Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  “Yeah.” He cranks a hard right and puts on the brakes. “Well, here we are.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” I reach for the handle.

  “No problem. And Stormy? Thanks. I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this for a while. It helps.”

  I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take his word for it. “Any time. We all need someone to talk to.”

  I close the door and head for the hotel.

  We all need someone. Sure we do. If that’s true, why can’t I take my own advice?

  I’m a fake. A charlatan. I talk a good game, but have I been genuine with anyone I’ve met here?

  No.

  All they’ve seen is the mask I want them to see. A mask that I wear all too convincingly.

  A mask that leaves me feeling as empty as my memories.

  Would it really be so bad to let someone in? Maybe. I don’t know why, but I can’t shake the feeling that telling someone, anyone, about what’s happened would be a death sentence.

  For me. And maybe for them.

  Until I know more about who I am and what happened to bring me to this point, I can’t confide in anyone. Not even someone as seemingly trustworthy as Zak.

  Because really, I can’t trust anyone. And no one should trust me.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  Run. Hide.

  The thoughts stampede through my head like wild mustangs as I race down the dark hallway.

  Closed doors fly by on both sides in a seemingly endless tunnel.

  No matter how far I run, I keep passing more doors, never drawing any closer to the wide, carpeted staircase I know is just ahead.

  The office has never seemed this large before.

  I’ve been in this building a million times, but never like this. Never soaking wet in the middle of the night, running for my life.

  My bare feet make no noise on the carpet. Heels in one hand, clutch in the other, my thoughts focus on one thing – getting out.

  Footsteps pound behind me.

  I may have taken that man down, but he didn’t stay down long.

  He’s taller than I am. Hopefully not faster.

  If he catches me, I’m dead. I know too much.

  I reach the stairs and head down, taking them two at a time. If I can just reach the emergency exit, it’ll set off the alarms.

  It’s my only hope.

  Whipping around a corner, I slam into something hard. Stale cigarette smoke invades my senses.

  It’s not a something, it’s someone.

  I flail, trying to regain my balance as I teeter on my bare feet.

  A large hand closes around my bicep and jerks me upright.

  “You okay?” A gruff voice grates from above me.

  That man is right behind me! I have to get away or we’re both dead.

  I glance at the man holding my arm. The lighting is too dim to make out more than vague shapes. About the only thing that registers is his size – bigger and broader than me.

  He shouldn’t be here. With that man after me, neither of us should be here.

  “Let go.” I shove against him and dart to the side.

  Not three steps later, he captures my arm.

  I fist my free hand and swing. He blocks it easily.

  “Cool it, will you?” His tone is one part soothing, the other part irritated. Mostly irritated. “I’m with the FBI.”

  FBI? Really?

  I stop struggling.

  “I’m Agent Strand.” He releases me, but doesn’t reach for ID. “What’s going on?”

  Strand? I know Strand.

  But is it really him? “Step into the light.”

  A sigh heaves in the darkness. He drags me a few steps where the area is illuminated by the exit sign.

  The lightning shaped scar on his cheek identifies him easily.

  What’s he doing here?

  Who cares? At least he’s armed.

  “Behind me. A man. He killed…” The words come out in short bursts as I struggle to draw in air.

  “That a fact.”

  Did he not hear me say someone was dead? How can he be…?

  Wait a second. There’s no reason he should have connected me with this place. He should be surprised to see me here, but he’s not. Why is that?

  He’s in on it.

  The truth is so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner! It’s the only way he could be in my father’s secured facility in the middle of the night.

  I spin and kick.

  He dodges, snagging my ankle and jerking me off balance.

  The wall fills my vision, my chin slamming against it with enough force to rattle my teeth.

  Pain shoots through my jaw. I feel my shoes and clutch slipping from my fingers but can’t seem to hold onto them.

  He locks onto my arm and jerks me upright.

  The hallway spins. Buzzing fills my head.

  I blink several times and his face comes into focus.

  Narrowed eyes and a smug smile invade my vision. He thinks he has me beat. Well, I’ll show him.

  I strike a few well-aimed blows. He deflects every one.

  And releases my arm at the same time.

  I charge, burying my shoulder in his ribs. We tumble to the floor.

  I push to my feet, but only make it two steps before a hand closes around my ankle.

  The floor rushes up to greet me.

  A grating sound reaches my ears. It’s a sound I know all too well. A gun. Or, more specifically, someone racking the slide on a gun.

  I sit up to find the muzzle pointed at my face.

  “Get up. Slowly.”

  I obey.

  This is it. I’m dead.

  No. There’s a way out. I just have to find it.

  The other man comes up behind Strand. Strand doesn’t turn. “You couldn’t even stop a scrawny little woman?”

  “Hey, she’s tougher than she looks.” The man’s voice resembles a teenage girl’s in both pitch and tone.

  Strand motions with his weapon. “We’re goin’ for a ride. Get your shoes.”

  He edges aside and waves me toward where I dropped my shoes. I slip my feet into them, never removing my attention from my captors.

  All I need is a small opening…

  A cell phone rings. Strand’s gaze shifts toward the source of the noise.

  Good enough.

  I lash out with my foot, my heel connecting solidly with his gun hand. The gun spins across the room.

  Get the gun or get out?

  The gun.

  I rush toward it.

  A roar sounds behind me a second before something solid slams into me. I’m airborne for several seconds.

  I barely see the wall as I plummet toward it. Pain explodes across my head.

  And then there’s only blackness.

  I land hard on my right shoulder, my arm instantly numbing. My breath comes in short bursts as I look left, right, left again.

  No sign of the men.

  Beneath me, carpet. Beside me, a bed. My legs are slightly elevated, tangled around the sheets still tucked under the mattress.

  I’m in my hotel room.

  More importantly, I’m safe. For now.

  My hand shakes as I free my legs.

  Each breath shudders through my chest. I have to calm down.

  I turn on the nightstand lamp and lean back against the bed. My head pounds.

  As much as I want peace, the dream won’t stop replaying in my head.

  Not a dream. Memories.

  The details are too crisp, the feelings too vivid, the fear too intense, to be anything less than a memory. But how does it fit into what I already know?

  The whiny man’s voice sounded familiar. I think it’s one of the men who tried to kill me.

  Who was the other man? Was he really FBI?

  Yes. His name is Strand. And I’ve worked with him… maybe?

  That doesn’t feel right. I don’t think I’ve actually worked with him. I think I’ve given him
information.

  Yeah. He works cybercrimes. Does that mean I work cybercrimes, too?

  That doesn’t feel right either. So that must mean I’m a snitch. Or confidential informant, although technically it’s the same thing.

  Which means I’m probably involved in the very thing I’m ratting out, right?

  I recognized the sound of the gun. And my first instinct wasn’t to flee, but to get the gun. So I must know how to use it, right?

  And what was that about someone being killed?

  I don’t remember. If I knew someone was dead, shouldn’t I know who it was?

  I rub my temples.

  The FBI agent didn’t help me. In fact, he was working with the whiny voiced man who’s trying to kill me.

  Could I have misunderstood what I heard in the car? Maybe I was simply being arrested and took the things the men said the wrong way.

  No matter what I did or did not hear, one thing is clear. If that man is FBI, then the FBI and I are on opposite sides of the law.

  Which means I’m a criminal. There’s no other explanation, is there?

  That’s why I can’t go to the police.

  I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them as tears cloud my vision.

  I can’t go to anyone.

  I’m alone. Completely, utterly alone.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  Shadows engulf the Midnight Lounge. It hardly looks like the same place I’m used to seeing. I guess that’s what happens when you’re inside before opening.

  Unlike previous days, Charlie asked me to work an earlier shift today.

  Also unlike previous days, I’ll spend my whole shift working the bar.

  I smother a yawn.

  Ten-thirty a.m. isn’t that early, but after getting to bed so late, not to mention the nightmare that kept me up a good portion of the night, I’m dragging. And I have an eight hour shift ahead of me.

  The crypt-like silence surrounding me sends a shiver through my body.

  Voices murmur in the distance, but I can’t tell exactly where they’re coming from. Or who they belong to. At least it’s solid confirmation that I’m not completely alone in here.

  But where is everyone?

  There was no one in the employee locker area.

  I cross the darkened kitchen. Maybe in the restaurant?

  Pushing open the swinging doors, I take a half-dozen steps into the room.

  A few emergency lights cast the dining area in a ghostly hue. I’d turn on the lights, but I’m not sure where the switches are.

  You’d think I would’ve noticed Zak turning them off the last few nights, but obviously not.

  That’ll be the first thing I learn today.

  The booths lining the walls are so dark that there could be an army of assassins hiding there and I wouldn’t see them. The tables and chairs are little more than dark blobs.

  I feel like I’m in one of those cheap B-grade horror movies. All that’s missing is the creepy organ music and an axe-wielding psycho.

  At least I’m not blonde. Everyone knows the blonde girls never make it out alive.

  Okay, no one here. Maybe everyone’s in the offices.

  I turn toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, offices, and emergency exit. Light slivers through the shadows, confirming that at least someone is back there.

  Skirting a few tables, I approach the hall, round the corner, and smack into someone much bigger and broader than I am. The impact sends me staggering.

  A hand closes around my arm and helps steady me. “Hey, you okay?”

  An unfamiliar male voice.

  Old cigarette smoke.

  My heartbeat chokes me.

  It’s the man from my dream. No matter how unbelievable, it has to be him.

  He found me!

  Seven

  A scream rips from my mouth.

  The sound echoes in the room, scaring me even more.

  This is really happening! He’s going to kill me.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not–”

  “Let me go!” A note of hysteria lines my tone.

  He releases me suddenly and I reel backward. It’s too dark for me to adequately see him, but I bet he’s going for his gun.

  I’ve got to stop him.

  I drop to all fours and swing my leg around as hard as I can. It crashes against the back of his knees, sends him toppling toward the floor.

  As soon as he’s down, I pounce.

  Digging my knee into his back, I twist his arm around behind him.

  Footsteps pound from the direction of the hallway. Good. Hopefully it’s Charlie and everyone else in this place.

  “What are you doing?” The man gasps, his words muffled by the carpet beneath his head.

  What kind of stupid question is that? “Stopping you. You won’t kill me so easily.”

  “I never–”

  The lights click on and I blink against the sudden brightness.

  “What’s going on out here?” Charlie’s voice thunders above me.

  “Call the police!” I hate the near panic in my words. “This man–”

  “Is my son!”

  The words echo in the sudden silence. What is Charlie talking about?

  I look down at the man I have pinned to the floor. Light brown hair that’s a little shaggy, average build, a strong jaw.

  No lightning scar.

  The truth crashes over me seconds later. This isn’t the man from my dreams. I didn’t protect myself from a killer. Instead, I just attacked my boss’ son.

  The guy who didn’t know his mom was dying until she was gone. The guy who is a pastor in training. Drew.

  I release him and ease to my feet.

  Heat rushes through my face. I’m an idiot.

  How could I have allowed my fear to gain so much power over me?

  Even if that man from my dream, Agent Strand, had somehow managed to trace me to Reno, how would he have known to find me here? And how would he have gotten in before the restaurant opened?

  Aside from that, Drew’s voice had been kind, his touch gentle. There’d been no hint of malice there.

  And yet, I’d treated him like a thug.

  In front of all my coworkers.

  I think everyone in the building came when I screamed. The kitchen staff, wait staff, hostess, and Charlie.

  “I – I’m sorry.” It’s grossly inadequate, but what else can I say?

  Drew brushes off the front of his shirt. “No problem. That’s how I always meet girls.”

  Charlie’s lowered eyebrows and firm jaw tell me he’s not amused. “I’d like to see both of you in my office. Everyone else, get this place ready. We open in twenty minutes.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turns and limps down the hallway.

  What are the odds I could make a break for it?

  I follow him, in spite of my urge to run, sensing Drew behind me.

  Looks like I’ll be needing another job; I’m sure he’s going to fire me. I’d fire me if I were in his shoes. After that display, I look like some kind of unstable woman, a loose cannon who could snap and attack anyone without any provocation.

  That description may not be too far off the mark.

  I step into Charlie’s office, shrinking into the closest chair, and fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest.

  The door clicks shut behind me and Drew rests lightly on the other chair.

  I slant a glance his direction.

  His hair’s a little on the long side and tousled. Not sure if it always looks that way or if it’s simply because some overzealous woman tackled him to the floor. Either way, it works for him. Stubble shades his square jaw.

  Overall, it’s a far cry from what I’d expect a pastor to look like.

  In fact, the only thing that fits is the kindness in his brown eyes.

  Charlie folds his hands on the desk in front of him and stares at me for a second before sighing. “What could possess you to attack someone like that?”


  Huh. His tone isn’t harsh, not even irritated. There’s concern and disappointment, yes, but no anger.

  “I’m sorry.” Tears burn like acid behind my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them. “I – I don’t know what else to say. It was dark and there were things and…” I catch myself before revealing too much. “I’m not normally like that.”

  I don’t think. But do I really know? Maybe that was the real me coming through for the first time.

  If so, I’m one tough chick.

  Which isn’t much consolation right about now.

  “I can’t put my employees or my customers at risk. I’m sorry, but–”

  “Dad.”

  We both turn to look at Drew as he speaks up for the first time since entering the office.

  “I think this is all a misunderstanding, right?” He holds my gaze with his own. “I’m sure it won’t happen again?”

  I shake my head viciously, even though I know I can’t make that promise. “No. Never again.”

  “See? Then we’re good.” He leans on the arm of the chair furthest from me and surveys me. “But I am wondering who you thought I was.”

  “W–who?” Great, now I sound like a freakin’ owl.

  “Yeah. You said something about not being easy to kill.”

  He pauses. Maybe for effect, maybe to give me a chance to reply, I’m not sure. Either way, I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing at all.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  More than he could guess.

  I gnaw on my lower lip. What are my options? Quit and walk out, but I don’t really want to do that. Play the abused girlfriend card again, but that would invite pity. Tell the truth, but that would really bring pity.

  And maybe the police, an arrest, and more trouble than I can currently handle.

  “I – I’m fine.” Maybe some version of the truth is in order. “The truth is that I didn’t sleep well last night. I had a nightmare about something from my past and this guy… anyway, he smelled like smoke and said the same things you did and, I don’t know, I guess I just thought it was him. It was stupid.”

  Drew cringes. “Of all the days for me to have breakfast with my chain-smoking buddy, it had to be today, huh?”

  Not sure that would’ve made much difference, but I don’t argue.

  “That still doesn’t explain why you thought someone would be out to get you.”