Running for Her Life (7 page)

Tara and Andy were lined up across from one another, about ten feet apart. After each successful toss, each of the participants had to take a step backward. By the time it got down to the final three couples, Andy and Tara were a good thirty feet apart and fiercely concentrating.

Next toss, Tara to Andy. Her throw might have been a little high, but Andy was a beanpole and he was able to reach it. He grinned like a little kid and Tara clapped her hands. One step back for each.

Andy made a big production out of his windup. He was just about to let loose when a saxophone started playing. Jake couldn’t locate the source, but it was faint enough that he figured it was a band member walking home, not yet ready to give up the fight.

The egg left Andy’s hand and Tara—well, Tara was searching the crowd, her eyes moving frantically. The egg hit Tara’s shoulder and splattered.

Andy came running across the grass toward her. “Tara, you weren’t even looking,” he said.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Andy.”

Jake was close enough that he could see that all the color had drained from her face and that her hand, when she picked the shell off her shirt, was trembling.

Jake glanced around the crowd, didn’t see anything out of place, nothing that would have caused that kind of reaction. He noted that the sax had stopped.

“That’s why I don’t do the egg toss,” Lori Mae said. Both Nicholi and Janet smiled in response.

Jake watched as the contest finished out. Andy and Tara congratulated the winners and then wandered over to join the group. Andy flashed a grin at Jake. “Hey, Chief. I’m going to take off now. My shift starts in just a few minutes. I’ll change at the station.”

Jake nodded absently. Tara was still far too pale.

“Honey,” Janet said, “your shirt is a mess.”

Tara looked down, as if finally seeing it. “Mostly on my sleeve,” she said softly.

Which caused Jake to take a second glance. Earlier he’d been so busy looking at her legs that he hadn’t focused on the fact that she had on a long-sleeved T-shirt. Granted, it was a very lightweight shirt but still, it was over ninety degrees. It reminded him that even when she’d been running, she’d had on a long-sleeved shirt. What the hell?

Drugs? Were her arms covered with track marks?

Maybe. But if so, she was the healthiest-looking user he’d ever seen. He wasn’t normally a betting man, but he’d bet the farm that she was clean. But why the modesty?

Lori Mae stood up. “I better go find my two little hooligans and get them home.”

“Second tree on your left,” Jake said.

“Thanks, Chief. So what did you think of your first Wyattville picnic?”

First and last. He’d be gone by the end of summer, and he wasn’t likely to be back this direction. But it hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. He’d thought it would be corny and tedious, and while there had been moments of both, there’d been something genuinely nice about watching a community gather for something as simple as shared food and conversation.

In the city, there were festivals where crowds gathered, but it was because there was a shared interest in the event, not a shared interest in each other. That was what made this different.

“It was a pleasure,” Jake said honestly.

Nicholi stood up, got his balance and carefully folded his lawn chair. “By the way, I spoke with Chase Montgomery today. Unfortunately, his mother’s recovery may take longer than expected. He’s thankful you’re here. Said he’d trust you with his life and that we were lucky to have you.”

Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to say something, perhaps to explain why he’d come to Wyattville. Jake could feel the warmth in his face and he knew it had nothing to do with the sun. What could he say?
I screwed up, my partner almost killed me, and I’m not sure I can be a cop anymore.
Yeah. That would inspire confidence. “He’s a good man,” he said finally.

Lori Mae studied him and he realized that he might have his hands full with her. But she didn’t push. Just said a general “Good night everyone,” and walked away.

“I better get going, too,” Tara said. “Do you want me to help you carry your chairs?” she added, looking at Janet.

“I’ve got them,” Nicholi said.

Tara didn’t argue. Jake realized she wasn’t about to take away the man’s pride. “Okay. Good night.”

She’d barely gone twenty yards when Nicholi said, “I just love that girl. She’s been a breath of fresh air in Wyattville.”

“Hopefully her streak of bad luck is over,” Janet said. “First the broken window and then run off the road by a crazy driver. She’s due for some good luck.”

Jake didn’t believe in luck. Good or bad. He didn’t believe in coincidence. He believed actions caused reactions. Push and push back kept the universe in balance.

Somebody or something was pushing at Tara. And he was going to figure out what it was.

* * *

T
ARA HAD STOPPED SHAKING
by the time she got home. Damn it. She’d heard that saxophone, recognized the song as one that Michael favored, and freaked. She was lucky the egg hadn’t caught her square in the face.

It was a popular song, one that most everybody knew. It meant nothing that she’d heard it today, just days after other crazy stuff happened. Meant nothing that it was a saxophone, Michael’s favorite instrument.

Right?

There was such a thing as being hypersensitive. Neurotic. Crazy, even.

She needed to keep her perspective—to not see monsters under the bed, or in the closet, or at the town picnic for goodness’ sake. She made a sharp right into her driveway and told herself that it wasn’t nutty to slow down and assess her surroundings, to take an extra few seconds to make sure that nothing was out of place. It was smart. Sensible.

She parked, not bothering with the garage. Once she got cleaned up she needed to run to the grocery store. She winced getting out of the van, knowing that her muscles would probably hurt even more the next day. She slung her purse over her shoulder and was halfway to the house before she saw it.

She took one more foolish step forward before turning and running for her van. She fumbled with her keys, wasting seconds before she got the vehicle started. Throwing it in Reverse, she backed out, turned the wheel sharply and peeled out of her driveway, all the time keeping her eyes on the rearview mirror.

She was halfway to town before she remembered to breathe. She took a big gulp of air, hoping to calm her nerves and jump-start her brain.

Her stomach tight with dread, she drove to the small brick building at the edge of town that housed police, volunteer fire and the city clerk’s office in different sections.

She opened the door to the police department and walked into an empty room. At the rear of the room, the door to the small bathroom was open and the light was off. Where the heck was he?

“Andy?” she yelled.

Jake Vernelli strolled out of the back room, carrying a manila file folder. He wasn’t smiling.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

He tilted his head down. “I thought we’d covered that. I work here.”

She swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I was expecting Andy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And was he expecting you? Exactly what are the good citizens of Wyattville spending their tax dollars on?”

She got the implied message. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “He left the picnic because his shift was starting.” She drew in a deep breath and fought for control. “Never mind. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He got to the door before she did. “Andy apparently ate a few too many hot dogs today. I understand he became indisposed on his way here. He called me and I told him I’d cover.”

She tried to step around him, but once again he moved fast and stayed between her and the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “You look as if you’re about to fall over.”

Tara didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t trust him. But Chase Montgomery trusted him, and he was no fool. And one thing was certain—Jake had been at the picnic all day. His whereabouts were accounted for.

Who else could she turn to? If it was Michael, then she’d need someone who could handle him. Someone faster, tougher.

“I need some help,” she said. “Someone broke into my house today.” Tara’s legs felt weak, like she’d done ten flights of stairs. She walked over to the worn, faded office chair and sank down.

“Tara?” Jake prompted. He walked close to her chair. She kept her head down, staring at his black shoes. It was so tempting to ignore what had brought her back to town. All she’d done since Jake Vernelli had arrived in town was attract attention. Why on earth would she give him one more reason to wonder about her?

Because to do anything else would be careless. Stupid really. She needed to deal with what was happening at her house before it dealt with her. She tilted her head up and made eye contact. “When I got home after the picnic, I realized that someone had been in my house. Or maybe—” she swallowed hard “—
is
still inside? I don’t know.”

Jake’s brown eyes were bright, alert, already processing. “You didn’t see anybody?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t go inside?”

“No.”

“Was your door bashed in?”

“No.”

“Tara?” Jake scratched his head. “Then just how do you know that somebody broke in?”

“My screen door doesn’t latch. When you go through it, it partially closes but it never latches. You have to make an effort to pull the door and then turn it just so, so that it stays latched. The tension is wrong,” she explained.

He didn’t say anything but she could tell by the skeptical look on his face that he wasn’t convinced.

“I always latch my screen door. I check and double-check that, too. When I got home tonight, it was unlatched.”

Jake rubbed his jaw. “Tara, you no doubt left your house in a hurry this morning. You probably didn’t latch it.”

“I didn’t use that door this morning. I used my back door. I know the front door was latched. I know it,” she repeated. “I don’t forget details.” Not when her life might depend on it.

Jake stayed silent. “Okay,” he responded finally. “I’ll go take a look.” He reached for his keys on the desk and took two steps toward the door. He stopped and sighed. “You’re not going to stay here, are you?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t think so. Just please don’t get out of your vehicle when we get to your house.”

* * *

J
AKE STOPPED HIS CAR
two hundred feet shy of her driveway. He pulled off onto the side of the gravel road. She pulled in behind him.

He got out and walked back to her van. “I need your house key.”

She pulled it off the ring. “This one unlocks both the door lock and the bolt lock. Front and back doors are keyed the same.”

“Okay. I’ll check it out. You stay here,” he said.

Tara didn’t answer.

“Tara, you will stay in this car, won’t you?” he asked.

She nodded. What choice did she have? Her legs were shaking so much that she doubted they would hold her.

The trees on the property were thick enough to offer cover for her car but sparse enough that she could still see him after he’d walked up the road and made the turn into her driveway. For a big man, he moved quietly. His right arm was raised, bent at the elbow, the barrel of the gun pointed at the sky.

Using his foot, he eased open the still-unlatched screen door. He pushed his foot against the wooden door but nothing happened. She waited for him to try the key but he didn’t. Instead, he backed away from the house and down the steps. Then, his body hugging the foundation, he edged around her small house.

When he disappeared from sight, Tara sucked in a deep breath.
One one hundred. Two one hundred. Three one hundred.
When she got to twenty, she gave up all pretense of waiting patiently.

She opened her door, cringing when it made a soft squeak. She moved cautiously up the length of driveway and across her small yard, sure she would be shot at any moment.

She was five feet from her front door when it swung open. There was a shadow of a man and Tara caught the glimpse of a gun.

“It’s me,” she squeaked.

It was more of a hiss than a sigh. “I told you to stay in the van.”

“I know. Is everything okay?” she whispered.

“There’s nobody inside. You can come in.”

She walked past him but stopped no more than three feet into the house. The heavy drapes were all closed, making it seem as if the daylight had suddenly disappeared. Jake flipped on the light switches in both the kitchen and the living room. She sank down on the couch.

“Are you all right?” Jake asked, crouching in front of her. “You’re still pretty pale.”

If he were lucky, she wouldn’t vomit on his shoes.

“I checked the bedroom and the bath,” he said. “Everything seems to be in order. The doors were locked, Tara. Both doors, both locks.”

So no one had been in her house. That was the easy explanation. She was crazy.

Except that she wasn’t. Her house felt different. The rug in front of the door seemed slightly out of place. The drawer of the corner desk was almost closed, as if someone had hurriedly brushed a hand toward it but hadn’t taken the time to make sure it was shut tight. Like she would have.

“Do you still think somebody was inside?” Jake asked.

She felt old and brittle and desperately wanted to scream. But she needed to be very careful. The ability to move quickly, without anyone expecting her to do so, was what had saved her once before. If anyone knew she was spooked, she’d lose that element of surprise and that could prove deadly.

Chapter Six

She forced a smile. “I’m sorry I brought you out here on a wild-goose chase.”

Jake shook his head. “No problem. Does anybody besides you have a key?”

Her turn to shake her head.

“No ex-boyfriends?” he asked. For the first time, his gaze wasn’t meeting her eyes. He was staring somewhere above her head.

“I don’t give keys to men that I date.”

“Even Bill Fenton?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation at the picnic.”