Free Runner's Moon: Yarrolam by Linda Mooney

through the wide doors and headed directly for the men’s section. The longer they were together, the stronger their ties became. The realization both surprised and pleased him.
                He took little time, scooping up two pairs of jeans and two T-shirts. When he ignored the underwear section, the cop said nothing.
                “I’m ready,” he told the man.
                The officer lifted an eyebrow. “What about toiletries?”
                “If we’re going to have to move again, I prefer to keep things to a minimum. Travel light,” Yarrolam responded.
                He grabbed a duffle bag as they passed the sporting goods department on their way to checkout. While they waited in line, the officer pulled his phone from his pocket and texted his partner. There was a familiar ding, and the cop grunted.
                “They’ll meet up with us outside. The woman says she needs a pair of running shoes.”
                Yarrolam smiled to himself. Cherron had been wearing a pair of flats when she’d gotten dressed that morning. They were all she had left. Opting for some athletic footwear was a wise choice.
                When they reached the car, he shoved his sack of clothes inside the duffle. He opened the door to toss it onto the back seat, when a hard, piercing shaft of terror sliced through him. It caught him by surprise, and he fell sideways against the vehicle.
                “Hey, buddy. You okay?” The officer reached out to him, but Yarrolam slapped the hand away with a growl.
                “Cherron!”
                There was no time to explain. Another spear of horror knifed him in the gut, and Yarrolam turned to race toward the store. The cop yelled for him to stop. Yarrolam sensed the man hustling to follow him as he dashed into the building.
                His connection to Cherron was surprisingly strong, yet he could feel it tightening as the distance between them grew. She was being taken away, and by the vibes humming through their link, he knew she wasn’t going voluntarily.
                A small crowd had gathered near a counter in the cosmetics department. Two security guards were trying to control the pandemonium when Yarrolam arrived. On the floor, he saw Cherron’s bodyguard lying prone amid a heap of clothing and a pair of neon yellow running shoes. Cherron’s purse lay nearby, its contents scattered. Blood droplets were splattered about, filling him with dread until he noticed the blood running down the man’s face and cheek from the gash on his forehead.
                “…and then this big bald guy jumped him,” a woman nearby was explaining to one of the security officers. “There was another guy with him. He grabbed the woman and carried her away. That’s when I saw the first dude had a gun, and I hustled my butt out of sight, you know what I mean?”
                Yarrolam’s bodyguard joined him. Seeing his partner on the ground, he ordered Yarrolam, “Stay here”, and pulled out the chain holding his badge from where he’d tucked it inside his shirt. “NOPD,” he informed the security guard, flashing the gold shield.
                Yarrolam bolted. He no longer trusted the police to help. If anything, they were now a hindrance. He had to find Cherron, and he couldn’t wait for them. The thread between him and Cherron was growing thinner and fainter with every second that ticked by.
                The trail led to a back area of the store and out through a loading dock. Pausing, he stopped to center himself, reaching out for her and their connection.
                And found it. Desperate, he grasped it and locked onto it.
                They were moving swiftly, most likely in a car. They were going south where there was nothing but swamps, marshland, and beyond, the Gulf