women who’d seen him remained occupied on stage until he could figure a way out.
The guards opened doors and slammed them shut in their search down the hallway.
They’d be at the costumes room next.
After grabbing shoes off a shelf and a top hat, Ben ran for the door.
“Move, jerk!” Another wave of performers filled the hall, this time a mix of women in flowing ballroom dresses, interspersed with men in, wouldn’t you know it, black tuxedoes.
Guards bumped their way through the throng of performers hurrying toward the stage.
Ben whipped through buttoning his shirt and jacket and slapped the top hat on his head. When the rush of tuxedoed men crowded past the costume room, he slipped through the door and let the wave of dancers pull him along. As long as the guards didn’t see his overgrown, shaggy beard, he might get by.
Once the performers arrived at the stage, they adjusted neckties and hems, awaiting their cue and the exit of the feathered dancing girls.
The guards wove through the performers, scanning the crowd for any sign of the boss’s escaped prisoner.
With his face averted and his senses on alert, Ben bunched his muscles, ready to take on anyone who stood in the way of him and freedom.
“Are they looking for you?” A woman carrying a powder puff stepped in front of him just as a guard neared.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grunted, his voice hoarse from lack of use.
She lifted the puff filled with powder and dabbed it on his face at the exact time the guard pushed past him.
“You can get out the side door behind the lighting catwalk, backstage. It leads to another hallway. Take a left and you’ll find the loading docks and to the right of that a small employee parking lot.” She raised the puff again, ready to douse him with another layer of powder.
Ben grabbed her hand and stared into tired blue eyes. “Who are you?”
“Kitty.”
Applause signaled the end of the feathered dancers’ performance. Barely-clad women raced off the stage and the music changed tempo. The emcee, dressed in a navy blue tuxedo, announced the next act with a flourishing wave of his hand.
Ben released the woman’s wrist and smiled down at her. “Thanks, Kitty.”
Her blue eyes sparkled, a blush filling her wan cheeks. “You better go now.”
While the ballroom dancers whirled out onto the stage, Ben ducked behind the catwalk and out the backstage door.
Just as the makeup artist said, he turned left and emerged into a large loading dock area, the huge overhead doors closed for the night. He found an exit door that lead to a set of metal stairs descending into a small parking lot.
Another door farther along the back of the building opened as Ben’s feet hit the pavement. Two men in black suits, carrying handguns, stepped out. Ben ducked behind a car and, hunching low, ran the length of the row of cars to the end.
One of the men shouted. A popping sound was immediately followed by the glass in the passenger window next to him exploding, showering him with tiny shards.
His heart hammering in his chest, Ben evaluated his options in two seconds. Stay where he was and face the two guards who could multiply into many more, or take his chances and run across a thirty foot expanse of open pavement to a low brick wall separating the casino he’d just escaped from the one next door.
Ben launched himself out into the parking lot, zigzagging left, then right across the open space, then threw himself over the top of the brick wall. The distance to the ground was much farther on the other side. He landed on his side, bumping his sore shoulder. Pain shot through his arm and back, but he picked himself up and ran for the back of the neighboring casino.
What sounded like a herd of security guards pounded across the pavement in the parking lot behind him.
He’d be a sitting duck if he hung around outside too long.
A group of casino employees exited the back of the casino, speaking in Spanish, laughing and joking. One of them stopped at the door and fumbled in his back pocket. He frowned and waved to his buddies, saying he’d dropped his keys in the hall.
The men laughed and stopped, waiting for their compadre.
After a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge his pursuers’ progress, Ben made his face go slack and staggered over to the casino employees, feigning drunkenness. “Is this the way to get in?”
“Sorry, mister, you have to use the front entrance.” One man, with a heavy Hispanic accent stepped in front of him.
Ben lurched forward, bumping into the man. “Don’t know if I can make it that far.”
About the time their buddy with the missing keys opened the door, Wayne’s security team from the next casino cleared the wall, dropping to the pavement.
Ben dove for the man standing in the doorway. The unsuspecting man’s eyes widened, his keys dangling from his fingertips.
When Ben barreled into him, both men toppled inside the casino at the exact same time as a bullet pinged against the metal doorframe.
The man cursed and grunted as he hit the ground on his back.
“Sorry, pal.” Ben jumped to his feet and ran deeper into the building, weaving his way through the maze of corridors, until he found an open office door.
He pushed through and closed the door locking it from the inside. His escape meant nothing if he didn’t at least warn Ava. A single phone call would do for a start until he could find a way to get to her and provide the protection she’d need. Right now he needed a phone to call Ava in Kenner City, Colorado.
Breathing hard, Ben sat behind the desk and punched the buttons on the phone until he got an outside line. First he dialed home.
“Answer, Ava, answer!” After the fifth ring, an answering machine message in a male impersonal tone asked him to leave his phone number and a brief message. He punched the off button and dialed the Kenner County Crime Unit. Maybe she was working late.
He tried to picture her bending over a microscope. He imagined her belly swelled but beautiful, just like her. A surge of longing hit him full force. Knowing that Ava and his unborn child were alive and waiting for him had been the only thing to keep him going during his captivity.
“Kenner County Crime Unit,” the dispatcher answered.
“Get me Ava Parrish.”
“I’m sorry, she’s not in.”
Damn! He hung up and dialed the number for his supervisor, Jerry Ortiz, at the Durango office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. The operator picked up.
Before she could say two words, Ben demanded, “Get me Jerry Ortiz, and hurry.”
“But sir—”
“It’s
