by L. T. Ryan
“What?” he said.
“Move,” she said.
On the main road every person was a threat. The man jogging away from them. The woman pushing a stroller toward them. The four drunk guys carrying on across the street. The bum with the brown paper bag held up to his mouth. None could be trusted. Any of them could be there to shoot or follow or report on Clarissa and Beck. Yet, it was the safest place for them at that moment.
Sinclair’s network was vast, but it seemed as though he had worked alone. It made no sense. He was the kind of operator who would have both ends covered. Someone should have been waiting outside the apartment or building in the event that Sinclair had failed. They found no one, though. Had someone else already gotten to them?
Questions raced through her mind again. Why had Sinclair missed her? Was it a set up? If so, who was behind it? She doubted whether she could trust Beck once they left the city. For all she knew, he was the mastermind of today’s events.
She quickly ran through a list of ways to escape, people to call on, and places to go. Her options were limited. She had people she could count on to hide her. The problem was that between Sinclair and the Secret Service, they likely knew of them all. And on the off chance they didn’t, could she risk an innocent’s life?
She had to make a decision right then and there. Trust Beck, or neutralize him and flee.
Alone, Clarissa could move place to place without worrying about the motives of another. She had no problem handling herself. With Beck around, she’d either be concerned for his safety, or worry about his intentions.
Beck walked a half-step in front of her. His footsteps were deliberate and quiet. His head inched left and right, up and down. She knew his eyes did the same. When able to, he avoided the yellow and orange pools of light that splashed the wide sidewalk. He never looked back, but she knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of what went on behind them.
They approached an area shaded by two tall, pruned oaks. The thick trunks pushed up through the concrete. Even in the dark, Clarissa could make out the wide cracks in the grayish sidewalk. A quick glance around told her that no one was out. The darkness afforded here would give her an extra ten to fifteen seconds. If she intended to do something, this might be her only opportunity.
Her left hand grasped for her now-missing cell phone. The other wrapped around the grip of her pistol. The pistol he’d insisted she kept. He’d made her toss the phone, and for good reason. They could be tracked through it. He’d destroyed his prior to Clarissa ditching hers.
But he let her keep the gun. He didn’t even make an attempt to take it from her.
Of course, she hadn’t confirmed it was loaded. Or functional.
She pulled the pistol from her waistband. Her arm hung loosely at her side. The weapon brushed against her thigh. The canopy of the converging oaks blocked out all light. She lifted the sidearm, aimed at Beck.
“Stop.”
Perhaps it had been the tone of her voice, or maybe Beck thought she’d seen something. For whatever reason, he halted and turned.
“Don’t move, Beck.”
She couldn’t see his face or the expression on it. The two dark masses rising next to his head were enough confirmation that the gun he told her to get from the safe in the bedroom was fully functional and loaded.
“What’s this about?” he asked calmly and softly.
“What the fuck is going on, and what do you have to do with it?”
“As far as I can tell, I’m in this as deep as you are. Perhaps more.”
“Don’t feed me that bullshit, Beck. What was Julie talking about when she mentioned Jordan?”
Beck took a deep breath. Its ragged nature belied his calm demeanor. “This isn’t the time or place. We have to get out of here. You saw what they did to Amy. I have no doubt they intend to do the same to us.”
His hands dropped an inch and he stutter-stepped backward.
“Not another inch,” she said. “Tell me about Jordan. Was he the one you were hoping I would gain intel on?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter now. Either he knows what is going on, or…” He brought both hands to his head and pulled on his hair. “I don’t know, Clarissa. I’m still processing this. But this is not the time or the place to figure this out.”
She said nothing, and kept the weapon aimed at his chest.
“If you want to run, then run. Take off on your own. I won’t tell them which way you went.” He paused, perhaps waiting for her to make an initial decision. She didn’t. He continued. “But if you want to live and get to the bottom of this so that you’re not running the rest of your life, then come with me. Look, I know you don’t trust people, and I understand why. Hell, it’s the reason we chose you. But you have to believe me when I say you and I are in this together from this point on. You might make it alone. I probably will. But together, we can figure this thing out and put an end to it.”
As she lowered her weapon, the sound of two tin cans slapping against one another preceded a bullet slamming into the tree next to them, sending shards of bark flying through the air.
Beck grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. They sprinted across the street and took cover in a small alley. Clarissa feared they were trapped, but a soft glow of light at the end of the corridor gave her hope.
“This way.” Beck ran toward the light.
She paused, discerning that the footsteps she heard weren’t only created by Beck. A man burst forward from the shadowy sidewalk across the street. He was armed with a pistol that had a suppressor affixed to the end. Though his face was hidden by shadows, his short and stocky build made it obvious it wasn’t Sinclair racing toward her.
She backed up, watching as the guy ran toward the alley. Had he seen her? She imagined that if he could see her now, he’d shoot, unless there was someone watching. Or perhaps, the first shot had been a warning shot. After all, he’d missed and not shot again. But why would he have done that in the first place? Why not approach her and Beck?
The man slowed up as he hit the sidewalk. Clarissa was far enough back that she lost sight of him. Soon he would be at the entrance to the alley. Dark as it was, he might make out her silhouette as she ran toward the light at the end. Clinging to the right wall, she moved toward Beck. Her arm brushed against the rough brick, wet with streams of condensation leaking from window-mounted air conditioning units. The machines whirred above, drowning out the sounds around her. She had no idea if the man approached from behind. A quick glance back revealed nothing other than the alley’s empty opening. The guy could be there, lurking in the shadows with his weapon drawn and aimed at her head.
Beck waited inside, past the open doorway. His pistol dangled from his hand by his side. Clarissa half-expected him to raise his weapon and shoot at her. He didn’t, though. At this point, all she could do was trust him. He leaned into the alley, waving her toward him. As she reached the doorway, the footsteps of the man following them echoed off the walls. Beck held out his free hand. When she grabbed it, he pulled her into the building, letting the door fall shut.
Old fluorescent lights behind dirty fixtures cast a yellow glow over them. Glancing around, she saw five Chinese men staring back at her. One held a twelve-inch chef’s knife. The others were busy at a fryer, a cook top, or preparing plates.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“Never ate here,” Beck said.
“Which way?”
Beck pointed past the cooks, at a swinging door. “Looks like our only choice.”
“That’s going to lead back out front.”
Beck nodded. “Got a better idea?”
“What if there’s more than that one guy?”
“Then we do what we have to do. And in case you didn’t notice, there was nowhere else to go. That alley is a dead end other than into here.”
The cooks watched them, but said nothing. Clarissa figured they saw Beck’s gun and decided it best to butt out.
She looked back
at the door. “Why hasn’t he tried to come in?”
“He won’t,” Beck said. “Not alone. I’m guessing that he’s made the same observation about the alley and is now backtracking to the sidewalk where he can watch that door and the ones leading out to the street.”
“Through that door,” the cook with the knife said. “Stairs to the roof. Five feet to building behind.”
Beck looked from the cook back to Clarissa. He lifted an eyebrow, said, “You up for a climb and a jump?”
She didn’t know whether to take him seriously. They had no other choice, though. She nodded, grabbed his hand, and followed the cook across the kitchen. The cook pulled open a narrow door, revealing the darkened stairwell. Beck entered first. He placed his right foot on the first step and looked back at Clarissa.
“You ready for this?”
“Yeah.”
Together they raced up five flights of stairs, refusing to stop to catch their breath. She feared that the door leading to the roof would be locked, trapping them inside the stairwell with no way out. She imagined the man, who she now pictured as Jordan, climbing the stairs with three or four others in tow.
They reached the final landing. There were no more stairs to climb. Beck reached out, grabbed the dented doorknob, and pushed. The door did not budge. He looked back at Clarissa. She figured that he was doing his best to hide his fear. He turned away, squeezed the knob, and drove his shoulder into the door. It gave with a loud crack. Beck’s momentum carried him through. He stumbled forward and fell, sliding on the gravel rooftop.
Clarissa caught the door before it fell shut. She stepped out into the thick night air, hurrying to Beck’s side. By the time she reached him, he already had one foot on the ground.
“Jesus, Beck, are you okay?”
Beck nodded, said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Knocked a bit of the wind out of me, but that’s all.”
She reached out and helped him up. They surveyed the square rooftop. There were visible gaps to the left and right, too far for them to jump. The street was in front of them. They both turned and walked to the back.
“Think you can make it?” Beck stuck one foot on the ledge, which stood eighteen inches above the roof. “Gonna make it difficult to get a running start. You’ll have to hit that ledge just right or you’re going over.”
Clarissa turned and crossed to the front. Looking down, she spotted the man who had followed them. He stood where Beck had said he would, at the corner where he could see both the alley and the street.
“That him?”
She hadn’t heard Beck approach. “Think so. See any others?”
“They could be anywhere.”
She looked over at him. He no longer looked down at the man on the street. His gaze traveled along the stunted rooflines up and down the road.
“Then we should get out of here,” she said.
“Ready?”
She nodded, then sprinted toward the back edge of the roof.
Chapter 28
Clarissa planted her right foot on the narrow ledge and let her momentum carry her left leg up and over. She saw Beck hit the roof. He tucked and rolled the moment he did so. With her knee bent, she powered upward.
But her foot slipped off the back of the ledge. Her body, rather than following an upward trajectory, started to fall forward. Fast. The momentum was lost. Instinctively, she reached both arms out. There was no time to do anything else. Her hands and wrists slapped against cold, hard concrete or bricks. Pain radiated down her left arm and into her shoulder. She feared she’d broken something. The pain did not prevent her from keeping the roof in a death grip.
The move stopped her fall. Her feet slipped off the ledge and came forward, carrying her body underneath her and into the side of the building. She twisted to the left so that her side caught the brunt of the collision.
“Clarissa,” Beck shouted. She heard him scuffle toward her. Felt his hands on her, wrapping around her arms. Saw him lean over. “Are you hurt?”
“I think so.” The pain continued through her arm and shoulder, but she didn’t care. She’d made it through. Death had been imminent, but she won.
He disappeared behind the wall, but his hands never left her arm. He grunted and pulled, and she felt her body sliding upward. The pain she felt vanished as her left wrist popped into place. A few moments later her head crested the roof. Her body followed. She lay on the ground, breathing heavily, with Beck crouched over her.
“What happened?” he asked.
She rolled over, looked past him toward the gray clouds that raced low in the sky. “I slipped.”
“You okay?”
She shook her left arm. “Think I dislocated my wrist, but it’s in place now.”
“Numb?”
“No.”
“Let me know if it feels that way. If there’s nerve damage we’ll—”
“Beck.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s focus on getting out of here.”
They found a fire escape on the side of the building. It brought them within ten feet of the ground. Neither had an issue lowering themselves and dropping the final few feet. Clarissa spotted a Jeep nearby with no top. Its drunken owner approached, staggering, with the keys dangling from a lanyard.
She tapped Beck on the shoulder. “Look.”
They scanned the street. It was quiet. No one was out.
“I’ll take care of this.” Beck rushed forward and knocked the man out. He got behind the wheel and started the Jeep.
“You can’t leave him here,” Clarissa said, standing over the guy.
“Why not?”
“He’ll call the car in stolen.”
Beck opened the door and stepped out. He searched the guy’s pockets until he found a cell phone. He dialed 911, then told the dispatch operator that an unknown man was down on the street with obvious head trauma.
Hanging up the phone, he said, “Happy? Now get in. We need to hurry.”
As she jogged around the back of the vehicle, Clarissa heard two thuds. By the time she rounded the side and looked over, Beck was on his way to the driver’s side. The man lay still on the sidewalk, now with a pool of blood forming around his head.
“What did you do?”
Beck said nothing. He shifted into first gear and pulled away from the curb.
She didn’t need him to tell her. He’d told the dispatcher head trauma, so he had to deliver. Beck was her kind of guy, willing to do whatever it took to survive. She glanced back at the man lying still on the sidewalk. Poor guy, she thought. Wrong place at the wrong time. Much like her.
They drove west through the city. She kept up with the streets they passed until they crossed into Virginia. From there, they merged onto I-66 west outside of Fairfax, then took I-81 south. When he exited a few miles later, Clarissa asked where they were going. He told her West Virginia and said nothing else. She wondered when they’d ditch the car. It wasn’t equipped with built-in GPS. There had been a unit fixed to the windshield, but Beck got rid of that the same time he ditched the phone, throwing both into the Potomac River as they drove over.
Beck navigated steep switchbacks as they drove through mountainous territory around one in the morning. The air was cooler here, compounded by the fact that the Jeep had no top. Every straightaway they encountered, he’d push the vehicle to fifty or sixty. The gusts permeated every stitch of Clarissa’s clothing.
She leaned back and stared up. Out here, she’d be able to see millions of stars if not for the clouds. They continued to race, east to west. She realized that she hadn’t kept up with the weather since returning. Was there an early hurricane brewing in the Atlantic? She pushed the thought aside and focused on nothing. Her mind was too tired to do anything else. And her body had caught up. With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 29
“Wake up.”
She heard the words, but ignored the message. His hands wrapped around her s
houlders and shook her. She opened her eyes. Beck leaned over her. He looked concerned.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, shrugging free from his hands. She turned her head to her right. A wall of trees rose up from the ground. It was the same to the left. The sky above was dark blue, sparkling with thousands of stars. Either the clouds had passed, or they had driven out of their reach.
“Clarissa?”
“I’m fine. Quit worrying about me.” She reached for the door, found the handle and opened it. Sliding out, she asked, “Where are we?”
“Nowhere. At least, as far as anyone else is concerned.”
Without Beck blocking her view, she now saw the small A-framed cabin. His secret hideaway. Behind the cabin was another building, a shed or garage perhaps. The structure was bigger than the cabin. She wondered what he kept in there.
Beck ran ahead of her with his gun drawn. She reached for hers, but it was missing. When was the last time she’d had it in her possession? In the car? Had she lost it during her failed attempt at a jump? With no weapon, she remained back while Beck entered the house. A moment later he returned to the porch, gesturing her forward.
“Did you take my pistol?” she asked.
He shook his head. “You must have lost it during the jump. Don’t worry, I have more inside.”
She stepped into the dark, musty domicile. He followed her in, shining a flashlight that he must’ve found on his first trip inside.
“It’s not much,” he said, shining the light around the room and letting it settle on a closed door. “You can take the bedroom. I’ll get you a lantern to use, but it’s best if we remain in the dark.” He switched the flashlight off.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark surroundings. Once they did, she moved toward the bedroom door.
“I’m going to park the Jeep in the garage.” He walked toward the open front door.
“Beck?”
He stopped, looked back at her. She saw a glint of light on his eyes. “Yeah?”