FIVE
Hannah McClarnon’s low heels click-clacked a rapid tempo on the cement. Her heart beat out a similar staccato as the black truck revved its engine behind her.
She stepped up her pace to get across the street to what she hoped would be the safety of the sidewalk, sneaking a peek at the driver out of her peripheral vision. Sunglasses shoved up tight on his face to block out the late afternoon sun hid any distinguishing features.
In a flash of the sunlight off of the truck’s side-view mirror, the driver hit the accelerator. The truck bore down on her at an increasing speed. Hannah’s heart seized in her chest as she clutched her tote and dashed to the sidewalk. An alley appeared a few feet down, and as she ran for safety, a crack tore the air. The brick next to her arm exploded with the bullet. A squeal escaped from somewhere deep inside of her, and she rushed into the protective enclosure of the alleyway.
Hannah leaned against the brick wall, gulping air. Was she safe or was the assailant still there? A quick glance down the alley only revealed a turn. Which way did it go? Or was it a dead end? She hadn’t worked in the little downtown area long enough to have had the opportunity to explore all the nooks and crannies yet. At least the alley was too narrow for the truck.
The clock on her phone warned her that she had less than ten minutes until her next appointment, something mysterious that her new boss, Mallory Callahan, had scheduled. She quickly dialed 911 and relayed her emergency to dispatch. But could she wait that long until help arrived? Although she couldn’t fathom why the man in the truck had shot at her, neither did she have any reason to believe that he would just drive away.
Of course, she’d been in the public eye before. She was the only daughter of shoe-manufacturing magnate Willford McClarnon. This was Heartwood Hill, though, a suburb of Indianapolis, and it was a bit unusual since her father’s business was in Lafayette. And this guy obviously hadn’t been looking at her shoes.
With trembling hands, Hannah tapped the camera icon and then hit the reverse button. The urge to peek around the corner pressed hard, but she forced it away. Grasping the end of her phone with her fingertips, she slid the camera end of the phone past the corner of the building. As soon as the screen showed a wide angle of the street, she snapped the photo and brought the phone back toward her.
She took a deep breath and examined the picture.
The truck was still there, a black monstrous thing with a star-shaped decal in the front windshield. No one else was around. There was no one on the sidewalk, and no vehicular traffic filled the street, but that was not unusual for so late in the afternoon. Office hours had ended a while ago, and the professional district had mostly emptied as everyone headed for home.
Now what?
Her destination, the three-story building where the Callahan twins had their law offices, was just around the corner, but would the alley connect? If it did, she could be there, safe in her cubical, in a few minutes. Perhaps law enforcement would arrive by that time.
The truck revved again, and perspiration slicked her palms so that she nearly dropped her phone. Apparently, the shooter thought she was an easy target and could just lie in wait for her to reappear, like a mouse emerging from its hole. Well, Hannah McClarnon was no mouse. She wouldn’t stay here and wait for another bullet.
Instead, she straightened her back against the brick wall and began inching down the alley. By the time she reached the corner, she couldn’t see the street. That should mean that the man in the truck couldn’t see her, but she couldn’t stop herself from hurrying across the chasm. She dodged a couple of trash cans and a pile of pallets. Around another corner, the alley opened up just across the two-lane street from the parking lot in front of the office building.
Returning her phone to her tote, she briefly pressed her hand to her heart before gripping the bag. With a quick glance up and down the street, she forced herself to step out from what felt like the safety of the brick enclosure. “Lord, keep me safe,” she prayed, as she puffed hair off her forehead. Her whispering voice sounded loud as it whooshed in her ears.
As she was about to step up onto the curb on the opposite side of the street, the squeal of tires on asphalt startled her. She pumped her legs into a jog, gripping the handles of her handbag so tightly her fingers went white. Suddenly, the professional image she had tried so hard to exude in her first real job didn’t matter. Dread crept up her spine at a breakneck pace. A glance to her right revealed it was the same truck again. He had found her. The man in the truck with the star-shaped decal.
Hannah felt her stomach lurch, bile rising in her throat.
The roar of his engine warned her that he was approaching again. He had to be only a few yards behind her. She quickened her pace and inhaled deeply for a quick shot of energy. It was doubtful that anyone from the office building would see her and come to her rescue. Most likely, at this late hour, only the Callahans were left, and only one of their windows, the one at the end of a hallway, faced the parking lot.
Where were those sirens she had summoned with her emergency call?
Perhaps she had an advantage, being on foot. A landscaped flower bed with evenly spaced brick posts ran between the street and the parking lot. The turn-in for vehicles was around the corner. Ignoring the dampness of the grass and mulch on her new pumps and stocking feet, she hopped between a couple of bushes and onto the asphalt parking lot.
All she could think to do was keep walking. Quickly. She kept herself as concealed by the decorative brick posts as possible.
Her phone trilled from the front pocket of her bag. The sudden noise reverberated through her, and in her half-panicked state of mind, she sped up her stride. She let the phone ring, and it sounded like a gong counting out her final steps.
Hannah glanced at the truck, still approaching. Was he trying to get
