by H. L. Wegley
Pastor Nelson whistled through his teeth. “Jeff, I came to tell you every member of our congregation believes in you. More than fifty people have told me they want to help you with your training expenses.”
Believed in Jeffrey Jacobs? They were the only people on the planet who believed in him after the disgracing debacle two years ago. “Pastor, I can’t accept it. I’d only be stealing from the people who really need help.”
Jeff turned and walked toward the javelin 270 feet away.
Jeffrey, get re-instated. Go back and win gold. Do it for your father.
His mother’s voice had come weak and raspy between gasps as she spoke the words shortly before dying two months ago.
… for your father.
Now Dad’s words pricked the sorest spot in Jeff’s heart.
The empty spot in our trophy case isn’t for my medals. It’s for you, son. For Olympic gold. You were born for this, not me.
If the truth were told, Jeff didn’t just want to win for his father. Jeff loved the applause of the crowd. He loved hearing the roar when the big screen displayed his name after he’d won the decathlon. Jeff’s decathlon was supposed to have ended with the Star Spangled Banner in Beijing. But it didn’t.
Did he want the glory for the wrong reasons? He chose not to answer the indicting question.
Keep your nose clean, dude. Maybe Rio.
Maybe. But Jeff doubted it. He would try to regain eligibility. How could he not? But, just like his father warned him, there would always be someone who wanted to stab him in the back. And they always came when he least expected it.
Who’s it going to be this time?
Chapter 2
The moment the forest went silent, Jeff sensed it. It came as an unsettling feeling more than anything audible. The sensation crept up his spine to the back of his neck.
He shivered then shook off the feeling as he slowed to a stop near a stand of tall Ponderosa pines on the dusty, Southern-Oregon logging road. He adjusted his headband to catch the drops of perspiration from a hot, July evening training run before they became stinging instruments of torture to his eyes. And he listened.
Barely audible, a noise came, one that didn't belong to the forest.
It sounded again. A wheezing cough?
He waited, trying to identify the sound.
The hoarse wheezing grew in volume, now accompanied by a syncopated rhythm of running feet.
With that gate, somebody needed to work on their stride.
Thankfully, it wasn't either of his two worst fears—timber rattlers or cougars.
A slender figure emerged from the small overgrown side road ahead, turned onto the main logging road and ran toward him. The person sounded like someone desperately trying to finish a marathon. Someone who wouldn't.
A young woman. She half ran, and half stumbled, toward him with her long, dark hair waving behind. Her face held wide eyes that contrasted with the dust and perspiration coating her cheeks and forehead.
She ran straight at Jeff, then stumbled and reached for him, her large brown eyes filled with terror.
“Help me! Please!”
Help her? With what?
Off balance now, her eyes closed and she pitched forward.
He leaped toward her, trying to scoop her upper body and stop her face plant.
Jeff's hands slid under her arms.
Her falling body took him to his knees.
He rolled backward, pulling the young woman.
She landed on top of him.
The back of Jeff’s head slammed against the dirt road.
His left knee screamed a sharp, stabbing complaint after it folded under him. The back of his head throbbed from striking the road.
Jeff rolled onto his side, easing the woman's body onto the ground. When he straightened his knee, it stopped complaining. And he could deal with the headache, but how should he deal with the woman?
Her gasps for air had turned to deep, steady breathing, and those brown eyes that displayed terror moments before, remained closed.
She must have passed out.
Her perfectly sculpted face was at the very least pretty. Without the dirt mask, maybe beautiful. Black hair with a few gentle waves framed a dark, well-tanned face with high cheekbones. Her lips might have been dark red if they weren’t so cracked and parched.
Where had her terror come from?
Angry voices and the sounds of running feet sounded in the distance near where the woman had emerged. “Which way deed she go?”
“I dunno.”
“You better find her, Barto, or we both muerto.”
Whatever it was, the young woman's danger had already become Jeff’s.
The pounding of running feet and the voices grew louder. “Do we take her alive, amigo?”
“Si, alive.”
Jeff gathered the woman in his arms, scanning the area around him for a hiding place.
She roused and gasped. “What are you doing? Put me down.”
“Quiet. Whoever’s chasing you is nearly here. We’ve got to hide.”
“No. Put me down. I can outrun them.”
“No. I can. You can’t.”
His words drew a laser look that burned straight through to his heart.
Gasping for breath again, she struggled in his arms to get free.
“Stop it. You’re safe, now. And I’m not letting you down.”
“Don’t feel … safe …” Her eyelids fluttered. Her voice grew weaker with each word. Her arms went limp. “If they find you … you won’t be …”
She stopped moving.
Out again. At least it would keep her quiet.
Jeff scanned the area around them. On the creek-side of the road, a bushy Madrone tree had grown up from the stump of its parent. He carried her behind its dense foliage, trying to avoid stepping on the dry Madrone bark and leaves that lay ready to betray him with their incredibly loud crackling sounds.
As he peered through a small opening between branches, two swarthy men ran out onto the main road.
At the sight of their assault rifles, Jeff stopped breathing.
His act of kindness had morphed to a matter of survival.
The two men stopped.
The forest remained silent, except for the occasional buzzing of grasshoppers' wings … and the young woman's heavy breathing.
He pulled her face against his neck, trying to muffle her respiration while he studied the men for any indication they had heard her.
The gunmen scanned the road both directions as if unsure which way she had gone.
Two of the three available roads led back into the mountains, the place she had been running from. The men would soon conclude she’d been running toward the small town where he lived, visible in the distance. Obviously, from this location, she had no other good option.
One of the men gestured toward town with his gun, and the two hurried away.
Jeff also needed go toward town. The tiny town of O'Brien lay two miles down the road. Hiding her there was the best solution, better than going straight to the police. The two gunmen could take out the entire O’Brien police force with one burst from their weapons, even if all three officers were on duty.
Jeff’s house, on the edge of town, was the first place of refuge he would reach. Surely he could hide her on his home turf if he reached his house unseen.
Maybe he should follow the creek, hidden by the bushes and trees lining it. But the creek meandered all over the small valley. Following the stream would make this a three-mile trek, and if she didn't wake up soon, a three-mile trek carrying a 120-pound woman. He'd already run four miles in the ninety-degree heat.
Could he do this? Yes. He was Jeffrey Jacobs, Olympic decathlon, gold-medal contender. The words mocked him. Maybe he wasn't a contender anymore, but he would carry this young woman to safety.
When the men had run two hundred yards down the road, Jeff turned toward the creek. He sidestepped a patch of blackberry vines, backed through the will
ows lining the creek, and stepped out onto its rocky bed.
The stream was running low, channeling only a small flow of water that wouldn't impede him. The smooth, flat rocks would provide a hidden path where he would leave few tracks.
It was a good plan, but he needed to hurry, to get as far down the creek as he could in case the men returned to look for tracks. No telling what kind of trail he had left in the dust where he fell down with the girl.
But what if the gunmen waited on this side of town, trying to prevent her from entering it to reach help? They might cut him off from his house, certainly from John or Brady, whoever was on patrol this evening.
As he trudged along the creek bed, Jeff explored every plausible scenario he could think of—take the girl to his house, hide her in the root cellar, take her to Pastor Nelson’s house. No. That would endanger the pastor and his family.
In the end, there was only one safe course for the girl and him, let God lead. Jeff took that course, praying softly as he followed the winding creek bed.
He prayed for the strength and the wits to carry this young woman to safety and for wisdom to determine what he should do after that.
Leaves and twigs crunched loudly a short distance behind him.
The men were coming to check the creek.
He broke into a labored run, trying to round the next bend before the goons with the guns emerged. His heart shifted into its highest gear. Adrenaline shot through his body.
Jeff ran hard. As he ran, he prayed that he wouldn't stumble. He prayed that the men wouldn't hear his heavy running steps and the clattering of rocks as he carried the young woman down the creek bed.
Who was she? Why was she in serious danger?
Jeff glanced down into the dirt-smudged face bouncing against his shoulder as he ran. She wasn’t awake to explain any of it.
She was completely dependent on him. That thought pressed hard against his heart. He pulled the young woman tightly to his chest, looked up into the blue sky, and prayed her words.
Help me. Please.
* * *
Allie’s eyes opened. Panic knotted her stomach. She gasped, her gaze darting over the area around her. It was a house. Neat, clean and homey. Best of all, no gunmen. She was lying on a couch near a man. The knot in her stomach tightened.
Her face. She touched it. The dust caked on by perspiration and miles of running down dusty roads was gone. He must have … The knot became a nauseating cramp.
She clenched her jaw, raised her head, and examined her denim shorts and the buttons on her sleeveless blouse. She was clothed just as she had been when—she must've passed out after she argued with the man who now sat in a chair only a few feet away.
She studied him.
He sat, hands clasped in his lap, eyes closed, but his lips were moving. Was he praying? Yes, he was. A lot of good that would do. But a man of faith, if he was genuine, she would be safe with him.
Allie’s gaze lingered on his sandy blonde hair, then moved to his powerful arms and shoulders. He had a pleasant face with a strong chin. Had his eyes been light blue? Yes. And they added the finishing touches to one of the most handsome faces she could recall seeing.
Girl, you've got way too many problems to even think such thoughts.
What about Mom, Dad, and her little brother, Benjamin? Would the cartel kill them because of her? Where were the gunmen? This man must have seen or heard them because they weren’t far behind her.
She pushed down on the couch with her hands, trying to sit up. Pain racked every muscle in her body. Her joints ached from the abuse she had inflicted on them during her long run.
When she glanced at the man again, she drew a sharp breath.
His eyes were open, staring at her.
He looked safe, but she would divulge as little as possible. “Where am I?” She hardly recognized her hoarse, raspy voice.
“Let me get you some water.” He left the room, then returned quickly with a large glass of ice water and handed it to her.
She took a sip, then a big guzzle. She took a breath, then another gulp.
“Whoa. Slow down. You'll make yourself sick.”
He had avoided her original question. “Where am I?”
He sat down in his chair. “You're in my house.”
“Am I safe here?”
“For the time being, we’re safe.”
We’re safe? Why had I become we?
She fought through the aches and pains and sat up. “Who are you, and where is your house?”
“We are a little overdue for introductions. My house is on the outskirts of the small town of O'Brien. My name is Jeff Jacobs.”
“Mr. Jacobs, where are the two men who—”
“You know, it's polite to reciprocate after an introduction.” He smiled and propped an ankle on his knee.
That was a good sign. The gunmen must not be near or there would be no smiles, no relaxed posture, unless he was working with them. No. That didn’t make sense.
Didn’t make sense or maybe you just didn’t want it to make sense?
He cleared his throat.
She needed to answer. Providing her name wouldn’t add to her danger. If he was one of them, he probably already knew her name. “My name is Alejandra Santiago.”
“That won't do.”
Proud of her Spanish name and heritage, Allie glared at him.
He pulled his head back as if she’d struck him. “I mean it's a beautiful name, but if I'd tried to say it when they were chasing us, we wouldn't be—it's too long. I'll call you Allie.”
“Mr. Jacobs, you can't just change my—”
“I'm Jeff, you're Allie. For survival purposes. Deal?”
She stared at him, meaning to glare again. But the gentleness and warmth in his eyes defused her anger. “Okay. It's a deal … Jeff.” She met his gaze and gave him a weak smile.
So now I'm Allie.
Normally, she only let her family call her Allie. But normality had died forty-eight hours ago in Redding.
She started to protest, then drowned his presumptuousness in another gulp of cold water. “Allie thinks Jeff should tell her what happened after she passed out. And she wants to know where the two gunmen are.”
Jeff stood and walked to the couch.
Girl, don’t let a stranger move in on you like that.
Again, she started to protest, but his smile and relaxed posture didn’t seem threatening. Besides, she needed help from someone she could trust. Maybe Jeff Jacobs was that person.
Don’t do what you’re thinking. Would you like a long list of serial killers that other women thought were handsome, charming, and safe?
Allie squelched the snarky voice inside and tried to relax by looking away from Jeff through the sheer, living room curtains. Outside, the twilight had turned the mountains to dark shadows with a yellow glow above. Twilight meant Jeff had been with her for two or three hours and who knew what dangers he had faced. Maybe his familiarity came from some bond he felt between them, a bond she didn't feel.
She stiffened when Jeff sat beside her.
“Allie …” He turned toward her and paused until she met his gaze. “I caught you when you fainted. You must've run a long, long way. I've never seen anyone so exhausted. Then the two gunmen came after us. I carried you. I prayed a lot, and we got away.”
“You got away while carrying me? I’m a strong runner but they chased me through the mountains for fifteen miles, maybe more. I couldn’t shake them. How did you—”
“Let’s just say I’m a stronger runner.” A shadow flickered across his face.
Was it sorrow or maybe regret?
The shadow disappeared and he met her gaze. “Or, maybe you wore them down for me.”
Allie scanned Jeff’s muscular arms and his powerful-looking legs, showing below his running shorts. She looked up from his body to his face.
Her face grew warm when she noticed Jeff tracking her gaze. She needed to stay focused, because the cartel’s plans
for her had probably changed from catch to kill. How should she tell that to Jeff?
Jeff’s smile returned then faded. “Rumor has it they grow marijuana in the mountains south of here. Who are those men?”
The expression on his face said he’d already answered to his satisfaction. So how much should she share?
And there were other issues. One appeared to be drawing Jeff’s curious gaze to her black hair.
“Have you notified anyone?”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Frankly, I didn't know what to do until I heard your story. You look like you're, uh … maybe …”
“Do you mean am I illegal? Chased by coyotes all the way from the border?”
“No. It’s just that—”
“I am Hispanic. My home is in Nogales, Mexico.” Or … it was.
Jeff nodded slowly, cautiously.
“But I’m not illegal, Jeff. I'm here on an international scholarship to Oregon State University.”
His face relaxed.
“So now you know.”
Yes, Jeff knew. But was she really safe here? If this man failed her, they would both wind up dead. Probably her family, too. Allie would die before she let that happen.
* * *
As Jeff pondered Allie’s story, he had questions. Her situation didn't compute. She was an incredibly beautiful young woman. He noticed that while washing the dirt from her face. She was intelligent, educated, but she had been chased through the mountains by people who were likely drug cartel thugs.
He would have called the police immediately, but he feared she was here illegally, and since he had eluded the two men, he decided to wait. But he couldn't wait any longer. He needed to know more of her story. “I'm glad that you're here legally. But, Allie, we barely escaped from two men who wanted to kill us.”
His voice grew louder as sounds of the shooting echoed through his mind. “Why did these men shoot at us? You need to tell me the whole story. I can't help you if I don't understand…” Jeff’s voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor.
When he looked up at her face, the smile was gone, and tears trickled down her cheeks. She looked so hopeless that he struggled to keep from wrapping her up in his arms. Instead, he reached out a hand.
