No Safe Place. Sherri Shackelford

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      The mother breathed a sigh. “See? That’s our train. An hour late for delays and repairs. If you’re good on the trip, I’ll let you play Super Why on the iPad.”

      The allure of digital distraction appeased the toddler more than the promise of a lengthy, dull train ride. Beth waited until they left the restroom before she exited the stall.

      She stuffed her clothing in the trash and stared into the mirror. The face looking back at her was pale and drawn, a fitting match for the ball cap, hoodie and jeans she’d donned.

      The PA announced the imminent departure of the next train once more, and she tugged her lower lip between her teeth.

      For the past month, she’d been in training for her new identity. The instructions from her dad’s former informants when she’d arranged for her false identity had been specific and succinct: Think about your disappearance at least as much as you thought about what put you on the run in the first place.

      She crossed the vaulted lobby and froze. A man in a suit was speaking with the uniformed security guard. He flashed identification.

      Pivoting on her heel, she ducked behind an automated kiosk, then peered around the edge. The man tucked his badge into his breast pocket, and she sucked in a breath. There was no reason to assume the man was here for her. Corbin didn’t know how she was escaping the city. She tamped down her twinge of guilt. Even if he was with the Feds, she’d turned over all the evidence she had.

      She shouldn’t have to die, as well.

      The security guard motioned the suited man toward the restroom, and she spun around. They passed beside her, and she carefully circled the kiosk. Once both men were out of sight, she approached the counter and exchanged her ticket. She’d initially planned on heading south on the California Zephyr in the morning, but the unexpected attack in the garage had forced a change in her itinerary. If someone had been keeping a watch on her, she’d best alter her original route. The attendant grumbled but eventually agreed if she paid an extra fee.

      Fifteen minutes later she took her seat in a roomette on the Empire Builder train. Her heel tapped against the floor, and she glanced over her shoulder. Loading the train took an eternity, and she peered out the window on to the platform. The excursion was crowded, filled with families and vacationers, but nothing suspicious caught her attention.

      The harried family with the upset toddler struggled their way down the narrow aisle in a squall of luggage, cheerful promises of the fabulous trip ahead, and the faint odor of apple juice.

      Beth shut the door and tugged the curtains over the square window of her private roomette—a tiny space featuring two facing seats and an overhead bunk that pulled down. The wheels finally chugged, and the train lurched. She exhaled her pent-up breath. As the station faded into the distance, her pulse gradually slowed to a normal rhythm.

      An hour into the trip, she almost felt as though she could breathe normally again.

      A knock on the door sent her heart leaping into her throat.

      “Yes?” she asked, her voice strangled.

      “Complimentary beverage and snack service.”

      She hesitated, then realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. Her stomach rumbled. She stood and opened the door.

      Corbin Ross stared back at her. “Going someplace?”

      She attempted to slam the door, and he blocked the move with his foot. “We need to talk.”

      Corbin crowded into the tiny room and closed the pocket door. “Your destination is Portland, I believe. Plenty of time to tell me everything you know about Quetech Industries.”

      He’d sat in the lounge car for the past hour sipping water and gathering information as the scenery chugged by the window. Beth had the means and opportunity for the money laundering, but the motive remained frustratingly elusive. People did not operate randomly. Greed and revenge covered most crimes. Though some criminals merely liked to watch the world burn, she didn’t seem the type.

      She glanced behind him. “Does this mean I don’t get a snack?”

      At the defeated look on her face, he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Not complimentary.”

      Beth slumped on to a chair, and he took the opposite seat. He’d never seen the accountant dressed casually. Wearing a ball cap and jeans with her face scrubbed of makeup, she appeared younger and more vulnerable. His focus slipped, and he steeled his resolve. This wasn’t personal. This was the job. Losing his concentration had the potential to cost lives.

      “How did you find me so quickly?” she asked, her expression wan and defeated.

      The terror alert was high during the holiday weekend, which meant there was a field agent at Union Station. Corbin had put out a watch for Beth, but her change of plans had caught him off guard.

      He’d nearly missed the train. “My keen powers of intellect and deduction.”

      She raised an eyebrow.

      “I caught a break.”

      “Are you with the FBI?”

      “Homeland Security.” He retrieved his identification from his pocket. “Cyber Division.”

      She snorted. “That figures.”

      “Don’t you want to check up on me? You should be more careful. I might have forged this identification.”

      “At first I thought you might be a mercenary. Except no self-respecting thug would wear his hair cut that way.”

      “I was undercover.” He ran his fingers through the close-clopped strands. “Defeats the purpose if I look like a thug.”

      He’d been out of the military for two years; maybe it was time to change barbers.

      “I bet.” She set her chin in a stubborn line. “I have nothing to say.”

      “I don’t believe you.” A muscle ticked along his temple. She was out to save her own hide, which made her both desperate and dangerous. “The truth will set you free. Eventually. Federal prison isn’t that bad.”

      “I’m not upset because I’m going to federal prison,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m upset because I’m going to die.”

      “Relax.” He took off his dark-rimmed glasses and polished the rain-smudged lenses on his sleeve. “You’ve been reading too many spy novels. I’m not going to kill you, Beth.”

      “I’m not worried about you.” She leaned forward and clutched her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t even make it out of the city.”

      Given the fate of the last accountant who’d tangled with Cayman Holdings, she had good reason to be afraid.

      “Tell me.” He replaced his glasses. “How much does it cost to disappear these days?”

      Her gaze remained fixed on the toes of her pristine sneakers. “I wouldn’t know.”

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