Nowhere to Run by Nick Stevens

Author:Nick Stevens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nick Stevens

CHAPTER 33

The chair groaned as Harriet leaned back. She stabbed at a fragment of hard-boiled egg nestled in the now-empty clear clamshell, the plastic fork disappearing between her pudgy fingers. The salad she’d bought had filled her, but didn’t satisfy her like the fried fish sandwich her mother had made for her. Harriet thought nothing of tossing the sandwich earlier. Now she felt guilty.

Worse, the salad had cost fourteen dollars, even with her employee discount.

Harriet had felt so good about her healthy lunchtime salad that she had no qualms about buying three cupcakes instead of the lone one she’d planned. She eyed the white paper bag from across the video surveillance room. The cream-cheese frosting stained the bag, giving it a translucent window. The red velvet cake peeked out from behind, as if calling to her.

“Oh, what the hell,” she grumbled. The office chair grunted its relief as Harriet stood and unrolled the bag. Standing in the back of the room, she peeled away the wrapper on the first cupcake. She gingerly separated the cake’s bottom before placing it atop the frosting, creating a sandwich of cake, frosting, and cake.

A familiar face crossed one of the televisions covering the wall in front of her as she stuffed half of the cupcake sandwich into her mouth.

“No way,” said Harriet to the otherwise empty room, her voice muffled by confection. Mindful that no food or drinks could be on the desk, she wolfed down the rest and charged to the keyboard and mouse.

Harriet rewound the footage and paused it. She maxed out the meager zoom feature from the camera. The face hidden under a baseball cap resembled the man in the binder from earlier. Harriet reached for the binder, her fingers leaving smudges of frosting on the cover.

She reread the description. Mason Ashford. The man’s height roughly matched the report from the binder. A second man, shorter and rounder than the first, joined Ashford on the casino floor. The police report said Ashford traveled alone.

Harriet left her post. She traveled down a long hallway, her frayed Chuck Taylors squeaking on the immaculate vinyl tile. Todd wasn’t in the break room. She nudged open the door to the men’s restroom and called out for him. She only heard a male voice she didn’t recognize, asking if she wanted to join him. It took her five minutes before she found Todd snoring gently in a supply closet. Each exhale carried the sickly tang of Southern Comfort.

Harriet thought the entire closet would go up in flames with a single spark.

She jostled Todd’s shoulder. “Wake up. I think somebody from the binder is here.”

Todd stirred. His eyes stayed closed. “Binder? What are you talking about?”

“The green binder.”

Todd peeled back an eyelid, revealing whites laced with jagged red vessels. “You’re seeing things, Harry.”

“Todd, I swear. If you don’t get off your drunk ass into that office . . .” She paused. Harriet realized she didn’t have a threat ready.

He squinted back at her. “Well?”

Harriet crossed her arms, her face resolute.

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