Running for Her Life

by Beverly Long

  He punched the on button. He did it a second time. “Darn. I don’t think it’s charged.”

  “That is a problem.” Tara walked around the car, wanting to put some distance between her and Jim. Otherwise, she might just throttle him.

  “There’s a house a mile or so up the road,” Jim said. “I’ll walk there and get some help.”

  It was possibly their only option. “I’ll come with you.”

  Jim stared at her high-heeled, open-toed sandals. “Those shoes aren’t made for walking. You should probably stay here.”

  She didn’t want to stay by herself. But she certainly didn’t want to spend another minute with Jim Waller. He was right about the shoes. She could take them off but it would be impossible to walk barefoot on the hot pavement. She could walk on the shoulder of the road. It would be cooler than the hot asphalt but it was chock-full of rocks, prickly grass and who knew what else. Her feet would be eaten up.

  Not sure what to do, she weighed the risks of staying. At least two hours of daylight remained. She could lock the car doors.

  “Okay. But hurry. Please.”

  Jim had just disappeared over the first hill when an older blue truck pulled up next to Tara. A lone man, about forty, with a Minnesota Twins baseball cap and a gray T-shirt leaned over and yelled out the open window.

  “Need some help?”

  Tara’s windows were rolled up tight but she heard the question. She didn’t know him. “I’ve got a ride coming. He’ll be here any minute,” she yelled back.

  He looked like he didn’t understand.

  “No, thanks,” she yelled again.

  He pulled his vehicle directly in front of hers. When she saw him open his door, she knew she was in terrible trouble.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jake drove around Wyattville for fifteen minutes before he admitted that the woman got to him in a bad way. She’d looked hot in that black dress, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. She’d been all ripe curves and soft skin. And she’d smelled really good, like spring flowers in his mom’s garden.

  And if the van hadn’t been there supporting them when he’d kissed her, he might have fallen down. The woman literally made him weak in the knees. He’d been trying to stay away from her all week, telling himself that she was a liar and there was no room in his life for another liar. But then he’d see her at Nel’s, hear her laugh or tease a customer, and his gut would turn. He wanted her. Badly. And he was very jealous of Jim Waller.

  Admitting it spurred him into action. The woman was an accident waiting to happen. Trouble followed her around like ants on a sugar trail. She didn’t have any sense at all. Going out with a stranger? So what that he ate in the restaurant every day? He could still have murdered women stuffed under his porch. You couldn’t tell a thing about people by just looking at them.

  He’d learned that time and time again during his eight years on the force. The fresh-faced young accountant took a baseball bat to his wife at night. The gray-haired woman who baked cookies for her grandson during the day sold heroin to his friends at night. He didn’t know Waller’s story, but the little snide remarks that Madeline had made about Waller still being madly in love with her didn’t match up to Waller suddenly asking Tara to dinner. When people did unexpected things, it made Jake nervous.

  There was one main road to Bluemond. He didn’t know what restaurant they planned to eat at, but there couldn’t be many. Tara would never know that he’d followed her. He knew her well enough by now that she’d be mad as heck. But he wasn’t worried. He was good at not being seen.

  * * *

  THE MAN APPROACHED HER CAR with a smile and an easy stroll. The T-shirt stretched over a little belly and his blue jeans were faded with a patch on one knee. She calmed down a little. He looked harmless, like she might expect any other middle-aged man wanting to help a woman with car trouble, to look.

  “Can I help, miss? I live just up the road.”

  The irony hit her. He probably lived in the same house that Jim was walking to. She rolled down the window just inches, sucking in a much-needed breath of fresh air. In a matter of minutes, the temperature in the car had to have risen by ten degrees. She didn’t want to keep the engine and the air-conditioning running for fear that the car would overheat. She didn’t need another problem.

  “Thanks for stopping,” she said. “I think my friend is walking toward your house to see if he can use the phone.”

  The man shook his head. “He ain’t going to find anybody home. My wife and daughter went to the Mall of America.”

  He lived nearby. He had a wife and daughter. She started to relax.

  “Need some help getting the spare on?” he asked.

  “No spare,” she said.

  He frowned at her. “That’s kind of foolish, isn’t it?”

  Her sentiments exactly. She rolled the window down another couple of inches.

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  “Wyattville,” she said.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Bluemond.”

  “Well if you’re going to get there, I better go pick your friend up,” he said. “We’ll swing back for you.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He took two steps away before turning around. “It’s dang hot out here, miss, and I don’t like the idea of a young woman on the road by herself. I sure wouldn’t want that to be my wife or daughter. Why don’t you ride along with me?”

  She might not be so lucky the next time that a man stopped. He could be some loser. “That’s really nice of you,” she said, opening her car door. “I appreciate your help.”

  “No problem. Get in.”

  He started his truck and slowly pulled out onto the road. “I was hoping that sprinkle we got last night would break the heat, but I don’t think it’s going to.”

  It had been the first rain since the night Jake Vernelli had broken into her house. That seemed like an eternity ago but it was really only ten days.

  “I know. It was barely enough to give my plants a drink,” she said.

  “No doubt you’re thirsty, too. When we get to my house, you can come inside, Tara, and have a glass of cold water.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said, turning her face toward the window, looking at but not seeing the surrounding landscape.

  Tara. He’d called her Tara. She hadn’t told him her name.

  * * *

  IT TOOK JAKE TEN MINUTES to come upon Waller’s car. He drove past, slowing down, taking in the scene. The car, resting heavily on its flat tire, looked empty. Cranking the wheel of the old truck, he made a U-turn in the middle of the highway. He parked in the weeds at the edge of the road, directly across from the vehicle.

  His gun lay on the seat next to him and he grabbed it before getting out and walking over to the car.

  Empty. No sign of struggle. It didn’t make him feel much better. Where the hell was Tara?

  He looked at the evidence outside the car and was grateful for the sprinkle the previous night. A first-year rookie could follow the tracks. Tara, riding in the passenger seat, had gotten out and walked back to look at the tire. The prints were deeper here, as if she’d stood for few minutes, her dress shoes digging into the dirt. Waller’s shoe prints were next to hers.

  Had the pair set off for Bluemond, hoping to get picked up by a passing motorist? Had someone stopped to help them? Jake walked fifty feet behind the car. Nothing unusual. He turned, walking fifty feet the other way. There, clear as a bell, on the dusty shoulder of the road, he could see tracks from another vehicle. A truck. He looked closer, trying to see footprints. Yes. No doubt about it. Tara had walked toward whatever vehicle had been parked here.

  Had she gotten in? Had both she and Waller accepted a ride? Jake tried to manage the panic that threatened to overtake him. It might have been someone they knew, someone who recognized Waller’s car and stopped to help. They could already be in Bluemond, having a glass of wine, getting way too friendly
at the table.

  How bizarre was that? He’d gone from being mad that Waller had taken Tara to dinner to hoping like hell that it was exactly where they were.

  Jake crossed the road, hopped into his truck and made his second U-turn of the night. He’d keep going toward Bluemond. He couldn’t rest until he knew Tara was safe.

  * * *

  TARA DIDN’T THINK the man had realized the slip of his tongue. He was too busy checking his watch and looking in the rearview mirror.

  It hadn’t been a coincidence that he’d picked her up alongside the road. When he pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse, she looked around, expecting Michael to jump out of the trees at any moment. But nothing happened. Of course not. Michael was a coward but he wasn’t a fool. He’d wait until she got inside, where he’d be safe from prying eyes of anyone who might be passing by. Then he’d kill her. He’d finish what he tried to do fourteen months ago.

  Then he’d drive back to D.C., satisfied that he’d won, leaving this guy to dump her body somewhere.

  With a flick of his wrist, the man shut off his truck. “I don’t see your friend,” he said. “Maybe he walked on? Why don’t you come inside and have that glass of water? We can call a tow truck for you.”

  She had absolutely no intention of going in the house. She flashed the man a smile. “Sounds great.”

  She opened her door, intending to slip off her shoes and make a break for the highway. When he got out and circled around the back of the truck, she changed the plan. She stood up, wobbled and grabbed for her ankle. “Oh, no,” she said.

  He walked up to her, his eyes flicking from her to the house. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I twisted my ankle,” she said. “These silly, stupid shoes. I never should have worn them.” She sat back down on the edge of the seat, one foot propped up on the running boards of the truck. “I don’t think I can walk on it.”

  He looked confused, like a sprained ankle hadn’t been a contingency he’d prepared for. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ll help you.”

  “It hurts really badly,” she said. “Can you just go inside and call the tow truck?”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “You need to come inside,” he said.

  She edged forward on the seat, prepared to bring her leg up and kick him right where it would hurt the most, if he came one step closer.

  * * *

  WHEN JAKE CRESTED THE HILL, he saw her. Saw her, the truck and a man he didn’t recognize. The passenger door stood wide open and she sat in the seat, her legs dangling over the side. The man looked up when he heard the truck. He moved, trying to shield Tara from sight. That was all the reassurance Jake needed to know that something was wrong, terribly wrong.

  He whipped his truck onto the lane, sending gravel flying. He pulled within ten feet of the other truck. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other hidden, his gun securely in his grasp. “Tara,” he called out, never taking his eyes off her or the man. “Is everything okay?”

  “I could use a little help.”

  While her words seemed innocent enough, he knew her well enough to hear the fear in her voice. His gut tightened. The man moved even closer to Tara, his head swiveling from Tara, to Jake, to the house. Jake didn’t see a gun but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one. He could have a knife or some other kind of weapon.

  Jake waited for the man to say something, to give him some clue, but the older man remained silent. Jake shifted in his seat, just enough that he could see the house in his peripheral vision.

  “What’s going on?” Jake asked.

  “We had a flat tire,” she said. “This gentleman offered to get me a glass of water.”

  Right. And Jake was Batman.

  More than ever, he appreciated her brains. She wanted both of them to get out of there without trouble. If the man didn’t think either Tara or he represented a threat, then it might just work.

  “That’s right neighborly but since I’m here, I’ll take you home.”

  “Sure,” she said. She flashed the man a quick smile. “Thanks for your help,” she said.

  Jake watched as she slid off the seat. She walked toward his truck, limping.

  The bastard had hurt her. Jake lifted his gun.

  Tara’s eyes stopped him. She stared at him, gave him the slightest shake of her head and kept walking. The man continued to stand next to his truck, watching her every step. When she opened the door and got in, Jake could see the light sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “Drive,” she said softly. “Please just get me out of here.”

  He didn’t waste any time. He’d deal with the man later. First, he’d make sure Tara stayed safe. Jake turned the truck around and drove out of the lane, his eyes on the rearview mirror. The man by the truck didn’t move.

  When they got on the highway, headed back to Wyattville, Jake shifted his focus to Tara. What he saw shook him up. Big tears rolled down her face.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said. He laid his gun in his lap and stuck his arm out across the back of the seat, pulling her toward him. She scooted over, burying her face against his shoulder.

  “I need to know one thing,” he said, barely able to say the words. “Did he hurt you?” he asked. “In any way?”

  “No.” Her reply, muffled yet strong, kept him from turning the truck around and killing the man.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Honey, you limped all the way to my truck.”

  “I know,” she said and then she started to cry in earnest. Big sobs, making her slight body shake. Jake tightened his hold around her. He wanted to pull off, to rock her in his arms, but he didn’t. He’d wait until he got her home, safe inside her house.

  By the time he pulled into her driveway, she’d stopped crying. She just lay heavily against his shoulder, like all the life had been drained out of her. “We’re home,” he said, shifting a little in the seat so that he almost cradled her in his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked. With the tip of his finger, he tilted her chin up and looked at her face. Her small brown freckles looked stark against the paleness of her skin. Her eyes and nose were red, and tear streaks stained her cheeks. Wisps of her strawberry-blond hair, wet with tears, clung to her face.

  He took his free hand and tucked her hair behind her ears. With the pad of his thumb, he traced the tear streaks.

  She sighed, her sweet pink lips parting just slightly.

  He bent down.

  She lifted her chin just enough.

  He kissed her. And when she wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pushing her breasts up against his chest, he thought he might never stop kissing her.

  She tasted salty and hot, and he wanted her with a fierceness that he couldn’t describe or control. But for her sake, he needed to.

  “Tara,” he said, pulling away from her. “I don’t want to stop but we have to. I need to know what happened tonight.”

  She stilled, her eyes open wide. She ran her tongue over her incredible bottom lip, the lip still wet from his kisses, and he almost caved. God, he wanted her. But her safety came first.

  She shifted in her seat and her dress rode up, showing another few inches of silky, soft skin. He swallowed hard.

  “We had car trouble. A flat tire,” she said, her voice very soft. “Unfortunately, he didn’t have a spare tire. We were going to call a tow truck, but my cell didn’t work and his phone wasn’t charged. He offered to walk toward a farmhouse to get help. Shortly after he left, the man you saw stopped and offered me a ride. He said he lived up the road with his wife and daughter.”

  “What happened when you got to his house?”

  “When I didn’t see Jim, I got a weird feeling. I just knew I didn’t want to go inside the house with him. So I pretended I’d turned my ankle. That’s when you drove up.”

  It sounded right. But not exactly right. He’d seen the panic in her eyes and heard the fear in her voice. She’d been scared to death
of the man.

  “He didn’t do or say anything else?”

  “No.”

  “He didn’t threaten you?”

  “No. Look, I probably overreacted, and I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  Yeah, he’d been scared. Now he was getting angry. “What’s going on here, Tara?”

  “Exactly what I said. I got into a strange man’s truck and when it looked like it was going to turn out bad, I got scared. He might be a nice guy who lives with his family and right now he thinks I’m a nut.”

  Right. She didn’t believe that any more than he did. “What about Waller? Where does he fit into all this?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said, turning to look out her window.

  “Tara,” he spoke softly, “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on. Crazy stuff keeps happening. Tonight, something else. I don’t know what, quite yet, but something. I want to know who is trying to hurt you and I want to know why.”

  She bit the inside corner of her lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She was lying. But why?

  * * *

  TARA WANTED TO TELL JAKE everything. But it was such a crazy mess. Was it possible that there was a connection between Waller and Michael? She knew Michael’s family was involved in banking back East. Had Michael promised Waller a prestigious job somewhere? Maybe Waller looked forward to kicking the dust of Wyattville off his feet? Maybe she was his ticket out of town?

  It was all starting to make sense. The unexpected invitation. Waller’s flat tire but no spare. At the time, she’d been so irritated with Jim and so relieved that the evening might end early, that she hadn’t questioned his lack of preparedness. But this was a man who always stacked his silverware on his plate after he finished eating. He folded his napkin twice, laying it squarely on top. Then he drained his water glass, setting it just above the dirty plate, exactly in the middle.