Page 2 of Allie's Shelter

No, she wasn’t a professional, and beyond the desperation, she was paranoid enough for a whole gang of thieves. Scared too, he thought, when the bedroom light stayed on.

She had good reason for the fear, and with him on her tail, she had good reason for the paranoia.

When the name had come across his desk, he’d called it coincidence. Williams was common enough as names went. The pictures of her at corporate galas, hospital benefits, and racing in this or that triathlon sparked the inevitable flood of memories.

Hearing she’d stolen sensitive files didn’t stem the tide of old feelings, it just made him more determined to reel her in quickly.

* * *

Allie looked at the bed, but knew she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to risk even an attempt so soon after the nightmare. She couldn’t lie there in the dark pretending anymore. The tension and uncertainty were tying her up in knots.

She wanted to move. Needed to move. Her body craved a hard run in the cool pre-dawn air, but she was too afraid of the darkness outside, despite the pervasive safety of the quiet neighborhood that overlooked the sleeping town.

A few taps on her phone brought up a Sudoku puzzle but the distraction wasn’t enough to tune out the negativity cycling through her head. She needed help, but there was no one to call on. The incriminating evidence on the thumb drive in her bag meant she couldn’t involve any of her professional associates. Bottom line: she was guilty. She’d deliberately stolen sensitive information.

Information that proved her bosses were guilty of deplorable behavior.

Stealing made her a criminal, but at least she wasn’t hurting innocent people.

She set the phone aside and pushed her hands through her hair. In her dream it had been long, but she’d chopped most of it off before her last triathlon, back when her life had been simple. Only last month, but it felt like years. At the time, she’d been disappointed she hadn’t won the race for the good publicity for her company. Now, she was grateful she hadn’t added even one more small accolade to perpetuate the myth that they cared about anything other than their bottom line.

When the fidgeting got the best of her and yoga breathing didn’t help, she changed from her nightshirt into a sports bra, shorts, and running shoes. Her aunt kept a treadmill downstairs, in a small room tucked between the garage and the kitchen.

Allie could scan the news networks while she worked off the tension. She might even come up with some brilliant idea for her next move.

It seemed childish, turning on every light along her path through the big house, but she couldn’t shake the nerves. What did it matter?

She was alone, staying here while her aunt enjoyed a couple weeks cruising the Mediterranean. Allie wouldn’t have hidden here if it meant putting her aunt in the line of fire, but with her aunt safely out of the way and the clock ticking, this was the best of her limited options. She had to figure this out or turn herself in soon.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator on her way through the kitchen and felt ridiculously accomplished when she reached the exercise room without trouble or a nervous breakdown.

Then she tried to feel nothing at all as she set her feet into the soothing motion on the treadmill. It felt so good to move, to focus on nothing but her breathing, she muted the volume on the television as she increased her speed. Running outside was better, but this was a fair compromise. If she survived the consequences of this decision she’d made, if she managed to stay out of jail, she knew compromise would be the theme of the rest of her days.

Her career as a publicist for the pharmaceutical research and development industry was over, but there might be other options. With her master’s degree and athletic experience, maybe she could coach at the junior high or high school level. Except that along with that experience came her name and a comprehensive resume that ended with the glaring black mark of stealing from her employer.

While it was tempting, she couldn’t hang out here in Haleswood, hiding in plain sight, indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before someone dug up this address in her family records and came calling despite the lack of cover available in a tiny town where every visitor was big news.

If she managed to settle things peacefully, she might be able to negotiate something just shy of a complete career meltdown and gain a little breathing space. Even if the town eventually judged her with the facts as presented by her former employer, she and Aunt Ruth would know the truth. It might even boost business at her aunt’s coffee shop in town if people thought they could come by and hear the gory details of the prom queen gone bad.

Prom queen. That feels like a million years ago.

She turned the television volume up a few notches above low, flipping between news stations for any word yet on her criminal activity and disappearance. It had been six days, and still nothing had been announced publicly. No doubt the executives were locked in a conference room, analyzing their options. They would be meticulous about finding the best approach to out her before she could out them and they held all but one of the cards.

In the past few days, she had felt someone watching her and knew the sensation was more than her own guilt. With so much money on the line, her company wouldn’t hesitate to hire someone to track her down. While she wished she could’ve made it more of a challenge, she didn’t have the resources beyond a new phone and the safety of a loyal small town. Sure, she had the truth on her side. The trouble was that truth might never come to light.

It was disconcerting how well her boss kept everything out of the news. For another moment, she considered posting the incriminating evidence online and forcing him to react, but that would only make it easier for the company to discredit her. She understood the game and how they could spin her story as just another disgruntled employee out for revenge. The waiting was horrible, but until she had more instructions from the law firm she’d contacted, it was her best option.

Her palms sweaty from thinking about the hornet’s nest she’d stirred up, she bobbled the remote as she went to change channels. With an easy move, she hopped off the treadmill to pick it up.

The treadmill screeched and the control panel lit up in a shower of sparks. What the—? Her ears were ringing from the blast of sound. Someone had shot at her…from only a few feet away. Someone was in the house!

For an infinity of two seconds, she froze.

Run! But there was no escape from the small room. The shooter, the mean, dark muzzle of his gun trained on her, stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blocking the only exit. He must have broken the lock on the back door.

She scrambled for cover, but there wasn’t much of that either.

The sound of her panicked breath didn’t quite drown out the newscaster’s voice saying her name.

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