Running for Her Life (15 page)

“You’re driving?” he said, his tone incredulous.

“I’m meeting Jim at Nel’s. We’re leaving from there.” A date was one thing, a man in her house was another. Not that she owed Jake an explanation. “Excuse me,” she said.

He moved fast. One minute he was standing casually and the next, he had her back against the van, his body fully pressed against her. With his thumb and index finger, he gripped her chin. Then he angled his mouth and kissed her.

He pushed his tongue in her mouth, widened the angle of the kiss, and altogether consumed her. It was hot and reckless and when it ended, she wanted to beg for more.

He took a step back.

“Think about
that
on your date.”

* * *

F
OUR MILES INTO THE TRIP
, she and Jim had discussed the weather, the shape the county highway was in, and then the weather some more. The flu wasn’t sounding so bad.

“How’s business?” Tara asked.

“Steady.”

She chewed on the corner of her lip but stopped suddenly when she realized that she could taste Jake. It was a combination of the tartness of the apple he’d eaten mixed with the tangy salt of his sweat.

Great.
Like she needed a reminder. She was still reeling from his kiss. When she’d driven away, her arms and legs had been shaking and she’d felt as if they might not be connected to the rest of her body. Jim had been waiting in the lot behind the restaurant. If he hadn’t been, she might have been tempted to follow Jake’s advice. She really wasn’t feeling well. She was all torn up inside. Second-guessing everything.

She was no doubt a lousy date. Even if he wasn’t a great conversationalist, Jim didn’t deserve that. “One of my customers mentioned that he’s excited about taking a few day trips with the new senior citizens group,” Tara said. “How about you? Been on any great vacations lately?” A long trip could get them from here to salad.

“No. I don’t get away much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tara replied sincerely. She stared at the passing countryside. This was her punishment for being jealous of Madeline.

Minutes later, bad got worse. She heard the thump-thump of a tire going flat. Jim shrugged and pulled off the side of the two-lane highway. They both got out of the car, staring at the flat rear tire.

“I’ve never changed a flat before,” she volunteered. “But between the two of us, we could probably manage it.”

“I don’t have a spare.”

She opened her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She turned it on and realized pretty quickly that she wasn’t getting any service. Her phone almost always got service at her house and at the restaurant. She shook it, tried again and met with the same results. She pointed at Jim’s phone on his belt. “Let’s hope you have better luck.”

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.

* * *

T
HE 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.

* * *

I
T TOOK
J
AKE 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.

* * *

T
ARA 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.

* * *

W
HEN
J
AKE 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.