Page 10 of Shadow Games

The Hispanic man saw his friends on the floor of the gym, and his eyes went wild. He started shooting at Wyatt, but he wasn’taiming. Leaping for cover behind a big old oak desk in the corner, Wyatt took the millisecond to aim down the length of the barrel and put a round through the man’s shoulder of his dominant arm. The gun dropped to the floor and skidded away. He could have killed him, but he wanted the man to leave in the Crown Vic. That way he would have something to track.

The man, realizing he was outgunned, literally, shoved the woman forward, then turned and ran through the gym.

“And leave Rowan alone,” Wyatt called, though he knew they wouldn’t.

Standing, he headed into the locker room. Two women screamed when he entered gun first. He lowered the weapon and held up his hand. “You're okay now.”

The women collapsed into relieved sobs. They were bloody and roughed up, but they would live to fight another day.

“You need to call the police and the squads,” he told them. “There are injured out here to be taken care of. Is there an emergency number you guys can call to get a manager in?”

One of the women nodded. She had a rapidly-purpling eye. “We'll take care of it. Thank you.”

The woman that had spoken urged the second woman up. “Come on. We have work to do.”

Wyatt turned and left the locker room. The gymnasium was a mess, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Striding back out into the hall, he was surprised to see the guard sitting up. She was holding a bloody cloth to her head, but she seemed to be coherent. A blonde woman was helping her. He hoped the cartel guys were the only ones dead.

In the distance, he could hear sirens wailing. He sent off a message to Charlie telling her there was a mess to clean up, and he sent her a pin of his location. Heading down the hallway toward the front of the school and where he assumed the administrative offices were, he looked for more targets. The manager's office was locked, but he just kicked it open. Considering this was a shelter, the security sucked. Within moments, he found the keys to the corner safe in the desk and had retrieved Rowan’s semi-automatic Smith and Wesson. Then he was hustling back through the school and through the damaged door. Jogging around the side of the building, he made sure it was clear before he turned the corner.

The sirens were getting closer, and he wanted to be long gone before they got here.

Rowan squealed as he ducked into the alcove where she was hidden. She should have known he was coming, though, because Echo was wagging her tail.

“Release. Good girl!”

Taking Rowan’s hand into his own, he swung her backpack up onto his shoulder and tugged her into the alley. “Come on. We have to go.”

They jogged to the corner of 4th and Sinclair, where he could get his bearings. “This way.”

Dodging bar patrons and homeless, he led her back to his vehicle at the coffee shop. Echo covered their backs. At one point she growled a warning, and Wyatt dodged across the street. He wasn’t sure what she’d been alerting to, but he listened.

They were both puffing by the time they got to the Suburban. Wyatt handed her up into the passenger side, dropped her backpack in front of her, then opened up the back door for Echo to get in. Circling the vehicle, he looked for tampering. Nothing seemed amiss. He climbed into the driver’s side and immediately started the vehicle. Pulling out onto Superior Ave, he merged into traffic. Then he allowed himself to really look at Rowan, at least, as much as he could see by the streetlights.

The woman looked like she’d been through the wringer. There were dark circles beneath her eyes he could see even in shadow on her pale skin. Rowan was one of those red heads that had clear, creamy smooth skin, with just a few faint freckles across her nose. She wore oversized pajamas with sleepy cows on them, the legs rolled up in cuffs. If he had registered that she wasn't actually wearing clothes, he would have made an effort to get her belongings from the shelter. It was too late now, and they were definitely not going back. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, staring at him incredulously. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Wyatt gave her a considering look. “I have a story to tell you.”

He checked the road signs and looked for an interstate heading South. They needed to get out of this town. And as much as he wanted to pull over and just talk to her, look at her, they needed to get moving.

“What's the quickest way out of here?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Uh,” she rubbed her pale fingers over her forehead. “90 to 10 eastbound. Then we’ll pick up 87 east.”

“Got it.”

Rowan turned in the seat to look at him. The interior had dimmed as they’d gotten on the interstate, but he could see the flash of her eyes. “Are you here to kill me?”

Wyatt looked at her incredulously. “Are you serious?”

She shrugged, looking cold and miserable. “I just don't know what to believe anymore.”

Wyatt reached behind the seat for the black sweatshirt he'd thrown there, earlier. He handed it to her. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to protect you and get you where you need to go.”

She gave a bark of laughter. “And if I don’t know where to go? What then?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he told her softly. He didn’t like to see her distressed. “Put the sweatshirt on and stay warm.”

---