Running for Her Life (6 page)

His stance was comfortable as he confronted a carload of teenagers who’d decided that the barricade across the road clearly didn’t apply to them. But she wasn’t fooled. He didn’t carry himself like a cop who’d gotten soft working a desk and doing the occasional crowd control. No, definitely not. And he’d certainly handled his gun last night as if it was an extension of his arm.

Was it as simple as it all sounded? Had he really come to Wyattville to help his old friend? But who had the kind of job that they could just up and leave at any time for six weeks to go work somewhere else? No. There was more to the story.

And she loved a good story. Got jazzed piecing information together. There’d been few who were as good at re-creating a series of events that made sense.

Whether it was covering a political campaign, a murder trial or the transgressions of the big banks, she’d loved being a reporter. Loved seeing the results of her work on the newsstand. Loved the editorial deadlines, even loved the notoriously bad coffee in the break room.

But that was a long time ago. Now she needed to keep a low profile. She needed to stay out of Chief Vernelli’s way and if she couldn’t manage that, she needed to make darn sure that she was at the top of her game. She couldn’t afford to slip up, to give him any reason to look at her closer.

She angled her chair, just enough that he was in her peripheral vision but not enough that he’d catch her eye. She bought a watery lemonade from two young girls and was relieved when the first floats came by. She was clapping for the Wyattville fire truck and volunteer fire department when a shadow blocked out the hot sun.

She twisted her body so quickly that one side of her lawn chair lifted off the ground, and she would have crashed to the side if a strong hand hadn’t steadied her.

“Careful,” he said.

“Chief Vernelli,” she managed.

He glanced at the bandage on her knee. “Bumps and bruises getting better?”

She nodded and prayed that he’d move along. Instead, he spread his legs, shifted his weight back onto his heels, hooked his thumbs in the loops of his belt and watched the parade like it was Thanksgiving Day and he had a boatload of stock invested in Macy’s.

She ignored him, and he appeared as if it didn’t bother him in the least. When the funeral home director and his family rode by on a float decorated as a coffin, the crowd was peppered with wrapped caramels. Jake reached a long arm up and easily caught a piece. He tossed it in Tara’s lap.

“It’s your candy,” Tara protested.

He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a sweet tooth. I’d arm-wrestle you over a bag of potato chips, though.”

More proof that he wasn’t normal. She unwrapped the candy and popped it in her mouth as the last tractor belched and snorted its way past. Tara stood up and folded her lawn chair.

“What’s next?” Jake asked.

I watch to see what direction you go in and make a mad dash in the other.
“Lunch. Then we’ll head for the shade and rest our stomachs until the games begin.”

“I saw the dunk tank getting set up,” he said.

“The chief of police would be a big draw,” she suggested.

“Too bad I’m on duty.” He smiled and she felt the answering lurch in her stomach. He was a handsome man. Might even be charming.

She edged away. “Given how hot it is, there will likely be plenty of volunteers. I may even try it myself.” She turned and started walking. “I better hurry. Janet might need me,” she lied.

* * *

F
ORTUNATELY FOR
J
AKE
, Tara didn’t get into the dunk tank. Breasts and cold beer were both good things. However, when the breasts were covered by a tight white T-shirt that suddenly became transparent, routine crowd control could quickly get ugly.

She did, however, play volleyball. Jake had stood off to the side, made small talk with those who wanted to get to know the new chief and discreetly watched the game. What Tara lacked in skill, she made up for in enthusiasm. Bending, stretching, lunging. She didn’t do anything overtly over the top to attract attention, but when Jake scanned the crowd he saw several young men with their tongues almost hanging out.

Was it possible that her recent trouble had something to do with a rejected lover? He’d asked who she’d pissed off. Maybe the question should have been,
Who have you dumped lately?

When the game ended, he watched to see who approached her. Several of the young men did, but with each she seemed casually comfortable. She didn’t do much more than exchange a quick greeting with any of them until one too-thin, long-faced guy approached. He wore faded jeans and a white wife-beater T-shirt that revealed tattoos spread across both biceps. He was smoking a cigarette.

She looked surprised to see him. Then she motioned for the man to follow her, stopping when they were a distance from the volleyball court and anyone else who might hear the conversation. He talked, she mostly listened.

Then the man dropped his cigarette and with more force than necessary, used the heel of his boot to grind it into the dirt. When Jake saw Tara frown, shake her head and turn away, only to be stopped by the man’s hand on her arm, he moved fast.

“Problem?” he asked, when he reached Tara’s side.

The man dropped his hand and stepped back.

“No. No problem,” she said quickly.

He didn’t buy it. “You two seemed to be having a pretty heated conversation,” he said, staring at the man.

Tara stepped forward. “It was nothing,” she said. She pushed her hair back from her face. “This is Donny Miso,” she added. “Donny, Chief Vernelli.”

The man didn’t say anything and he stared at the ground. Close up, Jake could see that his hair was dirty, he hadn’t shaved for a couple days and the dark circles under his eyes pointed to more than a few sleepless nights.

He looked a little desperate. And normally Jake had some sympathy for people who had reached the end of their rope. But he had no sympathy for a man who used his strength to dominate a woman, to force her.

“Donny, I think you better move on,” he said.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Donny said.

“Then we want the same thing. Tara, I think Janet was looking for you. I’ll walk you back that direction.”

Without another word, Donny walked away. When he was almost out of sight, Jake turned to Tara. “Does he want his job back?”

“No. But the weird part is, he doesn’t have anything else. I don’t know what’s going on with him. I think he’s just so mad that his life isn’t what he thought it was going to be. He probably needs counseling, but he couldn’t afford to keep his health insurance after his real job ended. I’m worried about him.”

“You think he could have had anything to do with the damage at the restaurant or with you being forced off the road yesterday?”

“I don’t think he’s mad at me. Just at life.”

Even so, Jake made a mental note to have another conversation with Donny before the day ended.

“Excuse me,” Tara said. “I need to find Janet.”

She walked back toward the crowd and he waited several minutes before following. He found the women easily enough and wasn’t surprised to see that Nicholi had managed to get his chair next to Janet’s.

Tara had flopped down in the grass next to Nicholi’s lawn chair, her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. Sand still clung to her tanned legs and bare feet. Her toenails were painted a bright red, and while he’d never considered himself to have a foot fetish, there was something incredibly sexy about her ten toes.

She leaned back on her arms, her head thrown back, her face raised to catch the sun. Jake pulled the collar of his shirt away from his throat and swallowed hard.

She was a perfect match to bright sunshine and blue skies. To sweet, juicy watermelon and ice-cold lemonade.

“How was the volleyball?” Nicholi asked.

“Exhausting. But I think I worked off your cheesy potatoes, Janet. Thank goodness Alice wasn’t here with her cherry pie. Both would have done me in.”

Nicholi put up a hand to shade his eyes from the bright sun. “I can’t remember a year that Alice and Henry missed the town picnic.”

Tara nodded. “I know. They left early yesterday to go see their son. Bill’s getting married soon, you know.”

Janet made some kind of grunting noise. “I wonder if Alice will finally be satisfied. She’s been pushing that boy to get married for years. Lord knows she worked hard enough to match up the two of you.”

Now that was interesting. Jake moved a step closer.

“Afternoon, Chief,” Nicholi said.

Tara’s eyes flew open and she jerked upright so fast that Jake thought she might have popped a vertebrae. But she was prevented from saying anything by the sudden arrival of Andy.

“Come on, Tara,” the young man said. “It’s time for the sack races. I need a partner.”

She moaned. “Volleyball almost killed me.”

“You’ve been saving potato sacks for months. You’re the closest thing we have to a corporate sponsor.”

The idea of her putting that sexy bare leg up against some other man’s was unexpectedly revolting. Jake took another step forward. “I was hoping Tara would be my partner.”

Chapter Five

“I couldn’t,” she said immediately. “Really.” She stood up and took a step back. “I promised Andy.”

Andy looked disappointed but held up his hands, clearly not wanting to piss off his new boss. “No problem, Chief. I’ll find another partner. But when we beat the pants off the two of you, I’m hoping I don’t get poisoned or fired.”

Tara chewed on the corner of her upper lip. Then she took a breath and met his eyes. “Let’s go,” she said.

Without another word, she walked over to the starting line and held out a hand for a sack. He moved behind her but didn’t speak. In the background, the Bluemond band played on. It appeared the kids were determined to provide a full afternoon’s worth of entertainment. This was the third time he’d heard the same song. They’d shed their uniform jackets, their only concession to the heat.

She handed him the sack and he put one leg in. “If I die of a heart attack, promise me that you won’t tell anyone that I died with one leg in a potato sack.”

She shrugged. “You could die covered with yolk. The egg-tossing contest is next.”

He rolled his eyes and barely managed to keep them from rolling back in his head when she stuck her long bare leg into the sack. Even through the fabric of his pants, he swore he could feel the softness of her skin. Her hip brushed against his, bone against bone.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“As ever,” he said. He’d gotten himself into this situation, now he just needed to see it through. He inched his leg away, making space between them.

The whistle sounded, they hopped, almost fell, righted themselves, hopped again, and by the time they reached midway, had gotten into a rhythm. Ten feet from the finish line, he thought they had a chance of winning, but out of the corner of his eye he saw another couple catching up. He was so focused on them that he missed the pair on the other side who, instead of hopping, were lurching, like it was a damn long-jump competition. They overextended and would have crashed into Tara if Jake hadn’t turned his body and swung her out of the way.

The momentum carried her into him, he fell, and before he knew it he was flat on his back. She was splayed on top of him, her face pressed flat into his neck, her breasts soft against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her tight. She was solid, yet delicate. Round in the right places. Smooth.

She moved, jerking her head up so fast that a long strand of silky strawberry-blond hair brushed his cheek. He inhaled sharply, and when his lungs filled with a burst of raspberry, he realized he’d made the mistake that he’d managed to avoid on her front steps. The scent would haunt him. No doubt about it.

She stared at him, the black pupils of her green eyes big and round. And he suddenly couldn’t hear a thing—not the band, not the crowd—all he could hear was the sound of her uneven breath. Her lips were parted and he knew that all he needed to do was lift his head and he’d be kissing her. He—

“Tara, are you okay?” Andy was there, squatting down next to them. When he offered a helping hand, Tara grabbed it quickly, and scrambled out of the potato sack. Andy offered a hand to Jake, but Jake waved it away. He got up more slowly, feeling oddly off balance.

“You guys would have won,” Andy said.

“It was a good effort,” Jake said. He looked at Tara, but she was busy dusting some invisible grass off her shorts. “I hope you didn’t add to your collection of bruises,” he said.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. No harm done.”

Did she really believe that? Because his brain felt pretty scrambled.

“Gonna do the egg toss?” Andy asked.

Speaking of scrambled. “No. I think I’ll sit this one out.” He turned and set off through the crowd. One pass-through convinced him that the most dangerous thing happening was that Lori Mae’s seven-year-old twin boys, Riley and Keller, who he’d met just briefly yesterday when they’d come to the station to meet their mom for lunch, were perched high in a tree spitting watermelon seeds at unsuspecting souls.

He pretended he didn’t see them but figured they had seen him when he heard a gasp and leaves rustling. He hoped one of them didn’t fall and break a leg. He didn’t want to have to explain that to their mother. Lori Mae had spent an hour with him yesterday, helping him orient to the job. She’d been especially helpful in filling in the details about the picnic. She was mid-thirties and had married her high school sweetheart twelve years ago. He was currently serving his second tour in the Middle East. She appeared to run the department without missing a beat. She worked eight to five, Monday through Friday. When she went home at night and on the weekends, the phones were switched over to the county dispatch center.

He figured she was close by, and sure enough, she was standing next to Nicholi and Janet, who were still resting in their lawn chairs. Jake walked over and leaned up against the tree behind them. Everyone’s attention was on the egg tossing contest that was about to start.