Christmas on the Run

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Waiting.”

  “For?”

  “The car to pass or help to arrive. Whichever comes first.”

  “What if it doesn’t pass?”

  “It will.” And then it would circle back around. He didn’t bother mentioning that. Carly would have no trouble figuring it out on her own.

  “Do you think it’s the car you shot at?”

  “If it is, he’s come a long way on a flat tire.” And, hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to go much farther.

  “Chance texted me.” She glanced at her phone, the screen glowing in the darkness.

  “Put that away,” he said, shifting in his seat so he had a clear view of the road.

  She did as he asked, tucking the phone into her pocket. “He says he’s contacted the local police. Boone is about four miles behind us. He says don’t do anything stupid.”

  He would have laughed if he weren’t so frustrated.

  If he were alone...

  But he wasn’t.

  Carly’s safety was his priority. Getting the perp was secondary.

  Headlights flashed on the pavement and the car crept past. Limped past?

  It was definitely driving on a flat tire, bumping along at slow-speed.

  Dallas expected it to return quickly.

  When it didn’t, he opened his door.

  “Stay in the car,” he said, stepping out into the snowy morning. He walked to the road, using the field as cover. A second car approached, passing almost as slowly as the first. Not Boone. He’d have used the tracking system to locate Dallas’s car.

  He waited in the shadows, watching as the vehicle continued up the road, turning into what must have been the church parking lot. Was he meeting the perp? Giving him a ride back?

  It didn’t matter.

  Dallas’s hands were tied until backup arrived.

  He made his way back to the car and climbed in.

  “I texted Chance and let him know the guy passed us,” Carly said. “I also texted Brett. He wanted to know where I was. I guess Jazz woke up enough to ask for me and Zane.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “That we had car trouble, and I’d be there as soon as I could. He offered to send a friend of Jazz’s to come pick us up. I told him we had things under control.”

  “Good. I’d rather you not tell any of your contacts where we are.”

  “I’d rather not be where we are.”

  “That, too,” he agreed, pulling a blanket from the back of the car and tossing it around her shoulders. The broken window allowed wind and snow to blow in, and she was shivering, her teeth chattering from the cold.

  “Thanks,” she said, offering a smile that made his heart ache for all the things he’d thought he would never want again.

  “Oh. I almost forgot,” she said. “Boone is nearly here. He said he could see the church.”

  “Good.” That was exactly what he’d been hoping for. “Stay here.” He stepped out of the car again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to the church. I think the perp is meeting someone there. He probably got tired of following us on a flat tire. He’s getting a new ride.”

  “I hope you’re kidding, Dallas.”

  “I never kid about things like this.” He reached over the seat, grabbed the duffel he always kept there. He’d learned young to prepare for anything. It was a lesson that had served him well over the years.

  He pulled out leather gloves and a wool cap and put both on. He had a blanket folded in the bottom of the duffel, and he pulled it out, setting it on the console as he checked his Glock, making sure it was fully loaded.

  “Dallas, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Carly said, watching as he tucked the gun back in its holster.

  “It’s the only one I’ve got, so we’re going with it.”

  “We can wait for Boone and the police and the cavalry. We can wait for Christmas to come, for all I care.”

  “We’ll freeze before that happens.”

  “Dallas...” She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “What could possibly happen?”

  “You could die?” She looked scared, and for a split second, he considered waiting for Boone, but he could hear a car engine. He knew that backup was minutes away.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve survived a lot worse situations.”

  “Not when I knew you,” she replied, grabbing his hand and looking straight into his eyes. “If you die, no amount of hot chocolate will make it better.”

  “I won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I get a look at the perp.”

  “Who says you’ll be able to do that? By the time you reach his car, he’ll be gone.”

  Not if Dallas shot a few more tires out while he drove away. He hadn’t trained as a sharpshooter for nothing.

  “Stay in the car,” he said again, and then he did what he’d been wanting to do for nearly a week. He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be quick and gentle and sweet. A friendly reminder that everything really would be okay.

  It was more than that.

  So much more than what he expected. Maybe even more than what he wanted.

  Lights splashed on the road, tires crunching over snow and pavement.

  Boone arriving, and Dallas was still at the car, staring into Carly’s eyes, trying to figure out how he’d gone from not knowing her at all to feeling like he’d never really known anyone else.

  He stepped back, closed the door and walked away from the car, the cold wind whipping at his face as he headed toward the old church and whatever trouble was waiting for him there.

  TEN

  Boone arrived seconds after Dallas left. Apparently, he thought he was going to do the same thing Dallas had. Leave her to go hunt for the bad guys. Only this time, she didn’t plan to be left.

  She climbed out of the car before he could walk away, following him into tall wheatgrass.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” he hissed.

  “It’s freezing in there.”

  “And it’s not cold out here?” he responded, but he didn’t seem nearly as determined to leave her as Dallas had been.

  Dallas, whose kiss was still lingering on her lips.

  She shoved the thought aside. Waiting wasn’t something she’d ever been good at. She’d taught herself patience, because gemstone cutting demanded it. Moving too quickly could ruin a beautiful rough stone. Acting without planning could ruin a week of careful work. Any master gemstone cutter knew that the art of creating the perfect cut for a stone lay in the ability to work slowly, methodically and with precision. But sometimes Carly forgot just how important those things were in daily life.

  Like right now, when she was following Boone through the field, heading toward the parking lot of the old church. Snow flew in her face, blinding her for a second.

  And Boone was gone.

  She whirled around, trying to spot him, and nearly screamed when he snagged the back of her coat.

  “This way,” he said without a hint of impatience in his voice. “If you want to come, keep up.”

  A light flashed to the left, and Boone pressed her down into a thick patch of brush.

  “Down and stay there until I return,” he commanded.

  She was so surprised she did what he said without arguing, bobbing back up a moment later, because it was better to see what was coming than to hide. It was still there. A flashlight, she thought, the swirling snow dancing in its beam. It arced across the ground, as if the person holding it were searching for something, then disappeared again.

  Was someone looking for tracks in the snow?

  Evidence tha
t others had come this way?

  Aside from Chance and Boone, she could think of only one person who would be out there: the guy who’d been driving the other car.

  Please, God, don’t let him see me, she prayed silently as she eased deeper into the brush.

  The light moved past, far enough away that the person carrying it was nothing but a black shape in the darkness. She tracked its movements until it went out. Was the person moving toward her or away?

  She didn’t know, and she didn’t plan to wait around to find out. She eased across an overgrown churchyard, darting past an old swing set, its swings dusted in snow, their rusted chains creaking as they swayed in the wind.

  Creepy.

  But even creepier was the fact that she had no idea where the guy she’d seen had gone. She glanced around, searching for his light. It was gone, hidden by foliage or outbuildings.

  Or turned off because he’d realized she was close and didn’t want his movement tracked.

  She shuddered.

  A field of wheatgrass led to an old house, several more buildings visible in the distance. She stepped into the tall, dry grass, crouching to try to keep out of sight. That slowed her movements. It also made her less of a target for anyone who might have a gun and planned to use it.

  Do you have life insurance?

  Dallas’s words were suddenly in her head, and she couldn’t shake them. She’d told him there was no one who’d want to harm her, and she believed it, but they’d come after her tonight. Not Zane.

  Did they plan to kidnap her and force her to make the gemstones they’d demanded?

  It would be a lot easier to hire someone to do the job.

  There weren’t many people trained to use old methods and tools to make the cuts, but there were plenty of people who could use modern tools to do it. If the goal was simply to pass forged jewels off as real ones for long enough to get away with the million-dollar collection, using modern tools would work. Even a really good forgery would be spotted eventually once someone like Carly got her hands on it.

  She’d known that all along—if they did what she’d suspected they would and switched out the jewelry, she’d know immediately. She’d recognize her work, of course, but she’d also know that the settings weren’t true antiques, that the metal was cheap. She’d worked with jewelry for a decade, and she had an eye for quality.

  If that had happened, she’d have had to go to Michael, the police, explain what had happened. She’d probably be suspected of aiding and abetting. She’d known that, but she’d had no choice but to put her faith in the system, to believe that if she was suspected and investigated, she’d be exonerated.

  Now, with Dallas’s words ringing through her head, she couldn’t help wondering if there’d been more going on than she’d suspected, if maybe this was about a personal vendetta, a bid to destroy her and her credibility, someone gaining from her death.

  Not Jazz.

  She couldn’t believe that.

  Wouldn’t.

  The wind blew through the field, rustling the grass and masking any sound of pursuit.

  She didn’t dare straighten and look around. She kept her head down, heading toward one of the outbuildings. It was farther than she’d realized, and she was cold. Freezing, really, the wind stinging her cheeks and stealing her breath. She stepped out of the grass and into what had once been an orchard, the gnarled trees dormant, their roots and branches entwined, creating a thicket that was nearly impossible to move through.

  For once, Carly was glad for her small size. She squeezed between branches, ducked under them, the outbuilding still too far away. She thought about turning back, but she was afraid she’d run right into the person who was behind her.

  She reached a fence that leaned so far inward it was barely standing. Chain link, no barbed wire. She stepped on it as she moved through, smashing it closer to the ground, her feet so numb she couldn’t tell how much pressure she was using.

  Somewhere behind her, a branch snapped, the sound sharp against the winter hush.

  She darted forward, racing toward the barn, and suddenly realized her mistake. She was heading to the closest visible building. Which was exactly what 99.9 percent of people in her situation would do. She changed trajectory, running around the side of the barn, her feet like wooden logs attached to her ankles. Her lungs burned from the cold, and her hood had come down, snow sliding down her neck and soaking her T-shirt.

  She passed a barn door that hung crooked on its hinges, slowing to try to catch her breath and think. She scanned the dark field beyond, spotted two other outbuildings poking up on the horizon. She could make it to one. Hopefully before her stalker caught up with her.

  She jogged away, wishing she weren’t leaving such clear tracks in the snow, hoping that her pursuer would assume she’d entered the barn and go in after her. She moved by rote, log feet tapping against the ground, thinking about winter and Christmas and how excited Zane was by it all.

  She didn’t realize her thoughts were drifting until she reached another chain-link fence. This one stood solid, six feet of metal rungs between her and the next outbuilding. Several trees grew close on either side of it, and she darted toward one, hoping she’d be hidden by the elm’s thick trunk and drooping branches.

  Focus! That was what she needed to do, because if she didn’t, she’d be wandering around in the field until she was caught or she froze. It was bad enough to die at the hands of an enemy. To freeze to death in the middle of an abandoned field seemed even worse.

  She started climbing, the tiny pebbles of glass in her mittens probably digging through flesh. She couldn’t feel it. Her hands were numb. Her ears were numb. Her cheeks burned.

  Someone grabbed the back of her coat, pulling her off the fence so quickly she didn’t have time to react. She slammed into a hard chest, steel-like arms wrapping around her stomach and her shoulders, a hand slapping over her mouth.

  She smelled leather and snow, and then she was on the ground, pressed into grass and dirt and ice. She fought. Or tried to, anyway. Her movements were clumsy, her body pinned by someone who was bigger and stronger than her.

  She felt him shift, thought he might be reaching for a gun. She expected to feel metal pressed against her temple. Instead, she was pinned more thoroughly, her hands locked down at her sides, fingers around her wrist, body to body and thigh to thigh with someone. Lips grazing her ear, warm breath against cold skin.

  “Stop,” he growled.

  One word, but she knew the voice, and she stilled, snow falling gently all around her. None of it landed on her, though, because Dallas was blocking it along with the wind. She blinked snow and ice from her lashes, and she could see him, his eyes blazing in the blue-gray darkness.

  “I thought you were at the church,” she whispered, and he covered her mouth again.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

  He wanted her quiet, and she nodded to let him know she would be.

  His hand slipped away, cold leather replaced by colder air. Then he was cupping her face with bare hands, his skin warm against her frozen cheeks and jaw.

  She shivered, and he met her eyes, frowning but still not speaking, the warmth from his body and his hands seeping into her.

  Somewhere to the left, a person was moving. She could hear feet on the frozen ground, feel the vibration of the fence beside her as whoever it was began to climb. Dallas moved subtly, hands sliding away, gloves back on, his body still covering hers.

  They were hidden by darkness, thick grass and the shadow of the tree she was hiding behind, but a light flashed a few feet away. Every muscle in her body tensed, and Dallas’s hand dropped to her mouth again. Just a whisper of a touch this time. A reminder to stay silent as the light bobbed along the ground a few feet away, dancing on the edges of frozen blades of grass. Moving cl
oser with every frantic beat of her heart.

  * * *

  An owl hooted somewhere to the east. Boone. Dallas was certain of it. He’d been using the same signal for as long as they’d been working together, the soft owl cry a warning that he was nearby or that trouble was.

  “That’s Boone,” he whispered in Carly’s ear. “He must have finally arrived.”

  “He’s been here for a while. We were together, and then he went looking for someone who was walking around with a flashlight.”

  “And you thought that was your signal to go it on your own?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Which was for the best.

  The perp was out there somewhere. The quieter they were, the better.

  He searched for light, knowing the guy would turn it on again. There! Just like he’d expected. Carly’s head moved, and he was certain she was watching the light, worried the perp was getting closer.

  He wanted to tell her it would be okay, that Boone was there, that the police would arrive shortly. That the guy with the flashlight would be apprehended and they’d get the answers they needed, answers that would allow her to move on with her life.

  But he didn’t trust the wind to not carry his words, and the perp was close, moving on the other side of the fence, trying to figure out which direction Carly had gone.

  The owl hooted again. Closer.

  The perp must have noticed. His light went off, the area it had illuminated blue-gray with snow and darkness. Dallas could hear his footsteps, crunching through the grass, moving away. Probably toward one of the outbuildings.

  Dallas pressed his lips close to Carly’s ear, inhaling the scent of flowery shampoo as her loose hair brushed his nose and cheek.

  “Do. Not. Move,” he whispered, enunciating every word. He eased away, standing and approaching the fence, peering through it, searching for the perp.

  He was a hundred yards away, crossing the field, heading toward the closest barn.

  Dallas whistled, the sound mimicking a chickadee’s warning call.

  The perp stopped, whirling back around and sprinting toward the fence line. It didn’t seem like an aggressive run, but more scared. He went down, popped back up again and kept going, clambering back over the fence a hundred yards away.