by Sharon Dunn
She put the coffee in her father’s old percolator, and the room filled with the aroma of the grounds brewing.
As she watched Zach sleep, she wondered where a man found the kind of courage he’d shown. He’d risked his life to save the ex-soldier. And all the while, he seemed to be wrestling with something even deeper than the events of last night.
There was no bacon and eggs to cook, only some granola bars. Not much of a breakfast. She set them on the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.
Zach stirred awake. “What a great smell.”
She turned away embarrassed that she’d been caught staring at him. “Would you like some?”
She poured him a cup and handed it to him. He took it and rose to his feet, staring out the window.
“Sorry, about last night. On the road there.”
“I think anybody would have had that kind of a response given what you did,” she said.
He shook his head. “It wasn’t about that. It’s just seeing that kid all messed up like he was...” He paced in front of the window and then collapsed on a chair. “It brought back some memories.”
“The war?”
“More than that.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know why this is so hard to say—you’d find out soon enough whether I told you or not. I’m sure the footage is going to be all over the news when we get back to town.” He paced.
She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I was held hostage in Syria. They killed two of my colleagues. Last night made me relive the whole thing. It just brought everything up.” He turned away from her again. “Beck isn’t my real last name.” He made momentary eye contact with her as if he was gauging her reaction.
Shock spread through her. It must have been reflected on her face because he seemed to crumple in front of her. She was having a hard time absorbing everything he was saying. She really didn’t know him at all. “So you’re not who you said you were?”
“I’m exactly who I’ve said I am. I’m a journalist. I can play a decent game of basketball. I like calling people by nicknames. I used to live in Baltimore. I covered the war. All of that is true. The only lie was my last name, and I only lied about that because I came to Montana to get away from everything, including being hounded by reporters. Guess I was running instead of working through it. But the memories followed me here.” He stomped toward the door. “I’m so sorry for the deception.” He disappeared outside.
She let out a breath. She’d seen the footage from those news stories of different reporters who had been beheaded. She remembered the stories on Zach himself, though she thought his hair had been a different color back then—he must have dyed it. She could not imagine what he must have been through. Her heart filled with empathy and she raced after him.
When she stepped out on the porch, she saw no sign of him. He could have gone in several directions. She called his name. She ran a short distance on one path. Not seeing him, she sprinted back to the cabin and chose another trail.
She found him standing at the edge of a drop-off staring out at the scenery.
She ran up to him and touched his shoulder lightly. “I understand why you did what you did.”
He turned, blue-gray eyes flashing. “Do you?”
She nodded. “I’ve experienced the press hounding after the assault, and what you went through was much more traumatic.”
“Both of us have been through something few people experience,” he said. “I never meant to deceive you.”
There was so much about him she was only beginning to understand. Yes, there had been deception. But his courage only hours earlier and in the face of death in the Middle East was what stood out to her. “It’s all right.”
Relief spread across his face. His gaze rested on her. She felt herself being magnetically pulled toward him. He gathered her into his arms. His lips found hers, and she yielded, drawing closer to him as warmth spread over her.
Ten years. It had been ten years since she’d kissed anyone.
Fear encroached. She pulled away, bombarded with her own memories of violence.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I’m happy being your friend.” It was her turn to run away. She hurried back to the cabin and shut the door.
Tears streamed down her face as she placed a hand over her mouth. Grief and pain over what had been stolen from her that night ten years ago washed through her. She’d been running, too, just as Zach had—staying busy with work so she didn’t have to think about that terrible night.
She went into the bedroom and closed the door. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she realized how conflicted she felt. She did want to be more than friends with Zach. She’d never known anyone like him. The walls were just too high and the fear too great.
She slumped down on the bed. She uttered the sentence she had not let herself think for ten years.
“God, why did You let this happen?”
Now she had met someone that she maybe could have a life with and because of Craig Miller, she couldn’t let a wonderful man like Zach in. Her sobbing subsided, and she lay down on the bed. “God, You could have kept me safe that night and You didn’t. Why?” She pulled the covers up around her. Even uttering the question seemed to break something loose inside her. She found herself talking to God, telling Him everything she felt, the sorrow and the anger.
She heard the outside door open. Zach must be coming inside. Part of her wanted to go to him and talk. And then she half hoped he would open the door and come in and hold her.
She listened to him shuffling around. Slowly, the emotional exhaustion overtook her when she realized he wasn’t going to come in to her, and she didn’t have the courage to go out to him.
She closed her eyes. At least something had shifted between her and God.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. They couldn’t hide out in this cabin forever. It wouldn’t be safe. The man who wanted to harm her was still out there...waiting and watching. And he seemed to have a knack for finding her.
ELEVEN
Zach drew back the curtain on his second story apartment. The news crews were still outside as they had been for the last three days. When he’d been released in Syria and come back stateside, he’d done a news conference outside his sister’s house thinking that would placate the press’s hunger, but it had only made them want more juicy details. As though the trauma of his life was a movie.
This time he wasn’t going take the bait. He had no statement to make about why he’d stepped in to save Tyler or why he’d come to Montana under a different name. They could not begin to understand. They didn’t want to understand. They wanted salacious details and flashy headlines.
His phone beeped, indicating he had a text. He picked it up. Elizabeth. They hadn’t spoken of the kiss when they left the cabin together. He knew he’d been out of line the second she’d pulled away. He’d been thinking about what he wanted, not what she needed. She’d been so understanding about his deception. It had only increased the bond he felt for her.
He read her text.
I’m here to help you escape the press because you did that for me. I’ll be in the alley in five minutes. Only one reporter is camped out at the back of the building. I did my recon.
He shook his head. She was a good friend. Maybe this was her way of making things less awkward between them. He hurried down the stairs and spotted the reporter right away. He pressed against the wall and waited for the man to turn his back before he sprinted into the alley.
Elizabeth sat in her little compact car. The engine was still running when he jumped into the passenger seat.
“You made it.” She gave him a look he couldn’t quite decode. She was smiling but there was something behind her eyes. Fear maybe. Uncertainty?
How could
he ever get to the place where she felt safe around him again? He’d destroyed so much with one kiss.
“Where are we going?”
She hit her blinker as she turned out onto the street. “Are you hungry? You probably haven’t been able to go to the store.”
“I’ve been living on energy drinks and canned goods.”
“Ick. Let’s go get you some decent food,” she said.
“I can’t go out in public.”
“I have food at my house.”
He caught of flash of motion in the side view mirror. “There’s always one sharp reporter in the bunch. Looks like we’re being followed.”
“I hope it’s a reporter.” Her voice trembled.
He felt like a heel for having forgotten for a moment that her terror was driven by something much worse than a rabid journalist. Her stalker was still out there.
She lifted her chin, regaining her composure. “Whoever he is, I can lose him.” She pressed on the accelerator and did a sharp right turn onto a side street. “It’s funny, the shoe being on the other foot. I’ll never again hound someone for a story. If they don’t want to talk, they don’t have to talk.”
He craned his neck. “The guy is still with us.”
She sped up and then zigzagged through a parking lot, pulling into a space. A few seconds later, the car zoomed by them.
“Good maneuver,” he said. Without thinking, he reached over and lightly punched her shoulder.
Her expression changed at his touch. “I have a few.” She yanked the gearshift into Reverse and pulled out of the parking space.
He shifted in his seat.
Despite the lightness of the interaction, the air between them was heavy with tension. They couldn’t just be friends unless they were willing to talk about what had happened between then. He had no idea how to start that conversation.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go back to my house,” she said.
Was she thinking of the reporter—if it was a reporter—who might follow them there or had she decided that being alone with him was not safe?
“What do you suggest?”
She glanced in her rearview mirror. “There’s a little café not too far outside of town. No one but locals know about it.”
She took an exit and drove a few miles out of town. The warm glow emanating from the lights of the café came into view as she rounded a corner.
“My father used to take me here after we went fishing together,” she said.
Maybe he was reading too much into her choice, but he liked that she had picked a place that she had a sentimental attachment to.
“You miss your father?”
She glanced at the ceiling and shook her head. “A great deal. My mom left when I was four. Daddy was my protector and my cheerleader. I’d send him a copy of the news stories I covered and he’d make his friends watch them.”
“Sounds like a neat relationship.”
They both opened their doors and went inside. The café had several people at the counter and two of the five tables were occupied. They slid into a booth and grabbed menus that were in the rack by the salt and pepper shakers.
“I guess the person I’m closest to would be my sister. She’s the one who was responsible for getting me out of Syria before I was executed.” Even saying the words caused his throat to tighten. But every time he talked about it, it got a little easier.
She set her menu down and studied him for a long while. “You were that close to death?”
Resistance settled around him, but he knew if he expected her to talk about the most painful thing in her life, he had to be willing to talk about his captivity. “Yes. God spared me for a reason. I owe Him my life so I gave it back to Him.”
“Sometimes, though, you don’t get justice and you’re not spared.” Her eyes glazed.
He felt a stab to his own heart. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. And I’m sorry I was out of line when I kissed you. I hope we can still be friends?”
She stared at him for a long moment, her expression giving nothing away. Maybe the pain was just too deep for her to even respond.
“What can I get you folks?”
He’d been so focused on Elizabeth, he hadn’t even seen the waitress come up to their table.
“The burger and fries are good.” Elizabeth cast her gaze down to the table.
“I’ll have that, then. And a Coke.”
“Make it two,” she said.
The waitress walked away.
Elizabeth twirled the saltshaker and then set it down firmly. “Friends it is then.”
Though he wanted so much more with her, if he only ever could be her friend, he’d be satisfied. “Let me cover the meal tonight. Since you are the one who came up with the escape plan.”
She nodded.
He touched his pocket where his wallet should have been. “My wallet must have fallen out in the car. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside into the dusky evening, opened the car door and felt around for his wallet. His hand touched leather. He stood up straight.
A hand went over his mouth, and the cold metal of a gun barrel stabbed into his side.
A voice like hardened steel pressed on him. “You’re always in the way.”
* * *
The waitress set two drinks down on the table. “What happened to your friend?”
“He just stepped out for a minute.” Elizabeth’s first thought was that he had skipped out on her. Which only showed how paper-thin her trust with men was. She knew Zach. She knew his character. And besides, where would he go? She was the one who’d driven them there.
Though she kept her tone casual, a deeper instinct told her that something might be wrong. “Could you excuse me for a minute?” She pulled a twenty out of her purse and put it on the table in case Zach had gotten cornered by someone, and they needed to leave in a rush.
She ran to the window of the café, but the angle was wrong to see her car. She opened the door and the cool evening breeze hit her. The ka-thud ka-thud of her heart surrounded her. She pushed past the rising panic and stepped outside, hurrying to where she’d parked the car.
The door on the passenger side was closed but not latched. She turned a quick half circle. This didn’t make any sense. The stalker was after her. Why would he have grabbed Zach? Maybe he hadn’t, and this had something to do with the reporters who were hounding Zach. Had he slipped away to avoid them? Somehow, she didn’t think that was what was going on. She sent him a quick text and watched her screen of a long moment. No reply.
She ran back inside. “Please call the sheriff. I think something has happened to my friend.”
The lady behind the counter nodded. If the fear in Elizabeth’s expression didn’t tell her she was serious, the shakiness of her voice must have motivated the cashier to not question her.
Elizabeth darted back outside. She didn’t have time to wait for law enforcement. She took off through the forest toward the logging camp—the only place nearby. It could be that Zach had been shoved into a car and taken somewhere, but she hadn’t seen any cars pull up or leave.
She jumped over an old tire and ran toward the logging camp. She prayed that this was all some misunderstanding. But in her heart, she knew something had happened to her friend.
* * *
Zach struggled to come up with a way to subdue or escape from the man who had grabbed him. His kidnapper pushed him through the forest and out into an opening filled with broken, rusting equipment and dilapidated buildings.
Though his heart pounded wildly, he felt an inner calm that helped him think clearly. He’d had guns pointed at him before and had been in many situations where death seemed imminent. He could handle this. He just needed to wait for the moment of weakness when his captor’s guard was down.
<
br /> The kidnapper pushed Zach’s shoulder. “Keep moving toward that building. Don’t try anything or I will fill you with lead.”
They walked past a pile of logs covered in moss. The buildings leaned to one side.
“In there, now,” said the stalker.
What exactly did this guy have in mind? He’d implied that Zach was somehow impeding his access to Elizabeth. Would he really kill Zach just to get him out of the way?
Or was he bait?
He squeezed his eyes shut tight and opened them as fear struck a chord through him at the idea that he’d be used to get to Elizabeth and then killed. He prayed Elizabeth would wait for the authorities and not come looking for him on her own.
The man pointed. “Sit down there. Over in that corner.”
In the dim light, Zach could just make out the man’s face. He had a thick build where Zach was lean and tall. The guy could probably outmuscle him in a straight-on fight.
“I said sit down.”
Zach complied even as his thoughts raced a hundred miles an hour. He sank down to the ground. “So what is your deal with Elizabeth?”
“Shut up.” He paced and looked through the glassless window.
Zach’s chest squeezed tight. Was this guy waiting for Elizabeth to show up, setting a trap for her?
Maybe if he could get the man stirred up, he’d lose his focus and give Zach an opportunity to get away before Elizabeth got here. In the meantime, he needed to find out as much as he could.
“So do you know Elizabeth?”
The man half turned in his direction. “We were meant to be together.”
Clear signs of obsession. “She doesn’t know you, though?”
“Shut up.” The man dove toward him pressing the gun barrel against Zach’s temple. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea why I’m here.”
Would pushing the man’s buttons, placing the truth in front of him, cause him to lose focus or would it make him more violent?
“I know that Elizabeth is a beautiful professional woman,” Zach said.
