Dead Run

by Jodie Bailey

  “Jesus.” Chaplain Freemont cut her off. “Not me.”

  “Jesus using the chaplain.” Rebecca tossed him a wink. “Hoyt realized he couldn’t carry this on his own, and God really did care enough to keep him alive.”

  “And he felt better.” Kristin sat back and crossed her arms, the skepticism on her face grinding Lucas’s teeth together.

  Rebecca laughed. “Not instantly. It took time. Counseling. Prayer. But Hoyt and I both realized some things are too big for our shoulders. I think that’s the night both of us realized Jesus is real. Even when things happen we don’t understand, things that hurt worse than physical pain. And reasons are there, even if we never know them.” Rebecca realized half of the group around the table was watching her, and she threw her hands in the air, her cheeks pinking. “But this is not about me.” She stood. “We’ve got a football game to break up and an auction to start.”

  A few of the women followed as the chaplain turned to the soldier next to him and joined a conversation about the upcoming NHL play-offs.

  Kristin sat, staring at something in the distance.

  In all of his life, Lucas had never felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do to work in her heart. It wasn’t up to him, even though he wanted to whisper in her ear how the chaplain was right, Rebecca was right... God loved Kristin and wanted to help her through everything in her life.

  But something stopped him. It wasn’t his place. It was God’s. And he had to trust like never before that this would all end well.

  FIFTEEN

  Something was stirring and, thankfully, it wasn’t the food. This was something deeper. A peace, an ease that overrode her past and even her present precarious circumstances.

  This was something she’d never felt before. A call to let go and lay everything down and trust the kind of God Who could send a man a chaplain when he needed him most. The kind of God Who could create a man like Lucas. The kind of God Who could heal pain so violent it overtook entire lives.

  Letting go? Yesterday, it had been the worst thing she could imagine. Today? It was attractive as all get-out...and more terrifying than ever.

  Kristin’s heart pounded so hard, her consciousness rode the edge of darkness. She slid back and almost toppled her chair, catching herself on the edge of the table before she could hit the ground.

  Lucas reached for her, his expression dark with concern. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I—” She stood, and her eyes darted around, searching for something to focus on, mind on the verge of panic. Exhaling slowly, she forced herself to center on a trick she’d learned once, grounding herself in her five senses. The sound of children laughing. The smell of smoke from the grill. The warmth of the sun on her skin. The lingering taste of banana from that amazing pudding. The sight of the blue sky overhead.

  Nothing threatened her in this moment.

  “Tell me how to get to the bathroom?” She needed space to hear her own mind over the pounding of her heart. Hopefully, nobody would stand between her and solitude.

  “It’s complicated. I can walk with you. You being out of sight for too long isn’t the greatest idea, anyway.”

  “Really?” She rolled her eyes and tried to fake the fight he’d be expecting. “It’s the bathroom, not a war zone. I’ll be fine.”

  He eyed her, the challenge in his gaze almost audible, but then his shoulders relaxed and he aimed a finger at the nearest building. “Go in those doors and through the conference room. Hang a right and take the second left and it’s about halfway down the hall on your left. Are you sure—”

  “I’m sure.” She forced another smile she hoped came off as genuine and beat it for the doors.

  Inside the building it was dark and quiet. Kristin leaned against the wall in the conference room and waited for her heart to slow its rhythm. The building smelled musty, like no one ever opened the windows and let the air in.

  She let her vision adjust to the dimly lit interior, trying to catch a thought. What kind of God let her father kill her mother in front of her before turning the knife on himself? And how could that God be the same God Who cared enough to make a chaplain lose his watch so a man could be saved?

  Her head dropped against the wall with a dull thud. It made no sense. None of it made any sense. How did God decide who lived and who died?

  The thoughts unsettled her, made her question the semicomfortable existence she’d built for herself. Questions meant trouble, and she’d had enough trouble to last her seven lifetimes.

  Kristin straightened, tugging the hem of her T-shirt straight and squaring her shoulders. The discomfort in her stomach was a by-product of the uncertainty she faced and of trying to prove Kyle’s innocence. Nothing more.

  She dragged her hands down her face, pulling her cheeks low, surprised to slip through the dampness of tears. Like the child she’d never been, she suddenly longed to go home, missed her mother in a way that pulsed beneath her skin. Her father had robbed her of conversations over coffee, hugs after broken hearts and a listening ear. And the God Rebecca, the chaplain and Lucas trusted allowed it all to happen.

  So, no. Surrender wasn’t what she needed. Lucas’s God wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was a splash of cold water on her face before she steeled herself to face the rest of this day. She needed to give a wide berth to the chaplain and Rebecca and anyone else who might raise questions she didn’t want to answer...or even to ask in the first place. If she’d driven here herself, then she could beg off and leave without having to wait for Lucas to finish having his mandatory fun.

  The oxymoron caught her broadside and made her snicker, easing some of the tension coiled inside. Only the army could invent such a thing, although the men outside seemed to be enjoying the day in spite of the forced festivities.

  Her shoes were silent on the tile floors in the still building, and she took the indicated right, finding herself in a long hallway. Now for the second left. This deep in the building, with the office doors closed and the men all outside, the light was milky on the tile floor. Kristin headed the direction Lucas had instructed, but the darkness of the hall and the silence of the building made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The atmosphere made it feel like dozens of eyes peeked out of darkened doorways, watching her every move. Maybe having Lucas along wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all.

  She chuckled at herself. Paranoia. Nothing more. She’d been bruised and battered so many times, it was becoming natural to believe someone was stalking her. Her smile flipped into a frown. Fear like that could never become her norm. Not ever again.

  Footsteps, heavy and quick, sounded from a side hallway.

  Kristin stopped, her muscles tensing for fight before she could let reason take over. It could be anyone, but with the way things had gone lately, she’d rather not take her chances. She turned to go through the maze of hallways that led outside, but a man appeared at the opposite end of the long passage, his face shadowed. The instant he caught sight of her, he broke into a run.

  This was no friend. Adrenaline smacked Kristin in the chest, and she bolted without thinking, her body too bruised to consider a head-on challenge. Pushing deeper into the building that felt like a maze, she took the second left and started trying doors. All locked.

  When she reached the bathroom, she hesitated. Hide inside and risk cornering herself, or keep running and hope she found a way out before he found her? She ducked into the bright tile room before he rounded the corner. If nothing else, she could take a position that would allow her to slow him enough to escape.

  Ducking into a stall, Kristin pulled out her phone and texted Lucas. 911. She slipped the phone into her pocket, heart pounding so hard she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear the man’s approach over it. The normal assurance she could fight off this guy by herself was gone. She’d been beaten, her body and h
er spirit wounded, and if he was armed... Please, God, if You’re really there, make Lucas hurry.

  For an instant, the stupidity and arrogance of her plan came into focus. It might have been wiser to confront the guy outright in the hallway, to keep running through the building rather than duck into an isolated bathroom with the hopes she could take him out from a fortified position. But running would have kept her from texting Lucas for help. She had to make her stand and fight.

  The dull thud of footsteps drew closer, heavy and slow, like he was expecting the ambush she’d hastily planned.

  The exterior door scraped lightly across the floor as it opened, the footsteps heavier than ever. Kristin knew, with a sudden rush of hot adrenaline, if he’d truly followed her in here, this was serious. There was no choice now but to stand and fight, because there was no way her pursuer’s intentions were honorable.

  She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. But she also knew the price he’d pay for trying to get it.

  Wishing she had worn her hiking boots instead of light cross-trainers, Kristin held her breath and waited, muscles steeled, until running shoes appeared beneath the stall door. Bracing for leverage, she planted her foot against the door with a kick so hard, the latch snapped off and skittered across the floor. The jolt vibrated through her knee and into her sore hip as the door blasted open, colliding with her assailant and driving him backward with a dull thud.

  Kristin didn’t wait to see if he recovered. Instead, she scrambled for the door, fingers brushing the handle before the man grabbed her collar, jerking her to him and cutting off her air.

  He dragged her closer and held her tight against his chest, leaning toward her, the rough fabric of his ski mask scrubbing her cheek. “Let’s talk about Kyle.”

  She kicked and struggled, but he tightened up on her, his voice deepening. “Don’t make me hurt you. Please. Where did Kyle hide everything?”

  “What’s everything?”

  He trapped her against his chest; she couldn’t move, couldn’t even take a full breath. “You already know. Where is it?”

  Shouts echoed from the hallway as pounding feet drew closer.

  Kristin almost sagged in relief, but she thought better of it and whipped her head back hard, connecting with her attacker’s face.

  He howled and dropped her.

  She smashed to the floor on one knee as the door flew open and bounced off the opposite wall.

  Lucas charged in, wild-eyed, crossing the floor and driving a fist into the man’s jaw in one motion.

  He staggered but charged into the fight until more men poured into the small space and he stopped, frozen in place, working his jaw back and forth, like it hurt or he was calculating an escape.

  Kristin slid to the side and took an offered hand to pull herself to her feet, but she refused to lean on the soldier for support.

  Lucas jerked the mask from her attacker’s head, his expression stormy as he got a good look at Kristin’s attacker. “Specialist Cronin?” His voice deepened as he balled his fists and went chest to chest with the man, the set of his jaw saying he was prepared to tear the guy in two. “You and I have—”

  “Murphy.” The command came from a man who pushed through the crowd, clearly an authority. “The military police are on the way. Don’t get yourself tangled in this any worse than you already are.”

  Lucas didn’t move, just stood toe-to-toe with Cronin, anger radiating off him.

  “Lucas.” Kristin laid a hand on his shoulder, focusing on his anger easier than dealing with the fear threatening to swamp her. “I’m fine.” Her voice betrayed her, breaking the word in two.

  He appraised her before he backed off. “Really?”

  She nodded, but the intensity with which he studied her almost buckled her knees. Only the audience of the soldiers and families who had come running with Lucas and the chaos of men taking Cronin into custody kept her from reaching for Lucas. Specialist Cronin might be in custody, but he wasn’t the man who had come at her in her kitchen. He wasn’t the man who had attacked her on the trail. It was clear she wasn’t safe at home or in public...anywhere.

  She’d run out of places to run.

  * * *

  The rage in Lucas’s veins raced fast and hot, but as he locked eyes with Kristin, the emotion pulsing through him was entirely different. When he’d thrown the door open, he’d been sure he could tear the man who’d come after Kristin into tiny pieces and enjoy every moment. But now, the way she was looking at him, like he was some kind of hero...now he wanted to pull her out of the fray and hold her, to reassure himself she was all right and he’d made it to her in time.

  He never should have let her come into the building alone. Now one of his own soldiers stood against the wall, guarded by the chain of command. One of his own soldiers. One of the men he’d fought for and beside had attacked Kristin, had likely trashed his house. Would have done who knew what if she hadn’t gotten a text off in time.

  He had to ease up. Now. Before he embraced Kristin in front of his men and scared her away forever.

  Reluctantly, Lucas turned away toward Specialist Cronin as sirens wailed closer, the sight of the man ripping away his concern for Kristin and replacing it with fury.

  He edged closer, but before he could say a word, Travis was in front of him, blocking the path. “Luke, back off before you do something stupid. I see it all over your face.” Travis’s voice was low enough to stay between them. “Let somebody else handle this before you find yourself in cuffs right beside him.”

  As much as he wanted to shove Travis out of the way and put a fist through Cronin’s face, he let the words sink in. Kristin was safe. And hopefully, finally, this was all over. She’d be safe.

  He fired a hard look over Travis’s shoulder at Cronin, who seemed more like a scared kid than a ruthless killer. He stared at the floor, blood streaking from his nose, shaking... Either he was a really good actor or being faced down by a crew of angry soldiers in a women’s restroom was his undoing.

  The commander pushed his way to the middle of the room and addressed the soldiers trying to crowd the small bathroom. “Clear out. Now. Go home, go to the barracks, but don’t stay here. Let the MPs do their job.”

  The silent mob cleared the room, obeying orders, even though they’d likely hang out in the hall or the parking lot to gawk. Nobody was getting a pie in the face today after all.

  Lucas reached for Kristin and wrapped an arm around her, easing her out the door as the crowd thinned. His presence kept anyone from rushing her to offer support or ask questions. While she shivered slightly against him, she appeared none the worse for wear. At least it probably seemed so to everyone else. Lucas knew well enough by now the way Kristin could put up an amazing front. Inside, she was rattled. He had no doubt. “Tell me the truth.” He stopped walking and turned her toward him, planting his hands on her shoulders so he could look at her. “Are you really okay?”

  Kristin shrugged away, watching something over his shoulder. “I said I’m good.”

  She wasn’t, but now wasn’t the time to press her, not with an audience milling around. “Paramedics may want to give you a once-over.”

  “Why? I’m fine. Really. He didn’t hurt me.” She glanced around then edged him up the hall out of the way. “We’ve got a problem.”

  All desire for her vanished at the expression on her face. It wasn’t fear—more like dread, like something very, very bad was wrong. Lucas pulled her farther out of hearing of the group slowly filtering out of the building in the opposite direction. “What?”

  “Your soldier...”

  “Specialist Cronin.”

  “Cronin. He’s not the guy who’s been coming after me. Both of them were intent on hurting me, on intimidating me. Cronin, he...” She shook her head, confusion marking her features. “Lucas, he went out
of his way not to hurt me, almost pleaded with me instead of bullying me. Not like the other times.”

  “He cornered you in a bathroom, put his hands on you...” The echo of Lucas’s voice bounced off the wall. “He sure wasn’t trying to talk to you about the weather.”

  She laid a hand on his arm and gave him the same kind of silent threat his aunt used to give him when she wanted him to lower his voice. “I’m not saying he’s innocent, just that he’s not the same guy.”

  “You’re dead certain?”

  “It’s like I told the police the other day. The guy on the trail—”

  A military police officer appeared at her elbow. “Miss James? We need to speak to you.”

  Her spine stiffened, and she glared at the wall with a hard resolve. This had to be hard for her, these constant reminders of the night her mother had been killed.

  Travis leaned against the wall beside Lucas and held out a water bottle. “She’s holding up better than you are. Kristin’s a tough one. Paramedics said she broke Cronin’s nose.”

  Of course she did. Kristin had told him more than enough times she could take care of herself, and she insisted on proving it over and over. Still, the constant attacks had begun to wear on her. The facade was cracking.

  Lucas studied Kristin’s face as she talked to the officer, the impassive expression she wore saying this was an ordinary conversation and not an official statement to the police after another attempt on her life. How did she get to be so ice-cold? She’d really driven her emotions deep if she could come out of this as unfazed as she appeared to be. Then again, this was Kristin James. Appearances could be deceiving. Lucas knew she was roiling inside over yet another conversation with the police, yet another reminder of the night her father violently ripped her life apart.

  “So, I was noticing something you might want to check into.”

  Lucas turned from Kristin to Travis, who seemed to be chewing on something pretty serious. “What’s that?”

  “Naturally, most of the wives packed and left and most of the married soldiers went with them. But the whole platoon’s out on the quad milling around.”