Safe Haven

by Hannah Alexander

  “I’ll make sure you’re settled,” he said as he carried both her heavy suitcases along a lighted footpath to a broad front porch. Someone had left the porch light on, and he set the cases down and reached for the screen door.

  She grabbed the handle before he could. “Look, I’m serious, I’ll be fine.” She regretted the rough tone in her voice, but the guy was a ranger, not a bellman, and he’d already gone out of his way to help her. She refused to take advantage of him. She didn’t need a chaperon to see her inside. She knew small towns—had grown up in one, herself—and word could get out in a hurry that she’d had to be escorted to her room by a law officer.

  “Really,” she said more gently. “I’ll be fine, and you probably have work to do. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. Thank you for the ride, and I’m sorry about the…the mess I made.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she shouldered past him and pushed open the door, carrying her angry cat with her. She’d suffered all the humiliation she planned to endure tonight.

  Darkness and silence settled into the linen room like one of the thick quilts Fawn’s great-grandma used to tuck around her when she spent the night. The sounds outside had faded just a few seconds ago—but not before Fawn heard the crackly voice of the policeman’s radio informing him they were surrounding the place.

  She pulled off her shoes once again. She couldn’t run well in them, especially with the twisted ankle. She crept through the darkness, feeling her way along the edge of the shelves until she reached the doorway with the narrow line of light edging the bottom. No sound came from beneath that door.

  Holding her breath, she reached for the doorknob and started to turn it. The hard metal felt cold in her hand. There was a soft click, and she froze again.

  “Check all these rooms,” came a man’s voice, echoed by the sound of brisk footsteps. “Don’t take any chances, she could be armed.”

  There came the sound of a latch turning, and Fawn caught her breath. It wasn’t this door. They must be searching the room across the hall. They would come here next.

  She plunged her hand into her purse and felt for the book of matches she’d taken from an ashtray in the suite. As the sound of new footsteps reached her, she ripped a match out and struck it hard against the base. It flared, and she held it high to search for any vents or removable grates along the wall or ceiling—she’d seen people escape that way a lot in movies.

  The footsteps drew closer. The flame burned her fingers and she dropped the match, stifling a cry of pain. Tucking her purse beneath her arm, she struck another match, then braced herself and touched the flame to the entire book of matches, holding the tip of the cardboard cover.

  It flared brightly, startling her. She gasped, bit her tongue.

  There was no grate, no vent she could squeeze into. But she might be able to scoot beneath two stacks of towels in the corner, if she curled herself into a tight ball. She shook the flaming matchbook before it could burn her fingers again, just as a door closed across the hall.

  “Not in here. Block this—”

  The scream of an alarm shot across the room, smacking Fawn with an almost physical force. The ceiling started to rain.

  Instinctively, she scuttled toward the stacks of towels where she’d intended to hide, and plunged through a tumble of terry cloth. She heard muffled shouts from the hallway and more footsteps, but the door remained closed.

  Her teeth had begun to chatter before she realized she must have been the one to set off the alarm with her matchbook flare. If she hadn’t already been in big trouble, she would be now, for sure. What happened to a sixteen-year-old convicted of murder and attempted arson?

  She had to get out of here!

  The shriek of the alarm continued to blast her as she worked up the guts to climb from her hiding place and creep back across the room. She opened the door, bracing for a gang of uniformed men to surround her and shove her to the ground.

  No one stood outside the door. She peered out, both directions. Nobody. That wouldn’t last long. Tucking her purse under her arm, she turned right and plunged along the brightly lit hallway, hopefully in the direction of the hotel section of the building—and an exit door.

  The alarm paused, and a tinny voice came from a speaker overhead. “Attention. Attention. The automatic fire alarm has been activated. Please proceed to the nearest staircase to exit the building. Do not use the elevators.”

  If she could find a service elevator, maybe she could get upstairs. That way she could blend in with the crowd of hotel guests who would be making their way to the stairwells.

  “Guard those doors!” came a voice from up ahead, just past a corner in the hallway.

  Another alarm blast nearly deafened her from a speaker just overhead, followed by the same announcement.

  “…can’t block the people from getting out of the building,” came the reply, and the echo of footsteps, and the sound of excited breathing…coming closer…

  “Of course we can’t stop them,” came the sharp retort. “Just look for the woman!”

  She came to a door and shoved it open, stumbled inside just as the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway. She hovered in the darkness, afraid to breathe for several seconds, until the men continued along the hallway in the direction she had been going. She waited until the sound dwindled, then scuttled back into the shadows. In the dim light that came through the open door, Fawn could tell this was a prop room, with a black cape and top hat on a table in the front right corner. She saw a chest—or a cart—beside the table. A magician’s cape? A magic show of some kind?

  “Did you check that room?” came another man’s voice as footsteps once again echoed in the hallway. “Hurry. Search where you can.”

  “But the alarm—”

  “Just check the room!”

  Fawn skittered toward the cart and dived behind it. She had worked backstage at a theater with a magic act in Las Vegas. These carts were big enough for someone to hide inside…if she could just remember how to unlatch—

  “Can’t find the light switch.”

  She found the latch and slid the panel sideways, scrambled inside just as the overhead light came on. Under cover of the echo of footsteps, she slid the panel shut behind her, plunging herself into the protective blackness, afraid to breathe.

  “Anything?”

  “Of course not. I told you she wouldn’t still be here, even if she was here in the first place, which I don’t think—”

  “Just cover the exits and make sure she doesn’t slip through.” The voices faded.

  Fawn crouched in the dark for a few more seconds, then slowly, with the alarms still sounding all along the hallway, she slipped out of the magician’s cart and skittered to the open door. The corridor was empty. She caught sight of an elevator door a few yards down and sighed with relief. After another quick glance along the hall in both directions, she ran to the elevator doors and pressed the button, hoping this wasn’t one of those places that disabled their elevators during a fire alarm.

  Once again came the sound of footsteps. She tensed, ready to run, but the door slid open. She plunged inside as the footsteps grew louder, and tapped the third-floor button desperately. The doors took their time, then slowly closed as the footsteps quickened.

  Fawn closed her eyes and slunk into the corner, sure the searchers would catch sight of her before she could escape. They didn’t. The doors clanked shut, and she finally allowed herself to breathe again.

  When the elevator deposited her at the third floor, she rushed into the hallway and joined a small crowd of sleepy-eyed, confused-looking people. She limped along beside a man dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts and a hotel terry robe. The woman with him wore a nightgown. As Fawn joined the others on the guest stairwell, she glanced down at her clothes, then reached up to feel her head. The net was still there, and her hair was wet, which would darken its blond color. They would think she was an employee, or someone in her pajamas.

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nbsp; More people came up behind her as she limped downstairs. They reached the ground floor and stepped through the emergency exit out into the night, where three men in uniform stood watching them closely.

  She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

  They didn’t stop her. Nobody called out as she joined the rest of the growing crowd in the glow of the outside lights.

  As the first fire engine raced into the parking lot behind the building, Fawn crept closer to the edge of the crowd, then slipped out into the night. She hadn’t needed her shoes, after all.

  Chapter Four

  The telephone beside Karah Lee’s bed rang long before the alarm clock did on Thursday morning. Without opening her eyes, she reached for the receiver. Her left hand knocked it from the cradle and she barely caught it before it could hit the hardwood floor. This wasn’t going to be a good day.

  “Hello.” She sounded like a frog.

  “Hi, this is Taylor Jackson doing damage control,” came the baritone-gilded voice.

  She cleared her throat and pried her eyes open. Good grief, it was practically still dark outside. “Damage control?”

  “You had a wreck last night, remember? At least you’re awake and talking.”

  She tried to sit up in bed, but the movement made her head pound, and she lay back against the lilac-scented pillow. “Don’t you ever have downtime?”

  “Not lately. I’ve seen some bad reactions after an impact like last night’s. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  Her nausea was almost gone, but her head hurt where she’d bumped it, and her shoulder ached where the seat belt had grabbed her. Even worse, she cringed with humiliation every time she thought about her nauseating display in front of—and on—the poor guy.

  “Well. Okay.” She glanced toward Monster through the semidarkness, and saw his huge outline, belly up, legs in the air, paws clinging through the holes in the top of the pet taxi. It was the way he usually slept—except he usually avoided the pet taxi.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Taylor prompted.

  “I’m doing fine, no blurred vision, and I feel a lot better.”

  “Usually after an impact like the one you sustained, the victim feels worse the next day.”

  She gave a quiet sigh. Nothing better than a skeptic paramedic—unless it was a cat that snored. “Okay, but when you factor in the bulldozer running me over, I’m doing pretty good.”

  No reply.

  “You know, considering.” He obviously had been born without a sense of humor, or the gift of gab. “Look, Taylor, I’ll be fine.”

  “The tow truck picked up your car.” He had a very attractive voice. “The mechanics will be checking it out today. I gave them the number of the Lakeside in case they need to get in touch with you.”

  “You’re kidding. You did all that?”

  “The guy’s shop is just three blocks from the square.” Yes, that was definitely a nice voice, maybe a little impatient because she wasn’t admitting to her misery. Maybe he was wondering why he’d even gone to the trouble to help her in the first place.

  She was touched in spite of his curtness. After all, she was definitely a noncompliant patient. She wouldn’t have been nearly so forbearing in his place.

  “Well. Thanks again, Taylor. And really, don’t worry about me. I’ll be checking in at the clinic about eight-thirty this morning.”

  “Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You will?”

  “Of course.” To work. She had specifically not mentioned that fact to him last night, because she knew how quickly word traveled in the medical community, in spite of the new Federal regulations about patient confidentiality. She did not want her stupid behavior last night to precede her. “Thanks a lot for calling, Taylor.” Her head continued to throb. She needed aspirin, and fast. “Goodbye.”

  There was a pause, and then, “Goodbye.” It almost sounded like a question, as if he still wasn’t convinced she was okay.

  She moaned and allowed the receiver to fall back into its cradle, hoping she wouldn’t have to face him again until the stain faded from his uniform. Unfortunately, one did not easily forget a six-foot-tall woman with red hair.

  Her stomach rumbled, harmonizing with Monster’s early-morning growl of welcome, and she dragged herself from the comfortable bed to open the pet-taxi door. She had assured the elderly proprietress of the Lakeside Bed-and-Breakfast that her furry ball-and-chain had the intelligence to use the ever-present litter box, and that he didn’t scratch furniture because he’d been neutered in a former cat-life.

  Monster rushed to the kitty-litter box in the bathroom while Karah Lee followed him and dug aspirin from her overnight case. Checking her appearance in the mirror, she groaned aloud. Her forehead was mottled red and blue and the skin was broken. She might possibly pull enough bangs down over it to conceal the bruise from the clinic staff, but it would take a better actress than she was to conceal the fact that her head was throbbing so hard it nearly crossed her eyes.

  But she would be there, no matter what.

  Fawn Morrison opened her eyes to dim, green-shaded light and the sound of tires on blacktop only a few yards from where she lay. She unwound herself from the tight-little-ball position in which she always slept, and brushed aside a pine branch that scratched at her cheek with the puff of every breeze. Her stomach cramped. Her feet hurt from the cuts and bruises she’d gotten from her barefoot run through the hazard-pocked darkness last night. Her ankle ached.

  From the jumbled-together restaurants up the hill on Highway 76, she caught a whiff of frying bacon, and it reminded her how hungry she was in spite of her stomachache. It also reminded her where she was, and why.

  Last night, she’d raced away from the crowd as fast as she could run, tripping over curbs in the dark, stumbling into bushes she couldn’t see and, finally, scrambling down a steep, muddy embankment to this place. Unable to go farther, and hurting too much to care if she got caught, she’d curled up and cried.

  Again this morning, the tears blurred her vision. Bruce was murdered! The police thought she was the murderer, and Harv knew what she looked like. He couldn’t afford to let a murder witness live. And if she was right about that flash drive storage device in her purse, Harv would be after it. She couldn’t afford to let him—or the police—get to her.

  She couldn’t let anybody find her—which meant she couldn’t let anyone recognize her.

  Another car swept past, and Fawn eased herself farther down the muddy, tree-lined bank to a tiny creek that trickled over some rocks in the shadows. It didn’t smell like a sewer, so she stooped down and splashed some of the chilly water on her face. She couldn’t believe this hidden place was so close to congested Highway 76.

  Her head ached, and her eyes felt swollen from crying. For the past couple of years she’d been sure she’d never cry again. She thought she’d seen everything—and done everything. But just as Great-Grandma used to say, life had a way of changing. Why couldn’t things just settle for once? Why couldn’t people learn to be nice?

  Fawn missed Bruce. He’d been good to her—as good as he’d known how to be. He wasn’t one of those fine, law-abiding citizens or anything. He had a business, and it wasn’t banking. But she’d also seen him give money to the soup kitchen down the street from the mall in Las Vegas, and he was a big tipper. He was good to a lot of people. So much better than her stepfather had ever been to her…considering Bruce didn’t know how old she really was…considering he’d never forced her to do anything she didn’t pretend to want to do.

  Teardrops joined the creek water on her face, and again she let herself cry. “Oh, Bruce,” she whispered. “Why’d you have to blow the whistle on those people? Why’d you have to make it such a big deal?” People broke the rules every day. He broke the rules every day. Why’d he have to pick yesterday to change his ways?

  And then she couldn’t help wondering about the big, ugly crime he said they were committing in Hideaway. What kind of danger were those people
in? And what would happen to them now that Bruce wasn’t there to stop whatever was happening?

  Now she knew why he’d planned to take her there this weekend. He’d told her they could play—riding jet bikes and floating down a local river and hiking on some fancy new trail—but she’d known from the beginning he’d had something else on his mind.

  A loud truck muffler startled her with its racket on the road. She sniffed and wiped her face, then slumped back against the bank of the creek. “What am I going to do now?”

  She picked up the purse she’d used as a pillow last night, and pulled out the tiny lipstick with mirror Bruce had given her last week. From what she could see in the reflection, she had mud all over her face, and her hair was one big mat of tangles and dirt and leaves. One of her contact lenses had come out, and now she had one blue eye and one brown.

  She’d have to clean up before anybody saw her.

  She sniffed and blinked away the tears, then dropped to her knees and rinsed her hair and clothes as well as she could in the cold creek water to get some of the mud out. The gravel dug into her knees, adding to the pain of her cut and bruised feet.

  Last night, she’d scrambled through the deserted parking lot of a mall about a half mile or so up the hill from here. Maybe she could go back there and get some clothes before it got busy this morning. And maybe she could get some other supplies, as well.

  She pulled the cash from her purse and stuffed it into the pocket of her pants. She transferred the rest into her shirt pocket—including the teensy computer data storage device Bruce had told her to keep—and buried her pretty, blue-beaded purse that matched the dress she’d looked so good in. And so grown-up.

  Now it was time to be a kid again. Maybe she could get away with that here in Branson, at least for a little while. Branson was nothing like Las Vegas.

  Except there were murderers here, too.

  The rumble of Monster’s outraged cries still echoed in Karah Lee’s ears as she stepped through the entrance of the two-story Victorian lodge that held the main office where she had checked in last night. The cat did okay alone most of the time, but he hated new places, and he let everybody know about it. Karah Lee only hoped he didn’t blast the windows out with his caterwauling today.