Runaway

by Susan Sheehey

  But Reed was too late. Everything had gone south. He’d arrived just in time to see his partner shot in the chest.

  He read through the last few entries again, anger climbing like a mushroom cloud. His partner had done all of this in the dark because he thought Reed was a mole. Because he didn’t know who to trust.

  Shit. How could he think that of me?

  The rage pulsed through his chest, too much. He grabbed the coffee mug off the table and pitched it against the wall. The ceramic shattered, leaving a small dent in the panel.

  Joe thought I was deleting files.

  Reed scraped his hands down the sides of his face. If his partner’s reports really were missing from internal systems, that meant there was an insider tampering with evidence. Only high-level personnel had access to that. Way above his pay grade. It was possible this “Slugger” had something to do with it. But since Reed was the only one to see these files, that meant the mole was still in the DEA.

  The whole world practically shifted on that realization. He stood quickly and backed away from the table. Distancing himself from that knowledge because he didn’t want it. The very thought of that made his stomach heave over. And then solidify into molten lead.

  Whoever this mole was, they were directly responsible for his partner’s death. And for Reed’s forced vigilante role. The reason why he couldn’t stay in the same place for very long. And why no one had come to back them up after everything happened.

  They already suspected that Reed was the mole.

  The very idea of him turning on his fellow agents, on his own country, made his blood boil. He loved his job. He’d spent his career using his tech skills to serve his country the best he could. Now he was being inadvertently framed for something that his partner had caught. Likely had suspected Reed all along, since he had a separate apartment.

  He scraped his ballcap off his head, scratching at his scalp. Pacing around the kitchen behind the table where he’d worked didn’t help clear the fog. He interlaced his fingers behind his head.

  Dammit, how he wished he could talk to someone about this. Joe had been an excellent listener, and they’d bounced ideas off each other like real brothers. At least up until the time where he’d closed himself off because he questioned if Reed was a liar.

  This was the most progress in the case he’d made in a year, only to have that excitement dashed aside as quickly as it’d come.

  God, he really needed to talk to someone.

  Reed closed his eyes and tried to process.

  The first image in his mind was Skye. Her brilliant blue eyes, that infectious smile that made him want to agree to anything she asked. The urge to grab his phone and call her was so overwhelming. As much as he desperately wanted to tell her everything, he couldn’t. There was no way he could explain this setup in the tiny backwoods cabin. Inviting her over was out of the question. Oh yeah, and it was also one in the morning.

  A chat bubble popped up on the screen. One he couldn’t ignore.

  Who the hell are you?

  Reed didn’t respond. He just continued to stare at the screen. Some guy with the username LocoLobo.

  An avatar approached his own character. A darkly clad mercenary with weapons in a half dozen holsters and a stealth helmet painted like a wolf. The graphics displayed amazingly detailed glowing yellow eyes and white teeth bared in a growl. He gripped the barrel of a sawed-off shotgun, pointed down at the cracked-soil ground.

  I know you’re not Gigaslave. Why did you break into his account? The text read in the chat bubble.

  Reed’s heart pounded hard, the echo loud in his ears to the point where that’s all he heard. Not the ding of the screen or the soft hum of the computer fan. How the hell did this guy know? If he was a hacker, there was no way he could see his location. Reed sat in the chair again, slipped his ballcap back on, backward, and dared to type out a response.

  What makes you think it’s not me?

  Several minutes passed before the screen dinged with another message.

  Follow me.

  The character moved to a crumbling building in the background. A dilapidated barn with the door hanging open.

  Using his keyboard, he made Joe’s avatar follow slowly, though he was certain this was a trap. But he had to know. This guy knew something.

  Inside the barn, the wolf avatar stood beside a pillar in the center of the space. Only it was no longer a barn. It had become a warehouse. Dusty, empty concrete with a single pallet in the middle stacked with boxes.

  The wolf face sneered at him.

  The chat bubble returned. Does this look familiar?

  A foot jutted out from behind the box.

  Reed moved his character around the pallet stack to see a form laying on the ground.

  Another character that looked a little like the digitized form of…

  He gasped.

  Joe.

  With three bullets in his chest.

  The exact way his partner had died in real life.

  His blood crystallized in his veins.

  The screen dinged with another message. I made this special for you. DEA.

  “You son of a bitch,” Reed whispered at the screen.

  LocoLobo was Joe’s killer. No one else had seen his partner die except the man on the other end of the gun. The game designer was Joe’s murderer. That was his target.

  Now everyone can relive this moment. And he can die countless times in high definition.

  Reed’s fingers curled around the mouse threatening it to break. He made his character pull his gun and fire a shot into LocoLobo’s snarling face. The bullet screamed toward the mask until it dissolved into a spray of fire sparks, leaving the wolf unharmed.

  The screen dinged again. Enjoy the game, gringo. I’ll find you soon enough.

  The character vanished.

  He stood from the chair, his breathing fast and angry. He’d found him. The bastard who’d ruined his life.

  The jackass’s threat might’ve scared the crap out of anyone else. But not Reed. That bolstered his resolve. No one could find him. He was one of the best at cybersecurity, and not many in the world could locate him with the proxies he had in place and all his masking efforts. He was considered an expert hacker by the time he was sixteen. But a little part of him wanted this bastard to find him. So Reed could empty a clip into his chest.

  He resumed his seat, and couldn’t help but let the corner of his mouth lift. He now had another lead. One that gave him a much more distinct direction to head toward—one a techy like him relished.

  LocoLobo had put a target on his own digital back. It was only a matter of time before Reed found him.

  Diego smiled at his laptop, resting on his lap. Then downed the rest of his tequila in a tall shot glass. The back patio was his favorite part of his small hacienda. The perfect view of the hills in the distance showcased a lake at the bottom that glimmered in the moonlight. Another reason he loved this place so much was that it was on the other side of town, outside the cartel’s compound. A specific choice he made that his uncle had agreed to, just in case the compound was ever raided by the army.

  More importantly, it gave Diego the freedom to do his digital dirty work in peace. Without a boss looking over his shoulder and hounding him on deadlines, ratings, and fucking timecards. He’d done that during his internship in college in the States. He never wanted to do that again. He much preferred his current endeavors.

  Sitting here in the warm evening, uncovering slimy DEA scum, and making them shit their pants on the other side of a screen is what he loved. Because he was certain that’s what this other idiot was doing. Stuck in a DEA cubicle somewhere, going over the files of the agent he’d killed, searching for more clues. Took those suckers long enough.

  If he was lucky, Diego might’ve been talking to the other agent he’d been searching for this whole time. Something in his gut told him that’s who was on the other side of the chat bubble. He’d created the new barn scene depicting th
e real-life scenario of the DEA agent’s death, just to fuck with the guy. To distract him, enrage him enough to make a mistake and reveal his location. Diego’s software was already hard at work identifying the man’s IP address and location. In only a small matter of time, he’d know for certain who this was, and where to go knocking down his door.

  That beautiful moment of his first law-enforcement kill was now preserved in this digital game for all time. His baby—Dark Inferno—replaying the glorious gunshots over and over for hundreds of thousands of players around the world. Reveling in the joy of that cabron’s exquisitely detailed death.

  He shut his laptop, refilled his shot glass from the tequila bottle on the table, and sipped the contents. Basking in his achievement. Tomorrow he’d send assassins to Wherever, USA, to rid the world of this DEA nuisance for good. Then prove he was fully capable of taking his uncle’s place in every way.

  “Ready, Mr. Man-on-the-Run?”

  Reed glanced up to his new enchantment in her pale pink short-sleeve sweater, snug blue jeans, and black boots. She looked just as delectable as she had that morning for their shift. But now the diner was closed, he was finishing the side duties while she’d run home to spruce up for their first date. If that’s what they were going to call it.

  He pushed the stainless steel bowls back on the shelf and stood.

  “Ready for what?” He feigned confusion, pretending to look through cabinets.

  Her eyes rounded. “The apple festival.”

  “Oh, that’s today?”

  She smacked his upper arm. “Your memory is much better than that. Now, do you want to change clothes or not? Either way, I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, I should probably change.”

  He couldn’t resist playing with her. He slipped off his cap and apron, laying them on the prep counter, then he whipped off his T-shirt.

  Her eyes went as big as their pancake platter.

  Just the reaction he wanted. When he went for the button on his pants, her hand flew up.

  “Wait! Don’t change here. The diner may be closed, but…go to the bathroom or breakroom.” Her cheeks flushed, the color brighter than her sweater.

  She was so flippin’ adorable. He hadn’t had this much fun in years.

  He chuckled. “Didn’t take you for the shy type.” He gathered his stuff and went to the backroom to put on a clean T-shirt. His knife was still safely tucked in his ankle sheath.

  After a few minutes, they both piled into his truck, and she directed them to the best place to park at the festival. Whatever kind of outing Skye called this, Reed really needed this date. Something to fill his brain with the lighter side of life. Things had become far too intense in his little cabin with the recent revelations. Every time he walked into the place, his computer equipment stared at him, mocking him for not having found Joe’s killer yet. After the other night in the game, Reed had worked tirelessly to find his address, tracing his IP and any other digital trail he’d left. To no avail. The man was extremely gifted in covering his tracks.

  Reed would find him. Eventually. It would just take time and patience. And a fresh afternoon out with Skye to remind him he was still human.

  White tents and pedestrians filled Main Street with barely any pavement visible anymore. Reed had to be extra cautious despite the joyous atmosphere. Crowded events like this were great places for perps to hide.

  “I like to start at this end and head north,” she pointed up the street, oblivious to his sudden hesitant frame-of-mind. “My first stop is always Maybelle’s jams and jellies. Best in town.”

  After some how you dos with several locals and frequent diner customers, Skye took his hand and led him to the next booth. Her delicate fingers wrapped around his and sent a warmth up his arm. Just the simple, casual touch subtly relaxed him. He couldn’t remember the last time he held a woman’s hand.

  Too damn long, that’s when.

  “Hi, SueAnne.”

  “Hi, Skye. How’s my favorite patron?” A tall, somewhat-older Native American woman pulled reading glasses off her face and let them dangle on a chain around her neck.

  “Great. This is Guy, the diner’s new cook.”

  SueAnne stuck out her hand and offered a gracious smile. Then spoke a few words in her Native American dialect.

  He assumed it meant nice to meet you.

  “You too,” he replied.

  Skye lifted a candle in a glass Mason jar to his nose. “Take a whiff.”

  Something fruity mixed in with the unmistakable apple smell. Not bad. He wasn’t much of a candle-guy. Maybe when the electricity went out, but not for making a place overburdened with a flavored waxy smell.

  “Her crab apple scent is my favorite. And this one,” she lifted a dark red jar to his nose. He picked up a spicy note. “This one’s cinnamon apple.”

  “Nice.”

  “Aren’t they? SueAnne has made soy candles for these festivals for years. Oh, look!” Her eyes lit up, and she moved to the other side of a table. “You’ve added soaps this year.”

  “Yes,” the lady followed her. “One of our tribal leaders needed an organic soap for his skin. I made these to help him. He loved them so much, I made a huge batch.”

  “They smell divine. Like lavender and honeysuckle.” She held out a bar for him to smell.

  Reed breathed it in. Clean and feminine.

  Yeah, that would smell amazing on her.

  Way too quickly, images of Skye in the shower lathering herself in the soap flooded his mind. “Yeah, that’s…” He had to clear his throat. “That’s really nice.”

  “Please, take a sample. Let me know what you think.” SueAnn placed a bar wrapped in twine in a paper bag.

  “You are so sweet, thank you.” She looked across the candles again.

  Reed scanned around him again, pretending to admire the festival’s atmosphere. But was really searching for out-of-place strangers. Any hint of the cartel or DEA. He couldn’t shake his cautious nature. He’d been burned too many times during times when he thought he could let down his guard. Not to mention clear his mind from the delectable images in his brain inspired by the soap.

  “I’ll take the cinnamon apple and the raspberry,” Skye announced.

  “And I’ll take the crab apple,” Reed added.

  Why the hell not? He pulled out his wallet and paid for all three candles.

  As SueAnne wrapped the jars in paper, Skye leaned in. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m happy to.” He smiled back. He had to admit, having Skye look up at him with that smile damn-near made his day. Made him relax just a touch.

  She glanced down at her watch. “Okay, let’s make our way to the stage. Ralph is scheduled to compete in the pie-eating contest soon.”

  This time he took her hand. “Lead the way.”

  They sat a few rows back from the white, make-shift stage. He made sure they were on the end, more convenient for a quick getaway if needed. He kept watching people’s faces, their hands, anything to cue him they were tailing him. Somehow he managed to keep a calm expression. Reed wasn’t expecting any surprises, but one could never be too sure, even tucked away in the foothills of Snoqualmie Mountain.

  Skye’s fingers flew over her phone.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m texting my friend, Lynée.” A few seconds passed, and she smiled. “Cool. She’s gonna meet us after this at the hayrides.”

  Something tugged on his left sleeve. He looked over at a blondish boy no older than five peering up at him with curious eyes. A gooey caramel-covered apple jutted out from his fist, with the same concoction smeared on his nose, lips, and chin.

  His mother seemed occupied on the other side, talking to a friend.

  ”I’m Bobby,” he announced. “What’s your name?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but the kid kept on talking. “Mama says I shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I think you’re okay. I like Miss Skye. She trusts you. Right?”


  It was hard not to chuckle. “Well, your mama’s right. You shouldn’t talk to strangers. But I like Miss Skye, too. What do you like most about her?”

  “She brings me pancakes at the diner with extra syrup. And my ice cream has chocolate sprinkles in a smiley face.”

  Now, he did chuckle. “That sounds delicious. How’s that caramel apple?”

  His eyes lit up. “Sticky.”

  “Bobby, don’t bother the nice man.” His mother finally leaned over. She gave an apologetic smile. “He didn’t get anything on you, did he?”

  “No, he’s fine,” Reed replied, then looked back at Bobby. “It was nice talking to you. Enjoy the contest.”

  The kid went back to devouring his apple.

  Skye had paused in her texts to watch him. Her expression was sweet, that adorable dimple showing up on one of her cheeks.

  “What?” he asked.

  A round man with wide-set eyes and thin lips took the stage and spoke into a mic. “Afternoon, everyone.”

  Skye leaned close. “That’s Mayor Stubblefield.”

  “I hope you all are enjoying the ninety-first year of Cascade Creek’s Apple Picking Festival,” the mayor began. “This county is a proud grower of three-percent of the nation’s apples…”

  “Wow,” Reed said under his breath.

  “And this year’s festival proceeds go to the Boys and Girls Club of Kittitas County.” The mayor outstretched a hand to the right as a bunch of kids and adults in blue shirts waved to the crowd.

  “Without further ado, let’s get to the main event everyone looks forward to the most. I hope you all brought your appetites.” The mayor introduced the contestants and covered the rules.

  “Ralph upped his training this year to beat Tommy.” Skye tended close again.

  He was nearly distracted by her scent. He couldn’t tell if it was perfume or her shampoo, but the flowery sweetness was so becoming on her. Very fitting. “Oh?”

  “Notice him drinking lots of water and chewing lots of gum?”

  Reed had noticed that but didn’t think too much of it. He nodded.

  “Well, he claims that’s all part of his training.”