“I was too terrified to think straight. All I wanted was to get out of Atlanta as soon as possible. I hurried home and packed my belongings. But before I could leave the house, Crutchfield was there, beating on the front door. I fled out the back, and he chased me. After I caught a bus, I was able to lose him in downtown traffic.”
Dylan sat back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “So you think Crutchfield sent the guy in the black SUV to kill you? Isn’t that a stretch?”
She shook her head. “He knows that I know. I’ve seen it on his face.”
“When he came to your house?”
“When he caught sight of me through the train window in Chicago. I was running as far as I could from Atlanta. From the hatred in his eyes, I knew he hadn’t followed me to deliver my severance pay.”
“Have you seen him again since Chicago?”
She shook her head. “I headed out west, but realized he knew I was going in that direction, so I backtracked to Memphis. I went from there to Nashville, but I bailed out of town when I heard some man had been asking questions about me. Knowing Crutchfield, he’s hired someone to make certain I never go to the police.”
“If you’d gone to the police immediately, you’d have saved yourself a lot of grief.” He had resumed his official demeanor, unyielding and stern.
“Maybe,” she admitted, “but I’ll never know for sure.”
“Do you intend to keep running the rest of your life?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. It was easy for him to say what she should have done, what she ought to do. He didn’t have a killer after him. “I thought I’d go to New York City. Disappearing should be easy among all those people.”
“If Crutchfield murdered Max Thorne, he should be punished. Looks like you’re the only one who can bring him to justice.”
She bolted upright and winced as her injured foot hit the sofa’s edge. “Don’t lay a guilt trip on me! My life means more to me than justice for Larry Crutchfield.”
Dylan couldn’t have looked more disgusted if she’d admitted to cannibalism. “Without justice, society will revert to barbarism.”
“There’re hundreds of barbarians roaming the streets in this country. One more or less makes little difference, but my life means a hell of a lot to me.”
Grim-faced, he nodded. “So, you’ll be wanting a ride to the airport.”
His quick acceptance of her defiance took the wind from her sails. Maybe he was that anxious to be rid of her. “If I can get past the stranger at Bottleneck Curve.”
He glanced at her bruised foot. “You’re not trekking out of here on that foot anytime soon. You’ll have to keep your weight off that injury for a day or so.”
She started to protest, but the excruciating throb in her foot stopped her.
“In the meantime—” Dylan reached for his parka and tugged it on “—I’ll check out this guy and his SUV. If I can connect him to your accident, I can lock him up.”
“You’re going down the mountain in the dark?”
“The trail’s well-marked, and I’ve used it since I was a kid. I’ll check back in a day or two to take you to the airport.” He crossed to the door and turned back toward her. His expression softened for the first time since his arrival. “Will you be all right?”
She forced a smile. “I have everything I need.”
“You won’t be frightened?”
His concern touched her, and she fought against the tears that welled in her eyes. “Not if you leave that skillet within reach.”
With a grin, he handed her the frying pan. “Just be careful of that other foot, or you won’t have a leg to hobble on.”
With a cavalier wave, he stepped out the door and closed it behind him.
Listening to his footsteps descending the path, she’d never felt more lonely in her life.
TWO DAYS LATER, Dylan started up the path to Raylene’s cabin before daybreak. By the time he had crested the final ridge, the sun was high and the morning mist had evaporated.
He wondered how Jennifer had fared for two days alone in the cabin. He figured she’d been safe enough with no one knowing her whereabouts. The only hitch was whether she could stand her own company for that long.
The cabin came in sight, and he caught the glimmer of sunlight on a head of blond curls. Jennifer lounged on the porch steps, eyes closed, her face tilted toward the sun. From her peaceful expression, he decided she’d come through her solitary experience just fine.
She must have heard or sensed his approach, because suddenly she leaped to her feet and ran down the path to meet him. With her golden hair tossing in the wind, her green eyes shining, her slender figure light and graceful, she was the most attractive woman he’d ever seen.
And the most aggravating.
Not that she’d broken any laws—that he knew of. But she’d misrepresented herself and lied about her past, not only to him, but to Miss Bessie. If the man who was on her trail had caught up with her, he could have harmed not only Jennifer, but those around her, including Miss Bessie and Sissy McGinnis.
The possibility made him remember….
He shoved dark memories of Johnny Whitaker’s death from his mind, and returned his thoughts to Jennifer. In spite of her untruths, she was an engaging woman. She certainly had spunk and backbone. She’d managed to elude a killer for months, and she didn’t shirk from protecting herself or even staying alone on a deserted mountaintop. Most women he knew were too squeamish to survive as well as she had under the circumstances. In spite of all she’d been through the past few months, she appeared to have no regrets about the past and no real anxiety about her future, as long as she stayed one step ahead of the mysterious man who stalked her.
But, he reminded himself, she was also silver-tongued, able to spin tales that suited her situation, even if they bore no resemblance to the truth. How many more lies had she told him than the ones she’d admitted to?
Dylan hardened his heart toward the delectable woman. Otherwise he might find himself entirely too attracted to Jennifer Reid, a woman who packed a powerful wallop of trouble in a very pretty package.
“Your foot’s better,” he noted when she reached him.
She smiled, and her warmth almost melted the icy casing in which he’d secured his feelings. “It’s fine—if you don’t count an ugly patch of chartreuse and yellow skin.”
“Then you’re ready to hike out?”
She cocked her head and considered him for an instant with a piercing look. A hint of sadness flickered across her face, as if she’d sensed the barrier he’d erected between them. “I’ll only need a minute to pack.”
She pivoted on her heel and dashed back toward the cabin, her trim hips moving provocatively as she ran. With a sigh for all the things that might have been, Dylan shifted his gaze to the north. The high peaks of the Blue Ridge Parkway lined the horizon, and the sight of the massive, silent sentinels, immovable and unchanged during the course of his life and his father’s and grandfather’s before him, calmed him. He made his decision. He would drive Jennifer to the airport to catch her plane to New York City.
Then he would do what he had to do.
She returned minutes later, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Dylan turned and headed down the mountain.
“Wait,” she grabbed his arm. “What about the man in the SUV? Is he gone?”
He nodded. “I’ll fill you in while we walk.”
“Okay.” She fell in step behind him on the narrow path.
He had to call over his shoulder to speak to her. “Your man was still at Bottleneck Curve yesterday morning. From what the night-shift officer told me, the guy must have slept in his SUV, because he hadn’t moved it since yesterday.”
“Did you talk to him?”
He held a low branch until she’d cleared it so it wouldn’t whip her in the face. “I ran a check on his plates first. His vehicle is registered in Texas to a company called Final Choice. Ever hear of it when you were working for Cr
utchfield?”
“Not that I remember. Gruesome selection of words for a hit man, don’t you think?”
He heard her stumble on the path behind him, but when he turned to assist her, she was plowing gamely through the drifts of fallen leaves.
Dylan slowed to cross a downed tree trunk and gave her a hand in climbing over it. “I figure it’s a dummy corporation. I couldn’t find anything about it on the Internet, and there were no phone listings.”
“Did you ask the man about it?”
“Yeah. He said it’s a company of private investigators who work throughout the country. Their specialty is finding lost relatives and friends.”
“Did you believe him?” Her breath was coming in short gasps, but she didn’t ask him to slow his pace.
“He had a business card. But anyone with a computer can produce those by the dozen.”
He shortened his steps to ease her descent, and she almost ran into the back of him. “Maybe we should stop for a breather,” he said.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
He took in her reddened cheeks and the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “I wouldn’t mind a rest,” he said.
She shrugged, dropped her backpack and leaned against the nearest tree. “This guy have a name?”
Dylan settled on a moss-covered boulder. “Michael Johnson was the name on his Texas driver’s license. I ran him through the crime computers, but he came up clean.”
“What about his vehicle? He must have scraped it when he hit me.”
Dylan shook his head. “There were no scratches or dings on the right front quarter-panel.”
She became very still, almost as if she’d stopped breathing. “You think I’m lying about him, don’t you?”
“Your track record in the truth department is spotty, to put it mildly.”
She slumped against the tree and slid to the ground. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I never should have told you.”
She looked so delicate, so vulnerable and unhappy, he wanted to leap up and hold her, assure her he’d take care of her. At least that’s what his heart was telling him. His head reminded him she was a manipulator with her concocted stories, and he’d better sort out the truth before he invested any of his emotions in her.
His head won the war within him, and he remained on the boulder. “He’s had plenty of time to have the damage repaired. Besides, you didn’t make up the black SUV paint on Miss Bessie’s Mercedes.”
She stared at her feet, refusing to meet his gaze. “No, I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t make up the picture he had of you.”
Her head snapped up. “Did you see it?”
Dylan nodded. “Guess you changed your looks when you went into hiding. I kind of like you with red hair and more freckles.”
She blushed, but whether at his compliment or the fact that he’d caught her in another deception, he couldn’t tell.
“Did he call me by name?” she asked.
Dylan didn’t blame her for being frightened. Michael Johnson was one tough character. Dylan thought back to his conversation with the rough-looking out-of-towner. “No. When he showed me your picture, I told him you’d left Casey’s Cove the day before, that your employer had driven you to the airport. He asked where you were headed.”
Her eyes widened with panic. “What did you tell him?”
“That you had relatives in San Diego. Figured that’s about as far as you can get from New York City within the continental U.S.”
“You lied for me?”
He felt heat rise up his neck and flood his face. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“So you admit that sometimes lies are okay—if they’re used to protect people?”
Flustered, he stood and brushed forest debris from the seat of his jeans. “I believe what goes around, comes around. That goes for lies, too.”
He continued down the trail, no longer shortening his stride to accommodate her. He’d broken his own code for this woman, something he’d never done in his life. If he stayed around her much longer, she’d corrode all his values.
An hour later, after a long, silent descent, they reached the main street of Casey’s Cove where Dylan had parked his truck. Jennifer hobbled behind him, and he felt a twinge of conscience when he realized her bruised foot had probably been bothering her the entire way and she’d never complained.
Panting for breath, she climbed into the truck cab without a word as he held the door open. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
In a few minutes he returned with a large soft drink in a paper cup and some Tylenol capsules he’d coaxed from Raylene. “These should help the pain in your foot.”
Her look of gratitude almost battered down the defenses he’d constructed against her. While she washed down the capsules with soda, he climbed into the cab and started the truck.
The sooner he put her on the plane to New York, the better.
As they rounded Bottleneck Curve, Jennifer glanced around nervously. “Are you sure he’s gone?’
“I followed him out of town. He took Highway 441 south out of Dillsboro. Maybe he’s headed for San Diego.”
When they reached the main highway, Dylan turned east toward Asheville and the airport. Since her question, Jennifer had sat silently, but her glance alternated from every side road they passed to the rearview mirror. Apparently she wasn’t convinced Michael Johnson—Dylan doubted that was the man’s real name—had actually left the area. If he were in her place, he’d be just as skeptical. Maybe her cautious nature was all that had kept her alive the past few months.
Or maybe her entire story was a fabrication, and Michael Johnson was really searching for her on behalf of a relative.
Then why did he run her off the road?
If that’s what actually happened. For all Dylan knew, Jennifer might have struck the SUV in an attempt to get away, then rebounded over the edge of the mountain. That was the trouble with lies. When somebody told you one, you never knew if you could trust anything else they told you.
“How was the rest of the festival?” she asked. “Did Miss Bessie sell all her apple butter?”
“She sold out on Saturday. Millie McGinnis stepped in to help after you took off.” He tried, but couldn’t keep the censure from his voice.
His tone must have hit home, because she slid a little lower in her seat. “I’m sorry I had to leave. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He started to say she should have come to him, but they’d been down that conversational road before and reached a dead end. “Megan, Ben Morgan’s daughter, was crowned Apple Queen. And the sewing circle raised enough money to complete what they needed for a new ambulance for the rescue squad.”
“I’m sorry I missed everything. I was really looking forward to it.”
She sounded sincere, but he’d lost his trust in anything she said.
They covered the distance to the airport in silence, Dylan lost in his thoughts, Jennifer eyeing every passing car suspiciously. When they reached the terminal, he turned into the short-term parking area.
“No need for you to get out,” she said quickly. “Aren’t you on duty soon?”
Dylan nodded, wondering whether her comment stemmed from concern for his schedule or eagerness to be rid of him. “I’m working the afternoon shift.”
She grabbed her backpack. “Just drop me off at Departures.”
He pulled the truck to the curb. “You’re taking the next flight to New York?”
Adjusting the strap on her backpack, she avoided his gaze. “Don’t know how soon that will be. You can go on. You don’t need to wait.”
“Jennifer—” Now that she was leaving, he felt at a loss for words. In spite of his conviction that she was gold-plated trouble, he couldn’t shake his feelings for her. He hated thinking of her alone in the big city, even if she’d proved she could take care of herself.
She lifted
her face, and her guileless expression and the hint of tears in her eyes made him feel like an ogre. He shouldn’t send her off alone, but damned if he knew what else to do.
“Yes?” Her voice was only a whisper.
“Write to me when you get to New York. Let me know where you’re staying.”
Disappointment flitted across her face. “Sure.”
Without a backward glance, she slid from the cab and hurried into the terminal, limping only slightly on her injured foot.
He watched her go with conflicting emotions, partly glad he wouldn’t have to deal with her lies again, partly destitute at watching her walk out of his life forever.
Chapter Seven
Jennifer lifted her head from the microfiche viewer and rubbed her tired eyes. She had flown out of Asheville three days ago, but in many ways, it seemed like years. She gazed out the library window. Dark clouds were gathering on the southwest horizon, a sure sign of an approaching cold front, one more than likely accompanied by rain. If she wanted to reach home without getting soaked, she had to get a move on.
She scooped up copies of newspaper articles, stuffed them into her backpack, and headed for the nearest exit. If she hurried, she could catch the next bus. She bolted down the stairs and raced to the corner just as the bus approached and the first drops of rain pelted her face.
She stepped onto the bus, but strong hands grabbed her from behind and yanked her back to the sidewalk. Screeching in alarm, she swung her backpack at her attacker.
The big man ducked, then grabbed the backpack from her hands. “As least this isn’t as lethal as an iron frying pan,” he said.
Mouth open, she froze in surprise.
“Need me to call the cops, miss?” the bus driver called to her. He’d witnessed the entire altercation through the bus’s open door.
She shook her head. “Never mind. He’s a friend.”
“The way you was yelling, didn’t sound like no friend.” With a dubious look, the driver closed the doors and put the bus into gear.
Still shaking from her scare, Jennifer stood in the cloud of diesel fumes and glared at man who’d grabbed her. “That’s the third time you’ve almost scared me to death.”
Stranger In His Arms Page 10
