’d be less alert if they thought she was alone.
“How’d you find me?” she asked.
“Got lucky,” Van replied. “Had to ditch the car, though. Someone called in an APB on the plates.”
They knew they’d been made. They were definitely paying off someone low level in law enforcement. But they were still attempting to finish the job. Corbin stored that nugget of information for future reference.
“What’s your angle, lady?” Van demanded, his gaze focused on the glowing screen in his palm. “I thought you were going to the Feds until I realized you checked into the hotel under an assumed name. What are you after? Blackmail?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t make this hard on yourself. I need to know who you talked to. Who else did you share the information with? Did you tell your boyfriend about us after the train station?”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” she replied, a heart-wrenching tremor of fear in her voice.
The goat nibbled on the hem of his coat. Corbin glared, but the animal only bleated in return. He resumed petting, and the bleating stopped.
“Blackmailer,” he muttered.
Van stowed his phone in his pocket and urged her back into the crowd. With no rowdy teenagers readily apparent, Corbin made do with a pack of family members laughing and pulling toddler-filled red wagons in a chaotic line.
Keeping pace proved easy. Van was in no hurry to exit the festival. Which was good since the family providing Corbin his cover was progressing with all the direction and purpose of a herd of cats. He bided his time, following within a safe distance. Van seemed to have taken Beth at her word. He wasn’t keeping a very sharp vigil. Corbin wasn’t exactly making himself invisible.
One of the toddlers in the group ahead of him dropped a stuffed bunny. Corbin ducked and retrieved the toy, then jogged to catch up. The toddler grinned and snatched the battered bunny with one chubby fist, stuffing the other in his mouth. The mother thanked Corbin before tugging her child in the opposite direction. As they passed several attractions, the crowds started to thin. Corbin hung farther back. The spots for cover were growing scarce. All Van had to do was turn around, and he’d easily spot someone tailing him.
Corbin was going to have to make his move soon.
The reason for the smaller crowds soon became apparent. A large sign reading Maze Closed Due to Weather blocked their path. A tower of hay bales marked the entrance, and Van dragged Beth behind the display.
Corbin glanced around. This was his last chance. He wasn’t risking gunfire, though. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.
Van didn’t know that. Corbin yanked his weapon from the holster. He edged around the stack of hay bales. Voices sounded.
He couldn’t wait. The second man would arrive any minute, and a second man lowered his odds of success.
Taking a deep breath, he considered his options. He’d have to launch himself and hope that if Van fired, the shot would go wide. In the unfortunate circumstances he was hit, at least the bullet wouldn’t take him down immediately. All he had to do was stay on his feet long enough to reach Van. Long enough to get off his own shot, if necessary.
He whipped around the corner. Beth caught sight of him first and jerked away.
Van swung around to confront Corbin, but it was already too late. Corbin was halfway to his goal.
Caught off balance, Van stumbled. His hand flailed, bringing the gun around. Too slow. Corbin’s momentum carried him forward. The two struggled. He pulled away and cracked his pistol across the man’s temple. Van crumpled, one hand clutching Beth’s arm, dragging her down with him.
Then there was silence. Absolute. Deafening silence. His breath caught in his throat, and he patted his chest. Van hadn’t had time to pull the trigger. Corbin went down on one knee. He kicked away the gun and reached for Beth.
She clutched his arm, her face turned away. The fragile defenses he’d erected collapsed. He wanted to take her somewhere he knew she would be safe. Anywhere but here. He wanted to hold her so close that nothing could ever harm her. He wanted to protect, shield her, keep her by his side.
He realized his hands were shaking with the force of emotion pouring through him.
All the barriers he’d put in place between his feelings and his actions crumbled. There was nothing left. Nothing holding back the tide of longing. He’d been denying himself for so long, the emotions were overpowering.
He loosened his hold and set her away from him, tightening his hands into fists. Focus. He needed to focus. They were still vulnerable. Beth was still at risk. This place was crawling with families and children.
Worry clouded her face. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Great. Now she was asking him if he was all right. He had some serious soul-searching to do after this was all over.
He schooled his expression. “Fine. You?”
“I think so.” She glanced around. “We have to get out of here. The other one is coming. Van texted him. He’s meeting him here.”
Corbin searched for a viable exit. They needed cover. They needed to circle back to the car. The most obvious exit provided neither. He wasn’t risking any bystanders.
Van groaned and stirred. They were running out of time.
“My kingdom for a pair of handcuffs,” Corbin muttered.
There was no way to disable the man.
Beth focused on something in the distance and paled. “I think I see the other one. He’s coming right toward us.”
“C’mon. We’ll take the maze.”
“The maze?”
“It’s good cover. And it’s closed. No civilians.”
“Fine. But you should know I have a terrible sense of direction. I once got lost in a shopping mall.”
Her nervous chatter was almost comforting, and he fell back on his training. Anticipate the enemies’ movements, evaluate a counterattack.
“Stay close,” he ordered gently.
Together they skirted around the barrier. The stalks were tall, towering at least two feet over them, and the color of burlap. The leaves were dense, providing good cover, though the ground was slick from the recent frost.
Corbin dodged around a corner and ducked le
ft, Beth close on his heels. They came to a dead end and halted.
Someone was crashing through the stalks near them. Corbin gripped her hand and they plunged through the tall stalks in the opposite direction. The crisp, dry leaves sounded like cannon fire, signaling their location. The maze was too overgrown. The paths hadn’t been cleared well.
Beth turned one way, and he tugged on her hand. “No. We can’t go toward the festival grounds. We have to lead them away in case they start shooting.”
“I told you I had a bad sense of direction.”
“Let’s go,” he said.
They ran down an aisle and someone burst on to the trail before them. Raynor. Corbin’s heart jerked in his chest. Raynor aimed his gun at them, and Corbin dove to the side, shielding Beth with his body.
The bullet tore through the leaves above him, raining bits of burlap-colored leaves over their heads. He forced air into his lungs and assumed a calm he didn’t feel. Shooting at a moving target was harder than it looked in the movies. They had the advantage.
Together they raced down the path and wove their way deeper into the maze. After a few minutes, they emerged into a large, open area with a two-story tower in the center that overlooked the maze.
“I’m going to see if I can spot him,” he said. “I should be able to search the whole maze from that tower.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“Fine. But stay low.”
The slats were close together on the railing in deference to small children, providing them with good cover. They maneuvered up the stairs and crouched. Acres of corn slashed with zigzagging paths stretched out before them to dizzying lengths. The maze was enormous. The sign had advertised ten acres. Corbin scanned the rows, searching for any sign of movement.
“There.” Beth pointed. “I see him.”
“Got it.”
Raynor was a distance away, the rustle of leaves marking the man’s position.
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