Flee the Night

by Susan May Warren

  He tied the laces, backed away, and stood up. “Okay, what’s next on the list?”

  Lacey stared at him, suddenly seeing the man who’d been the best athlete in school, the most handsome fella at prom, and the man she’d seen bow his head and ask God to let him be His man. He deserved more than this. Better than this. A good woman, a family, children. “Micah, I should have asked … are you married?”

  His mouth opened slightly, and he reddened. Looked away.

  She’d made him blush. She tried not to enjoy that, but somehow that fact only made her bolder. He hadn’t married. Please, please let that have something to do with her. “How about a girlfriend?” Okay, she’d just treaded onto sensitive territory.

  He turned and stalked away, then grabbed their shopping cart as if for balance or support.

  “It’s just a question.”

  “No. There’s your answer.”

  O-kay. She sidled up to him. Yes, those boots were comfortable. And in them she just might be able to outrun him. But at the moment ditching him was the last thing on her mind. He didn’t have a girlfriend? “Why not?”

  Micah looked at her then, a swift glance that revealed all his emotions, right there in his eyes. His jaw clenched. “Maybe I just never found anyone worth surrendering my life for.” So it was about her. Like, John had given his life, and she hadn’t been worth it. “Oh,” she squawked.

  Lacey walked beside him, the silence thick and prickled with his accusation. The pain throbbing in her heart should be one of many good reasons to keep her mouth shut, to dodge any moment of fond recollection of a warm and fuzzy friendship with this man. Their future had as much chance as a snowball in Jamaica, and every synapse in her brain screamed at her to run. Besides, Jim Micah had nothing but contempt, with perhaps a smidgen of sympathy, for her.

  “Are you hungry?” Micah veered into the chip-and-soda aisle. He reached for a jar of peanuts.

  “Pork rinds.” Lacey trolleyed down to the end of the row and chose a bag of barbeque-flavored pork rinds.

  Micah made a face. He’d forgotten her affinity for them, a fondness he never could figure out. “You can’t be serious.

  I thought that was a phase.”

  She tossed them into the cart. “Some habits are hard to break. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” Like the habit of wishing Jim Micah might forgive her someday. She muscled past a wave of sorrow and grabbed a Diet Coke with lime. “I love this new stuff.” She also loaded in a box of Fruit Roll-Ups. “Emily eats these all the time. She dangles them out of her mouth like a tongue.”

  Micah smirked.

  Lacey wheeled to the cosmetics section, picked up some mascara, lipstick, a hairbrush, a ponytail holder, and panty hose. “So I take it you’re on leave or something?”

  “Or something,” Micah said.

  She glanced at him. “You’re still with the commandos, right?”

  He nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.

  Something felt … wrong. She remembered the way he’d carried her … and the strain in his eyes. “You weren’t … I mean, you’re not … were you wounded?” She fought the mental image of him pushing papers, filing, or even analyzing missions. But he wore a strange—no … unsettling—look. As if he had his own secrets.

  He gave a harsh chuckle. “No.”

  Somehow that made her feel better. She pushed the cart toward the shampoo aisle. “I always thought you were a lifer, just like John. You both had this patriotic zeal in your eyes at graduation.” Micah had also let her peek inside his soul for a good glimpse at his real reasons. Honest, just, biblical reasons that should make an accused killer like herself turn tail and flee.

  “Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m a lifer.” But she heard the strangest tinge in his voice. And when she turned, the look in his eyes sent a flash of heat to the center of her chest.

  She made a quick escape toward a display of sunglasses.

  Jim Micah, get ahold of yourself. Right now.

  Micah clenched his jaw in an effort to lasso his emotions. Three hours with this woman and he felt like he’d been in a firefight for three days and was on his last clip. He tightened his fists in his pockets and followed her to the sunglasses display.

  Married, indeed. As if he could ever get married when he was still in love with—No, not in love. He had a career. And that was enough. As soon as he figured out a way to wrestle Lacey back into the truck and surrender, he’d run, full out, back to that career and never look over his shoulder to this moment when she so neatly ambushed him with the question, “Are you married?”

  Never. Not when it cost his best friend his life. Not that Micah was against marriage—to the right woman. He recognized plenty of good marriages in his midst—like his parents and his brother Joey to Becky. But stacking his plate with one mission then another left little time for Micah to meet someone who might dig through his layers, someone for whom he might crack open his heart and let inside.

  Not that he’d ever tried. All desire for marriage died the day he saw the only woman he’d ever loved say “I do” to his best friend. And when she killed him … well, case closed.

  Micah walked behind Lacey through the accessories section, watching her pick out a bevy of interesting items. Ten minutes later, he paid for them with his credit card.

  She disappeared into the bathroom while he paced. Some-how he needed to negotiate her into surrendering. The last thing she needed was another charge on her list of allegations. Senator Ramey was an honest man, someone who would listen. He’d written Micah’s recommendation for reinstatement, and if Micah could get Lacey to listen, maybe …

  Who was he kidding? Micah had barely talked himself into listening to her. Even now, he had a gut feeling that she was hiding enough secrets to get them both shot on sight. Perfect. Just what he needed to bolster the review committee’s opinion of him.

  He ran a hand through his hair, feeling even more greasy and disgusting than he had the night before. And with the smell he was emanating, he might just pass for roadkill.

  Lacey, on the other hand, despite her rather at-loose-ends attire, could still turn a man to knots with her curly red hair, silver eyes so full of energy, and her smile that seemed to blindside him and elevate his heartbeat. He hadn’t expected her questions or her soft concern about his health. “Were you wounded?”

  Yeah, a sniper bullet straight to his heart about twenty years ago. Status—critical.

  He ground his molars, placed his arms across his chest.

  “I always thought you were a lifer.…”

  She’d meant in the army. She had no idea that she’d zeroed in on his biggest problem—the fact that he’d never flushed her from his system. Never exorcised the memory of Lacey Galloway from what was left of his bleeding heart. But he’d spent years shoving his feelings into compartments, eating tactics, breathing duty, knowing that if he ever let his feelings out of the box, they might devour him.

  And he wasn’t about to let Lacey Galloway interfere with twenty years of training. He’d waited—no, prayed—for this day. Hadn’t he?

  If he hoped to be God’s man, he had to do what was right. He had to haul her back to the National Security Agency. Kicking and screaming, if need dictated.

  A woman exited the bathroom. Her blonde hair bobbed just below her chin, and her face glowed with fresh makeup. She wore a pair of jeans and a lime green T-shirt short enough to hint at skin, and she clutched a jean jacket thrown over her shoulder. She strode by him and left in her wake a fragrance that could awaken an army of dead.

  Micah caught her by the arm. “Good try.”

  When she whirled and quirked an eyebrow, all his wounds reopened with a single slash. Oh, this woman could tangle his brains and sweep the breath out of him with a smile. “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  “I think that the NSA better be on their toes or you’ll walk away with the nation’s secrets and the key to Fort Knox.”

  Or maybe what was left of his heart.


  Chapter 9

  “OKAY, I KNEW you were hungry, but c’mon, three orders of pancakes and an omelette?” Micah stared at Lacey over the menu, his face partially hidden, but she saw the smile in his eyes.

  She’d called herself a fool a thousand times during the past three hours since their stopover at Wal-Mart, but she couldn’t get past her personal name-calling to actually ditching this man who had so completely come to her rescue … again.

  It was a habit she’d have to kick if she hoped to keep him out of this mess—and alive. No Jim Micah. That meant that whoever had Emily knew Lacey’s past and her heroes.

  Micah did look like a hero in the full, late-morning light. A man-sized, slightly rumpled, dark, frowsy-haired, whiskered, smoky-green-eyes-etched-with-concern hero.

  “Okay, maybe you’re right. But definitely the Denver omelet and at least one order of cakes to start. I need the carbo load.” She felt ravenous, despite the bag of pork rinds and half a bottle of Diet Coke. She smiled at the waitress, a barely updated version of Aunt Bee, who nodded approvingly.

  Micah closed his menu and handed it to Bee. “I’ll have a bowl of grits, lots of butter, a cup of coffee, and a piece of whole-wheat bread with honey.”

  “Yuck.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to eat for a small nation.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll eat again,” Lacey mumbled. The reality of her situation loomed like a guillotine, despite the uplift from a change of clothing. She had tied her hair up with the panty hose in the Wal-Mart bathroom and shoved on a blonde wig, picked up at the accessory counter. It felt hot and itchy on her head. Now she just needed to use her new toothbrush and she might be able to live with herself for another twenty-four hours.

  Then again, if she didn’t have Emily back in her arms—and soon—she might never be able to live with herself again. She already flinched every time she looked in the mirror. How had she gone from sophomore clarinet player and choir member to fugitive with a record?

  One bad choice at a time. Until she’d gotten so far down the road, so far from God and the memories of faith, she couldn’t find her way back.

  She couldn’t scrape from her mind the split-second look of admiration on Micah’s face when she came out of the Wal-Mart dressing room. She knew she’d almost fooled him when she walked quickly past him, which meant she might also be able to ditch him. Probably another bad choice, but again, she’d backed herself into a corner with her abysmal decisions.

  She turned over the fork and studied it, remembering how she’d screwed one like it into Micah’s neck. As if he couldn’t have sent her sprawling onto the pavement.

  Only he hadn’t.

  In fact, he’d been … kind. She swallowed against a rising tide of longings. It would do her—and Emily—no good to remember his friendship and how she’d wished for nothing but his protective presence in her life. Desperation had made her call him … and that same desperation would send him packing.

  The small-town café near Ashleyville smelled of frying bacon and buzzed with the early morning chitchat of patrons. The bell over the door clanged every few moments, and Micah eyed each person as they entered or left, like some sort of PI.

  “So, you know how I found you … how did you find me?” Lacey asked.

  He glanced at her. “I haven’t forgotten your tricks. I figured you’d head to the safest place you know. Remember the time you and John got in that fight—what was it about?”

  She smirked. “Theology. Probably our usual fight—God’s plan versus our free will.”

  His eyes held sweet amusement. “Oh yeah, you were so angry, I thought you were going to wallop him.”

  “I should have. He was always so smug. So right. It drove me crazy.” She felt a real smile tug her face. “I ran home, got on Sugah, and rode to the caves. You scared me nearly out of my skin when you crept up like a cougar.”

  “I didn’t want to get hit either.” He grinned, obviously remembering her sitting in the dark, huddled against the chilly summer night, fury sizzling in her bones.

  “Well, I eventually came over to his point of view. He believed in choices, said that without them, we were puppets and our salvation didn’t bring any glory to God.” The words in her mouth felt dry, raw. It seemed as if she had done nothing but make God cringe for over a decade.

  “But that’s the mystery,” Micah said. “Without God completely in charge, foreknowing, we are left with a handcuffed God. Someone who isn’t in charge of circumstances, who has to go with the flow, at the mercy of our whims.” Micah leaned back for the waitress to place his coffee before him. “Decaf, right?”

  She gave him a Southern glare and waddled away.

  “Micah, you were always so cerebral in your faith. You believe God is in control, but you don’t think with your heart. How could God be in control of tragedy? of heartache? If He sees what will happen, He can change it and keep us from—” she rubbed her finger around the rim of her cup—“making mistakes that will destroy lives.”

  “You’re precluding the fact that He doesn’t want it to happen,” Micah said, concern in his eyes.

  She felt slapped. “I can’t believe that God would want John to be killed in cold blood. He was a good man. Idealistic maybe and sometimes too reckless, but a good man.” She turned back to Micah, barely able to form words. “No, it was my choices that caused that. Not God’s.”

  Micah moved his hand, as if he might touch her. Except he stopped, let it rest in the middle of the table. “Yeah. Well, then again, there’s the mystery. I believe God knew it would happen. Why He didn’t stop it? I don’t know.” His voice was steady, unfazed by her confession. Iceman, even in the face of his friend’s death.

  Micah picked up his spoon, turned it between his fingers.

  “When my pop was working the streets, he’d come home from the night shift wrung out and grieving the victims. I remember the nights he caught the occasional drug dealer. He’d meet Joey and me at breakfast before we left for school, and you know what we’d do?”

  Lacey dredged up a picture of Micah’s father, so much like his son, broad, bold, and brave in his sheriff’s uniform. “What?”

  “We’d pray for them. He’d thank God for letting him nab them, then ask God to use the darkness to show them the light. He’d ask for their redemption.” Micah shook his head, and in that action she saw him as a boy, the one she’d admired from three pews behind in church. Micah’s sensible, rock-solid faith had always centered her, like a bulwark against life’s tempest. And now, staring at him, she felt the tingle of old feelings, old longings.

  “I remember the day I challenged my dad,” Micah continued. “I asked him the very questions with which you and John wrestled. Is God in control? What about the horrible things that happen to people?” He looked her in the eye. “Do you remember that night I found you after your fight with John?”

  She shrugged, but she remembered well the smell of him as he led her horse home. Remembered how she felt safe in his shadow, how she’d leaned into his friendship. The memory made her ache.

  “Do you remember the moon?” Micah persisted, unaware that he’d yanked her back to her regrets. “It was full and trailed a path home.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Mostly because your eyes glowed in the moonlight, and I couldn’t unsnarl the feelings in my heart. “You said something about darkness illuminating light.”

  He grinned, and for the first time since she’d called him and he’d barged into her hospital room with ultimatum in his eyes, she saw genuine friendship. The old friendship, filled with equality. With grace. “That’s right. Light without darkness isn’t remarkable. We take it for granted most of the time. It’s all around us; it helps us live our lives. But put us in a dark room and suddenly the light is all that we long for. It gives us hope. It shows us how to be saved.”

  “You’re saying that God let those drug dealers fall into trouble so they’d see … what, salvation?”

  “
Sometimes we have to see darkness to understand the light.”

  She leaned back as the waitress brought her omelette; then she moved her glass of water to make room for the plate of pancakes. The smell of blueberry syrup tugged at her stomach. “Sorry, Micah, that’s a great theory, but the fact is, no one is going to be better off because they’re doomed.” She should know. She’d grown up with the light, and it still didn’t hold a flicker against the darkness permeating her soul. “Let’s eat.”

  “Let’s pray.”

  “No. You pray if you want.” She picked up her fork, refusing to look at him as he bent his head, fixed to his ideals. She didn’t buy this idea that somehow God might be at the helm of the mistakes she’d made. Because if He was, then maybe, instead of God being helpless and just disappointed in her, it turned God … mean.

  Her eyes filled. No, thanks. She liked John’s way of thinking. Free will. Her unforgivable mistakes. Because if the mistakes weren’t hers, and God was in charge, then … she’d have to forgive Him, right?

  She blinked the tears back before Micah could see. He said amen and began to wolf down his grits. Obviously the man was as hungry as she.

  “Thanks for the clothes, Micah. I’ll pay you back.”

  He looked at her, raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Pay me back by turning yourself in. If your encryption program is so important and someone wants it, you have leverage. You can do this, Lacey. I promise I’ll do what I can to make sure Emily is safe.” He reached out with a look of pure, one-hundred-watt concern.

  Lacey turned away. “You don’t understand. I don’t trust the NSA either.”

  “Good girl. Sleep.” Nero pulled up the cotton blanket and tucked it over Emily’s shoulder. A puddle of drool pooled under her lips, and her blonde hair slicked to her grimy face. It hadn’t been hard to get her to scream. He’d simply tape-recorded one of her many nightmares. How he wished he could have seen Lacey’s face when she heard that.

  He knew too well how Lacey might feel. The sweaty palms, the kick in the gut, the low moan that emanated from the chest and never fully died. Oh yes, he was well aware of the kind of pain one suffered when a loved one screamed.