Running Blind

by Linda Howard

  “Don’t move!” Kat ordered when Carly tried to stand. She turned her attention to another bystander, and immediately contradicted herself. “You, help me get her up. She needs to be checked out at the clinic.” Then she was on her knees beside Carly. “Is anything broken? No, don’t move!”

  “I have to move if you’re going to get me up,” Carly said testily. “I’m fine. Really. I think. At any rate, I don’t think anything’s broken.” She held her hands out and Kat caught one, while the man Kat had dragooned gripped the other one and together they got her to her feet. When she reeled back, Kat was there to catch and steady her.

  “You might have a concussion,” Kat said.

  “I don’t, I’m fine—”

  “You’re going to the clinic, and I’m going with you.” Kat looked up and spotted a friend. “Mary, would you watch the café for me for a while?”

  “I’m just shaken up, honest.”

  “Carly, you go on,” Libby said firmly. “Kat’s right. I’ll take care of everything here. Wasn’t that the Collins boy?” she demanded angrily of someone.

  “Yeah, that was him. Here he comes back, thank God. He’d have been in a world of trouble if he’d kept going.”

  Carly did seem to be a bit out of it; she didn’t even look toward the truck that had hit her. Young Collins climbed out of the truck, his face white. “Is she okay?”

  “No thanks to you, dumb ass!” Libby barked. “You know better than to be speeding in town.” Libby allowed Kat to help Carly to the clinic, while she handled the more mundane chores, such as tearing a strip off the Collins kid’s hide. She also rounded up Carly’s purse and the books she’d checked out, then waited around until a deputy arrived to take her statement.

  When that was taken care of, Libby walked down to the clinic. There were a woman and child in the waiting room, but no sign of Carly and Kat, so they must’ve been taken in to see the doctor.

  Libby knew the receptionist, because there was just this one clinic in town and she’d come here herself for years. Evelyn Fortier had lived in Battle Ridge forever. She’d worked for three different doctors in this same clinic.

  “Hi, Evelyn,” Libby said as she walked up to the desk. “How on earth are you?”

  They talked a moment, catching up. They hadn’t been great friends, but they had always been friendly acquaintances. Finally Libby asked, “Any word on Carly? I hope she’s not seriously hurt.”

  Evelyn’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, of course you’re here with Carly. I should’ve realized that right away.” She tsked. “You don’t know if she has any insurance, do you?”

  “No, but Zeke will take care of all the bills, if she doesn’t.”

  “Oh, I know he will. We will need some identification of some kind for our records, before she leaves. Kat just hustled her on back and I didn’t even get to make a copy of her driver’s license.”

  “I have her purse. Let me check.”

  Good heavens, Carly’s purse was so neat and organized! A place for everything and everything in its place. The canister of pepper spray was a little startling, but not unusual. Maybe she should get some herself. Libby pulled out Carly’s wallet, all the while considering the pepper spray and noting the brand name, and opened it. There was plenty of cash, more than she’d expected to find, but not a single credit card. No driver’s license or insurance card, either.

  “Well, I don’t see one.”

  The phone rang, and Evelyn answered. Libby walked away, still shuffling through the wallet. Carly had driven one of Zeke’s work trucks to town, so surely she had a license and had it with her. The contents of the wallet were off, somehow. It was just odd. Libby’s own wallet contained two credit cards, an AARP card, an AAA card, and two grocery store rewards cards, as well as a driver’s license and her insurance cards. And pictures, of course—all of her grandkids, but still … there was nothing in Carly’s wallet to identify the owner. Nothing.

  She started searching for hidden pockets, and found one. There, shoved into a side pocket low and tight, was a card. Libby managed to wrangle the card to the surface.

  She looked down at it, immediately recognizing Carly’s photo. Then the name hit her between the eyes and her heart sank. She held in her hand a Texas driver’s license with an unsmiling photo of Carly staring back at her. The name on the license wasn’t Carly Hunt, it was Carlin Reed. Carlin Jane Reed, to be precise. She could see Carly being a nickname, but Reed? Why was her last name different?

  That, along with the lack of any other personal information, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She’d been so worried about Carly scamming Zeke, she hadn’t even considered that the girl would be so good that she herself could be scammed, as well.

  Why would she use a false name? Was she wanted by the police? On the FBI most wanted list? Then Libby mentally smacked herself in the forehead. Duh. The most logical reason for a different last name was marriage. Was Carly a married woman? Oh my God. That would break Zeke’s heart.

  What on earth was she supposed to do now?

  “Any luck?” Evelyn called.

  Libby shoved Carly’s driver’s license back in the hidden pocket. Until she decided what to do, there was no reason to share what she’d found. “No, I’m sorry. Carly must’ve left her license at home.”

  It was tempting to tell everyone what she’d found, to shout fraud at the top of her lungs when Carly—Carlin—returned, battered and unsettled, some bandages on her scraped hands but essentially whole. But maybe subtlety was called for. Before she started throwing accusations around, accusations the fraud probably had ready answers for, she was going to do a little digging on her own.

  She wasn’t leaving until she knew what the hell was going on.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  LIBBY WAITED UNTIL Carly had her hands full with laundry before she sneaked into Zeke’s office and sat at the desk chair. Zeke wouldn’t be back for at least another hour, maybe two. She had plenty of time as far as he was concerned, and if Carly came in she’d just say she was emailing her daughter.

  If she simply asked why Carly was using a false name, the girl would probably have a good answer, one that Zeke would buy without question because he was blinded by testosterone. She needed to know what she was up against before she confronted Carlin Reed. Maybe she’d find a marriage announcement out of some Texas newspaper. Were divorce announcements posted anywhere? She didn’t think so, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.

  Libby plugged Carly’s real name—including the Jane—into Google and hit “enter.” If she was wanted by the police, if there was an article about her online, if there were pictures of a wedding, maybe Google would provide proof. A lot of Jane Reeds came up, but after shuffling through several possibilities Libby searched again using just Carlin Reed.

  Nothing. At least, no one by that name who could be Carly. How could anyone not be on the Internet somewhere? There were links to places where she could pay to see public records, and she might have to resort to that later, but for right now that seemed a little drastic.

  Libby pushed away from the desk. Now what? The simple explanation was that Carly was married—or recently divorced and now using her maiden name. But just because it was the simple explanation, that didn’t mean it was the right one. The lack of credit cards and other paraphernalia hinted at something more.

  But what?

  BRAD WAS LYING back on the hotel bed, hands behind his head and watching some shit on the cheap-ass TV, when his computer dinged, alerting him that a message had come in. He didn’t rush to the desk to check out whatever it was; usually the alerts were nothing.

  In a couple of days, maybe three, he’d be in Cheyenne and he’d find out if the PI who’d searched his name was in any way related to Carlin. He’d tried to hack in, but the PI had impressive firewalls. Who else but Carlin would’ve hired a PI to check him out? Maybe she thought he’d given up on her. Maybe she thought she was safe, the stupid bitch.

  She made him wil
d. Everything that had happened to him was all her fault. How could she not see how perfect they were together? And yet, after the way she’d acted, he’d have to be stupid himself to want her. His emotions warred within him, hate and love and fury so mixed together he didn’t even try to sort them out. He loved her. She’d thrown that love back at him, she’d filed stupid charges against him, and eventually caused him to lose his job. Every mistake he’d ever made was because of her. She deserved to be eliminated—not just killed, though he’d settle for that if necessary, but punished for everything she’d done. And then—then, he’d release himself by killing her. Then he could start fresh.

  But look at where he was now, all because of her, and he didn’t like it. He’d never imagined he’d find himself driving into Wyoming in January. It was too fucking cold this far north, too alien. He was used to flat land and hot temperatures, the ocean, but here he was surrounded by mountains so fucking enormous they didn’t seem real, and weather so cold it bit into his lungs like a wild animal.

  He hadn’t come up here unprepared, though. He’d done some research, gathered the things he’d need. He had chains for his tires in the truck, in case it snowed and he needed them. He kept blankets, candles, water, and power bars in the truck, too. He’d had to stop in Colorado to buy a new heavy coat to keep himself from freezing to death. Why couldn’t she have hired a PI in Florida, or maybe Southern California? This was ridiculous. She’d pay, when he found her.

  But when he got up and finally read the message waiting for him, Brad forgot the cold and the expense and the sorry-ass TV, and everything else. Carlin Jane Reed. There was no mistaking who that search had been for. He’d had false leads before, searches for and by other Carlin Reeds—though there weren’t many—but this one, it had to be her. Forgetting the PI, forgetting everything, his fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be going to Cheyenne after all.

  CARLIN SMILED AT Libby as the woman walked into the kitchen. Her clothes were put away, and a load of towels was in the dryer. The roast she’d put in the slow cooker that morning was filling the kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma, and the corn bread was ready to go in the oven. Her hip was a little sore, thanks to the minor accident that afternoon, but aside from that ache and a small headache, all was well. It could’ve been a lot worse. Privately she admitted that she’d have liked to curl up in a recliner and not do anything for the rest of the day, but if she’d given in to that urge all hell would have broken loose around her and she’d have found herself carted off to a hospital, willy-nilly, so she kept going.

  Libby didn’t return the smile. Instead the look she gave Carlin was distinctly somber, and immediately a spike of adrenaline sent her heart racing. “What’s wrong? Zeke! Has something happened to Zeke?”

  “He’s fine, as far as I know,” Libby said. She stared hard at Carlin. “As for whether or not something’s wrong, I was hoping you’d tell me, Ms. Reed.”

  Her knees went weak. Carlin grabbed the kitchen counter behind her for balance as her vision swam. Everything seemed to close in on her, the world closing down to a narrow tunnel and everything around it turning gray. It was an effort to remain on her feet.

  The shock was sickening. She’d known this would happen, she’d known she’d be found out eventually, but Libby using her real name had come without warning, and Carlin felt like someone had swiped her legs out from under her.

  She’d been found, she was no longer safe … oh, God, she was going to have to leave Zeke.

  Carlin came to her senses enough to realize that Libby had noticed her reaction and was staring at her with a mixture of alarm and puzzlement. “How did you … what …”

  “This afternoon Evelyn asked for your driver’s license. I had to dig for it, but …”

  But she’d found it, tucked into a side pocket. Carlin turned and ran toward her rooms to pack, to collect her fairly substantial stash of cash and go. The receptionist at the clinic would’ve innocently plugged her real name into the computer. Brad would know. He was probably already on his way to Battle Ridge …

  Libby’s voice was distant, even though it was right behind her. She dimly heard Carly, Carly, over and over again, and then finally a sharp, “Carlin Jane!” for all the world like a frustrated mother. “I didn’t give Evelyn the license, if that’s what has you in such a state,” Libby said sharply. “Good heavens, what’s wrong? Why does it matter?”

  Relief washed through her, as strong and unbalancing as the fear had been. Carlin stopped in the hallway and slumped against the wall.

  Libby placed fisted hands on her generous hips. “Do you want to explain to me what’s going on? You’re not married, are you? It would break Zeke’s heart …”

  “No,” Carlin answered, her voice not as steady as it should’ve been. “I’m not married. Never have been.”

  “Then why the name Hunt instead of Reed?”

  Because I spotted a bottle of ketchup as I was talking to Kat …

  Zeke knew the story. Kat knew, too. Would one more person being in on the secret really matter all that much? Yes. With every person who knew her secret, there was a bigger chance that someone would spill the beans. Then more people would know, and more, and the next thing you know Brad is showing up at Zeke’s front door.

  But what choice did she have? She either told Libby everything and begged her to keep the secret, or else she left this place without looking back. And she wasn’t ready to leave.

  “Can we sit down for this conversation?” Carlin asked. “I could use a cup of hot tea.”

  “Honey, you’re pale as a ghost,” Libby said, as much concern in her voice as curiosity.

  She’d understand why, soon enough.

  They sat at the kitchen table, two cups of steaming tea between them, and Carlin told Libby everything. The stalking, the fear, Jina, landing in Battle Ridge completely by chance.

  Libby didn’t say much, but her posture and expression changed as Carlin told her story. She was sympathetic and angry, and when Carlin finished she placed both of her hands over one of Carlin’s.

  Her gaze was fierce and direct. “You do know you can’t run from that son of a bitch forever, don’t you?”

  Carlin nodded.

  “And you do know you’re not alone.”

  Tears burned her eyes at that simple statement. She’d been alone in this until she’d come to Battle Ridge, but now she had Zeke, and Kat, and Spencer and Walt … and a town full of friends who would stand up for her if it was necessary.

  Libby did have one question, and she asked it straight out. “Do you love Zeke?”

  “Yes.” Simple answer to a complicated question. She shouldn’t, she really couldn’t, but there it was, the truth in all its unadorned, unreasoning splendor.

  “I’ve seen it since I came here, that’s why I was so upset when I found that driver’s license and thought maybe you were married.”

  The back door opened and closed. Carlin listened as Zeke removed his outerwear, shucked off his boots, and kicked them under the bench. He walked into the kitchen in his sock feet, looking tired and dirty and wonderful. He glanced from her to Libby and back again, and his expression changed.

  “What’s up?”

  “Libby found my driver’s license while I was seeing the doctor this afternoon,” Carlin explained. “She knows … everything.”

  Libby gave Zeke a stern glare. “What are you going to do about this, A.Z.?”

  Carlin managed a small smile. Libby called upon the same tone of voice she’d used when calling her Carlin Jane.

  Zeke sat beside her, took her hand in his under the table, and squeezed. “Not much I can do. Carlin doesn’t want me to do anything, period.”

  Carlin nodded once. She wouldn’t bring her troubles to Zeke’s door, wouldn’t put him in danger.

  “But—”

  That single word made her head snap around. He didn’t look the least bit guilty, damn him, just determined. She’d seen this before,
when he refused to let Walt risk his life by getting under the truck to hook up the winch, when he’d insisted on doing it himself even though the risk was greater for him because he was so much bigger than Walt. Zeke did what he thought was best, period. She glared up at him. “But? But what?”

  Zeke squeezed her hand. “I haven’t taken any drastic steps, so you can wipe that look off your face. I went hunting for some information, but I was careful how I did it. I hired a private investigator a few days ago to find out what he could about Brad Henderson. And I asked a deputy friend of mine to find out where Brad is, right now.” Carlin tried to jerk her hand from his, but he tightened his grip around her fingers. “I talked to the PI this afternoon. Brad lost his job a couple of months ago. So far no one’s been able to find where he might’ve gone to work, so … we don’t know where he is.”

  Carlin jerked her hand from his and stood, her heart and her head pounding again. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, her voice sharp with panic. “He’ll know, he always knows. Did you send an email to this private investigator? Did the PI run an online search on Brad? How much did you tell this investigator?” She was going to have to leave, after all.

  “It’s okay.” Zeke stood and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I told you, Brad is a hacker, and a damn good one. If your PI entered my name or his into a search engine, Brad will know. He’ll track that search to its origin and … and … you need to warn your PI. Brad will kill him to find out where I am.”

  “I know, I know,” Zeke said in a voice she supposed was meant to be soothing. “I warned him, and we’ve done all our business over the phone. Carlin, he has the Dallas police looking at Brad again. This could all be over—”

  “Oh, no.” Libby’s soft voice, full of dismay, broke through the panic.

  Carlin looked down at the seated woman. Libby had gone white.