Running for Cover

by Shirlee McCoy

  “That’s very gentlemanly of you,” she said, laughing nervously as she took a seat.

  “My mother will be happy to hear that you said that.”

  “She doesn’t think you’re a gentleman?”

  “She’s hopeful, but not always convinced.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Yes, but it’s been harder since my sister died. When we’re together, me and my parents, there’s always a feeling that someone is missing. That we aren’t complete.” He settled onto the bench beside her, felt her stiffen, then relax.

  “I know how difficult that is. I’ve spent most of my life feeling the same way.”

  “The difference is, there is every chance that your brother and sister are out there somewhere, waiting for you to find them.”

  “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to do just that, but I keep coming up empty.”

  “I meant what I said about helping you, Morgan. All I’ll need are their names and birth dates. The city and country of birth.”

  “I’ll give you what I have. It’s not much.”

  “Not much is more than what I’ve gone on before. I can’t promise results, but I’ll try my best.”

  “You’re already doing too much.” But she didn’t tell him not to try, and her hand slipped into his, her fingers squeezing gently before she released her hold. He wanted to capture it again, bring it to his lips and press a kiss to her knuckles. But that would be too much too soon!

  “We should go back inside now. You did promise your sister that you’d be at church, and that’s not too many hours from now.”

  “I know.” She didn’t get up, though. Just sat completely still, her head resting against the back of the swing. In profile, her face was delicate, the angle of her jaw sharply defined. She looked lost in thought, caught up in her memories, but completely relaxed and more at ease than he’d ever seen her before.

  “Is this a place you spent a lot of time when you were a kid?”

  “Nearly every night during the summer for four years. Helen doesn’t believe in television. She says it distracts from creativity.”

  “So you sat out here instead of sitting in front of the television?”

  “Not quite.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “It isn’t. While Helen worked, I’d wander around in the woods behind the house. Eventually, I’d end up back here, and I’d sit on the swing and listen.”

  “To?”

  “My own thoughts. That was something I didn’t get much time to do during the school year. Mom and Dad are great, and my siblings were fun, but the ranch was always loud and busy. When I was here, I could actually hear myself think.”

  “What—”

  Jackson didn’t get a chance to finish the question. Somewhere inside the house, a dog barked. Another joined it, the frantic cadence of their tone clearly a warning.

  Jackson stood quickly, grabbed Morgan’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”

  She held on, running with him as he sprinted the few feet to the French doors.

  “Go inside. Lock the doors and call the police.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t go near the windows or doors. Don’t come outside.”

  “You’re not staying out there,” Morgan protested as Jackson gave her a gentle nudge into the room.

  But he was, and he handed her his coffee cup and shut the door, silencing her protest.

  The dogs continued to bark, the sound edging along Jackson’s nerves as he surveyed the dark yard, cocked his head to the side and listened.

  A car engine rumbled in the distance, the sound growing louder. Was that what had alarmed the dogs?

  If so, it was a better scenario than the one Jackson had been imagining. Armed gunmen surrounding the house, coming in with barrels blazing. Killing Jackson and Helen, torturing Morgan until she gave them what they wanted or died.

  No way did Jackson plan to die, and no way did he plan to let either of the women in the house die, so he’d have to find out who was in the approaching vehicle. If that person planned to cause trouble, Jackson would stop him.

  He jumped off the porch and rounded the side of the house, rain soaking his head and shirt as he made his way to the front yard and crouched in the shadows beneath a huge pine. His hand itched for the gun he’d left back in Lakeview, and he tensed as headlights appeared in the distance. Heading toward the house. In just a few minutes the car would be on him. Jackson slipped behind the tree’s wide trunk, pressing close. Watching. Waiting.

  Praying.

  That he could keep Morgan safe. That he could help her find the answers she so desperately needed. That God would give him the time he needed to do it.

  FOURTEEN

  Morgan ran through her room and out into the hall, slamming into someone, coffee cups dropping from her hands, a scream tearing from her throat.

  “Morgan!” Helen nearly shrieked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but there’s someone outside.”

  “I know. The dogs are going crazy. We need to get Jackson, let him know what’s going on.” The hall light went on, and Morgan blinked.

  “He already knows. We were out on the back porch together when the dogs started barking.” She spoke without thinking, and she regretted it immediately.

  “I see.”

  “There’s nothing to see, Aunt Helen. I was awake. So was he.”

  “I believe you. Even if I didn’t, it’s none of my business. Where is Jackson now? It’s probably for the best if we all stick together until the police get here.”

  “You called them?”

  “Of course. The dogs start barking like crazy, and I take that seriously. Especially considering what you went through last night. So, where’s our hero?”

  “Still outside. He wants us to wait in here until the police arrive.”

  “I like his plan.”

  “I don’t,” Morgan said, walking into the great room and wanting desperately to keep walking. Through the room, into the foyer and out the front door. Jackson shouldn’t be outside facing danger himself. Not when it was Morgan’s trouble he was walking into.

  “Do you have a better one?”

  “Yes, we find a couple of weapons, and we go outside to give Jackson a hand.”

  “Sorry. I’m fresh out of weapons.”

  “What about the gun you used to keep in the box under your bed?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “What do you think I was doing while you were working in the studio day after day and night after night when I was a kid?”

  “I hoped you were reading a book or looking at a magazine, or maybe working on your own art projects.”

  “I was snooping. So, do you still have the gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll run and get it.”

  “Knock yourself out, but it won’t do any good. The gun isn’t loaded and I’ve never had bullets for it.”

  “What? Then why keep it?”

  “To scare away intruders.”

  “So maybe we can use it for the same,” Morgan muttered, hurrying into her aunt’s room.

  She slid down onto her stomach, grabbing the box with shaking hands and pulling the pistol from it. She’d never liked guns, but having one could be the difference between life and death. Tomorrow, she’d find out what kind of bullets the weapon needed and she’d buy some.

  If she lived until tomorrow.

  If Jackson and Helen did.

  The thought of them both lying dead in pools of blood filled Morgan with sick dread, and she hurried back out of the room, the dogs still barking frantically, the sound digging deep into her brain and renewing the throbbing pulse of pain there.

  She yanked open the front door, stumbling when Helen pulled her backward.

  “You can’t go out there,” Helen said, trying to hold her in place.

  “Of course I can,” Morgan responded, tugging from her grasp, racing out into the rain. Br
ight headlights illuminated the dirt road a few hundred yards away as a car slowly eased toward the house.

  Could the driver see her?

  Terrified, Morgan dropped to her belly, the wet ground soaking her clothes through and leaving her shivering with cold.

  She needed to move. Get to a place where she couldn’t be seen, but she was frozen in place, the worry and adrenaline that had sent her running from the house, gone. In its place there was nothing but fear.

  “What are you doing out here?” Jackson hissed from somewhere in the darkness, his voice so unexpected Morgan jumped.

  “Looking for you.” She shifted, trying to see him, oddly comforted by his voice. Maybe facing death was easier to do with a partner.

  The grim thought barely had time to register as the car stopped.

  Morgan braced herself, expecting the doors to fly open, men to spill out into the night. Her heart beat hard with fear, her hand fisted around the gun as she waited for the nightmare to continue.

  To her right, a branch broke and grass rustled. Something dark and low moved toward her, the slow, lithe movements almost snakelike. The form human. Large. Jackson? Someone else?

  Fear twisted in Morgan’s stomach, and she lifted the gun, her hand shaking so hard she was sure she’d drop it.

  “Put that down before it goes off.” Jackson’s voice cut through the darkness again, and Morgan nearly sagged with relief.

  “It’s not loaded.”

  “Then I guess it won’t do us much good,” Jackson said, sliding up beside her and taking the gun from her hand.

  “What are they doing? Why is the car just sitting there?”

  “Maybe the driver is scoping the place out. Which works out well, because I’m going to scope him out. Stay here. And this time, really stay.” Jackson moved away, disappearing back into the darkness and leaving Morgan alone again.

  No gun in her hand.

  No weapon of any kind.

  She scanned the area, searching for Jackson, but he’d moved quickly and silently and was as invisible as air. Too bad she wasn’t as good at disappearing. She could slip into the woods that surrounded the house, find a hiding place and stay there until everything blew over.

  The car engine revved and Morgan tensed, expecting the vehicle to jump forward, maybe slam into Helen’s house. Instead, it did a quick U-turn and raced away.

  Morgan jumped to her feet, her heart pounding as the car rounded a curve and disappeared from view. Gone as quickly as it had come.

  Had Jackson gotten a look at the driver?

  She glanced around, saw him walking toward her, a black shadow against the darkness. “Did you see him?”

  “Them. Two men. I didn’t see much else before they took off.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “No. I think they got what they wanted and decided to leave.”

  “If what they wanted was to scare the wits out of me, then they definitely got it.”

  “I think they were more interested in getting the lay of the land.”

  “So they can figure out the best way to launch an attack?”

  “Maybe. What they weren’t counting on is someone being outside and close enough to get a look at the license plate number.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “The faster I can get the police searching for that car, the more likely it will be found.”

  The door flew open before they reached it, and Helen ran out, a cast-iron skillet in her hand. “The police are on the way. They should be here any minute.”

  “Too bad our friends decided to leave then,” Jackson responded, hurrying Morgan into the house as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

  “Were you planning to use the skillet to protect us?” Morgan asked her aunt, dropping onto the couch, her heart still pounding frantically.

  “It was that or a knife. This I could throw with some accuracy.” Helen set the skillet onto the coffee table, frowning in Jackson’s direction. “He’s calling the police again?”

  “He saw the license plate number of the car and thinks it’s better to call it in now than wait until the police arrive.”

  “Well, that’s something at least. I guess if my little sanctuary has got to be invaded, that’ll make it worthwhile.”

  “I’m sorry we barged in on you tonight, Aunt Helen. I know you prefer your solitude. And I’m especially sorry that I’ve brought my troubles with me.”

  “Your troubles are my troubles. That’s the way it is with family.”

  “Not when it means putting someone I love in danger. I should have stayed in Lakeview.” Or gone back to New York. Or taken the first flight out of the country.

  “Of course you shouldn’t have. Your family is here. And whether you want to admit it or not, you need us now.”

  Needed them?

  She loved her family. She appreciated them. But she’d never wanted to need them, had never wanted to be that vulnerable.

  Outside, sirens screamed, announcing the arrival of the police, and Helen hurried to the front door and pulled it open, waiting in the threshold for the officers to get out of their cars.

  Morgan stayed put, her energy gone, her mind numb.

  She’d thought she would be safe in her aunt’s mountain home, but the danger she’d fled had followed her. She frowned, rubbing at the tension in the back of her neck.

  “You okay?” Jackson dropped onto the couch beside her, a scowl hardening his features. The charming man of a few hours ago was gone. In his place was someone much more dangerous, but just as compelling.

  Morgan resisted the urge to scoot to the other end of the couch and put a few extra inches of space between them.

  “I’m fine,” she managed to say, meeting his eyes and offering a smile she didn’t feel. She wasn’t all right. She hadn’t been all right in a long time, but that wasn’t something she planned to share with anyone.

  “The police are putting out an APB on our guys’ car.”

  “I hope they find it soon. I’m not made for intrigue and danger.”

  “I doubt many people are, but you’re tough, Morgan. You’ll handle whatever comes your way, and you’ll come out on top.”

  Jackson was right. She was tough. She’d had to be. But sometimes being tough got tiring. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to have someone to lean on. Someone who could fight her battles for her.

  She’d thought Cody would be that person. She’d been wrong. Risking her heart and her emotions wasn’t something she planned to ever do again.

  But if she did, Jackson was the kind of person she imagined she’d want to do it with.

  And that was a direction she should not be letting her mind go.

  She stood. “I think I’ll go see why it’s taking the police so long to come in.”

  Jackson grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could walk away. “They’re collecting evidence outside before they come in. There’s nothing we can do out there but get in the way.”

  “Then I’ll—”

  “You don’t have to run away, Morgan. I’m not going to bite.”

  “I wasn’t running.”

  “You were leaving. I guess I wonder why.”

  “I already told you.”

  “You gave me an excuse, but I think there’s another reason.”

  “And I guess you’re going to tell me what it is?”

  “Just what I told you when we were on the plane. I think I make you uncomfortable.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you make me uncomfortable, and I was thinking the feeling might be mutual.”

  His honesty surprised Morgan, disarmed her, and she frowned, pulling her hand from his. “We’re both tired, Jackson. It’s been a long twenty-four hours, we’re under an incredible amount of stress.”

  “So we’re making something out of nothing and we really aren’t attracted to each other?”

  “I didn’t say anything about being a
ttracted.”

  “I did.”

  “Well, you can unsay it, because I’m not. We’re not.” Morgan turned on her heels and hurried to Helen’s side, refusing to acknowledge the way her pulse had leaped when Jackson had looked into her eyes, the way her heart had jumped when he’d said he was attracted to her.

  There were more important things to think about. Things that could be the difference between living and dying. She needed to find the disk Cody had hidden, needed to turn it over to the police and needed to go back to her quiet pottery gallery in Lakeview, her quiet life and her search for Katia and Nikolai.

  As she stood next to Helen, watching several flashlights bob and sway along the driveway, Morgan prayed that God would give her the opportunity to do all three.

  FIFTEEN

  It didn’t take long for the police to collect evidence outside the house. Probably because there wasn’t much to collect. The interviews took a little longer, and Jackson bit back impatience as the three officers asked the same questions over and over again. It was par for the course, but that didn’t make him any happier.

  “So, you think you were followed from Virginia because someone wants the disk your husband said you have?” the oldest of the three asked Morgan, his grizzled face and salt-and-pepper hair speaking of years of experience.

  “Yes,” Morgan responded, sounding a lot less irritated than Jackson felt.

  Helen, on the other hand, looked like she was about to explode. Five-nine, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, she was thin to the point of gauntness, her pale face surrounded by fiery hair, her green eyes blazing with the same heat. She was young. Much younger than Jackson had expected her to be. In his mind, she’d been fiftyish with gray hair and a plain, round face, bustling around in long, flowing flower-print dresses and scuffed brown sandals.

  As if she sensed his gaze, she threw a sharp look in his direction. He didn’t bother looking away. Morgan was his top priority. Protecting her meant knowing about her life and the people in it. Including her taciturn aunt.

  “We’ve already contacted the Lakeview Sheriff’s Department to let them know what’s gone on here tonight, and we want to assure you that we’re cooperating fully with their investigation,” the officer said, giving a we’re-finished-here spiel that pulled Jackson’s attention back to the interview and away from Helen.